[IMVU LOGS] The Red Keep

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KeiichiroTsukishima: Perceptive is a word best used to describe the heir apparent of House Tully, his observant gaze focused solely on Rhaegar as he spoke to him as if he weren't a child. He didn't know if it was something that would work on Rhaelle's son but it was a tactic that he employed on his younger brother and by far, it had been successful. Having experienced it himself, he knew that boys of the age range this one was in, wanted positive reinforcement, a set of goals that one can work towards and someone who seemingly understands what he is going through currently. It was uncharacteristic of Yuan to be too involved in situations though, so there was never any attempt to touch the boy, he simply stayed at a respectful distance and kept his words encouraging. To be fair, he thought it was a good distraction from what just happened until the boy asked him a question that made him want to laugh. It was an absurd notion but as his silence lengthened by listening to the exchange of words between the mother and son, he couldn't help but marvel at the fact that the boy was smart. Rhaegar seemed impish to a certain degree but that bright wit was something to consider and if he were the boy's father, which unfortunately he is not, he would take advantage of it by nurturing the very trait. Deeming it unnecessary to answer a question that Rhaelle already addressed, he simply stood to his full height and waited for Rhaegar to be out of the immediate vicinity before he focused on the Lady Baratheon. "Odd circumstances, Lady Rhaelle, but nothing to apologize for." He replied quietly, clasping his hands behind him. "Truly, nothing to be done with what has passed, but I am curious though, M'lady, why did you seek me out?" There were many reasons, that the young Lord thought reasonably possible, as to why the woman wanted to speak with him but thinking about it wasn't enough. He needed an actual answer to sate his curiosity and, somehow, he didn't think it was overstepping boundaries for him to bluntly ask her intentions. She did, after all, just admit that it was her choice to seek his company.

Biird: Rhaelle motioned to the chair once more as a tray of fruit and cheese was laid on the table and wine was poured. "Please sit." She said, moving to her own chair but opting not to sit until he did. "I appreciate what you did for my son. Be sure, Lord Yuan, he will never forget that and neither will I." Her icy blue gaze swept the scenery beyond her balcony. The Red Keep had some expanse of gardening, at least what they considered a garden, which had been minimally maintained since her cousin's reign. He, like her brother, did do not take much stock in usefulness of decorative flowers, it seemed. His idea of decorative features were that of the many people "lingering" here and there and at this moment trying to make sly work of peering into the chambers of the Lady Baratheon. Even the castle guards posted here and there, silent and vigilant yet not only in terms of protection but the flapping of their gums should some juicy tidbit of treachery be dropped in front of them, could not be trusted. Any family arriving at the capital would have been wise to bring only their bravest of men. The king had a way of making those around him feel strangled by his presence, smothered and weak and fearful, as if in the presence of some sort of demon, or at least that was the opinion expressed to Rhaelle by many of her ladies after her audience with him hours after her initial arrival to the capital. Personally he made her want to bathe. She left his presence feeling slimy and disgusting. Picking up a freshly poured goblet of wine, Rhaelle's eyes returned to the visage of the young lord, disregarding all the possible eyes and ears about them; none which were close enough to intercept their conversation. Sweeping the length of her heavy skirts under, Rhaelle sat down, swirling the red liquid in the goblet. "I have never been good at speaking any other way but frankly, Lord Yuan. My mother doubts the length of my life for this trait." She shrugged then, her broad shoulders slim and fair under the sleeves of leather and black cloth. "So long as I live to see my son safe and my King dead long before his time, I think I would have done well in this world." Rhaelle paused there, looking up from the funneling liquid in her glass to the young Tully, letting the weight of her words sink in.

KeiichiroTsukishima: Control was a very important aspect in the manner that Yuan Tully was raised but he couldn't help but admit that the Baratheon's child made him /want/ to smile. Regardless of what he had just witnessed, the young Lord somehow had a better takeaway from meeting the boy and just as Rhaelle had worded it... he will never forget, as well. He simply smiled at her statement and sat where she motioned for him to, still awaiting her answer to his question. He did not, however, take the goblet of wine that was freshly poured for the both of them because he was keen on not having any inebriation interfere with this particular conversation. It wasn't that he was not used to drinking, or anything that it pertained to beyond the alcohol, but he wasn't going to risk it. Once again, it all boils down to control. "Mothers often worry about their children, Lady Rhaelle, even my own frets over what anyone can consider petty." He lightly smiled at this, as if the thought of his mother's care was fond and endearing. Which it was, save for all the nagging. "And please, do not worry about speaking frankly in my presence. It is a preference, although something that most would not admit." When she did say the words that were more than just 'blunt' in his opinion, the young Tully simply nodded, his expression only revealing a deep thoughtfulness that seemed to understand where her motivations were coming from. "Duty requires us to do some things beyond what we love, M'lady." He started as he shifted on his seat, leaning forward as if his interest was piqued by the very topic they were now broaching. "I am curious though, Lady Rhaelle, why would a Great House approach a family such as ours in such a difficult... endeavor?"

Biird: The minute changes in his features kept Rhaelle's white walker eyes on Lord Yuan's face. Being one that didn't so easily change her own features, she searched the faces of others for the minute not simply the distracting forefront of what they presented. Ceasing her near endless swirling a trait of thoughtfulness on her part, Rhaelle finally sipped her wine. She drank wine as much as she did water or the nectar of fruits, it often had a similar effect as the others; that is to say none. Her mood needed to be open and boisterous for wine to take affect on her. The goblet hung from her fingers now, as her arm rested on the chair and she sat back listening to the lordling speak. He had a steady, easy rhythm with which he spoke, easy on the ears. A small smile broached her lips while he spoke of mothers and a look of reminisce crossed those rarely changed features. Matching his movements, Rhaelle sat up from her slouched, barely ladylike posture, putting her goblet down on the table top, and resting on gauntlet covered forearms. "My endeavor isn't so much about Great or lower houses as it is about stability and peace. What's the use of trimming only one side of the shrub, leaving the other side wild and mangled? Despite three hundred years of hardships, your house still holds it's head high, gentle, duty bound and honorable. Those of are the traits a good king would foster possibly even reward, no matter where the house sits."

KeiichiroTsukishima: Perhaps to anyone else, it seemed as if the too were speaking of things that only pertained to camaraderie. To be fair, Yuan thought that the woman seemed to be at par with him when it came to hiding emotions and thoughts in every expression that was made. It was a hard way to live, honestly, but feelings weren't liberties that the likes of them had any privilege of taking advantage of. "The reason why I asked is not about your intentions of the greater picture, Lady Rhaelle." He replied as she gave a different answer to what he intended to know. "I am very well aware of my families merits when it comes to the Riverlands and the unfair treatment has kept us grounded but proud of our accomplishments in those three hundred years." He smiled then, one that reached his eyes in a genuine fashion. "However, is it truly possible that one such as you would recognize the need for our service beyond the Freys?" The young Lord's expression turned darkly neutral at the mention of their family's liege lords. "It is not that the effort is not appreciated, Lady Rhaelle, but I'd rather that we're both on the same terms while we talk of our preferences." Was the Tully referring to something beyond the treasonous notion of their conversation? It would seem so. If anything, the neutrality of his words seem to hint at anger and dislike of his own liege.

Biird: "Quite." Rhaelle said flatly, addressing only his last inquiry. Her long fingers laced themselves together, the fingers of a fighter, baring many small white scars from this or that. Her finger tips completely painted red, bound in black rings, dots of red moving down to her knuckles. Whatever designs lay beyond that were covered by her armor. Wierwood makeup. A constant on her skin no matter the occasion. Often, all that was seen of it would have been the painted streaks around her eyes and the line down the center of her lower lip. Here in the capital where it was warm and sunny, more of her pale skin became bare to outside eyes. Since she couldn't very well dress in her usual fashion during the Harvest festival, she may as well be comfortable in the weather. A soft breeze brought a fresh scent of piss and shit when it should have brought the scent of the sea. Her eyes cut to the direction of the draft, the sight of the sea making her think of her cousin, her partner in this grand crime. She hadn't actually laid eyes on the man in over two years. Their last conversation had been a deep and pensive one, leaving no stone unturned and she found them to be similar of mind. Believing they shared the same ideals for what should and shouldn't be had been the reason she traveled far and wide for him, secure in the decisions she made on his behalf -- A conversation with Tully boy was no different. Rhaelle returned her steady gaze to his visage, her own having remained flat and empty. His less than apparent distaste for his liege lord hadn't gone unnoticed, but her distaste for them had been plain and easily within their presence upon their initial meeting. "A life for a life, as it were."

KeiichiroTsukishima: Family. Duty. Honor. Tempered by Wisdom and Strength. These were the words that he grew up with, a mantra that he now lived by. Yuan Tully was a man of fierce honor, young as he is, he believed that it is by this code that the Riverlands can flourish once more. History had proven how his family had thrived in circumstances that would've made other bitter, their fortitude bringing about a new meaning to being humble in pride. To those that paid apt attention, the tides seem to be changing, a direction which people can choose to ignore or partake in. The former was something that Yuan cannot find himself doing, especially with his blood ringing true to the honor that their family holds dear. If this was the opportunity that his family had been waiting for generations to have, then it would be a disgrace to simply say no out of playing safe... it was plain cowardice. When she said the words that he hoped she would, Yuan's gaze would seem to brighten for a moment, an unprecedented reaction that was soon neutralized into a politically blank countenance. He couldn't afford to show much excitement but his words couldn't ring more true. "Then let that life be worth what can be gained." He paused as he heard the thud of his heartbeat ringing in his ears, unable to help but want to speak with his father about this for there were so many opportunities that will open for them if he played his cards right. To be fair, the Tully patriarch might think him brash but, he knew his father, he would understand. "In light of what can be achieved, Lady Rhaelle, it will be the highest of honors to be of service to your cause." He smiled then, gaze level with hers. "A life for a life, as it were."

Biird: Rhaelle's brow twitched upward, clocking the brightness of their shared understanding of this treacherous endeavor. A smug almost dreamlike half smile poised her lips as she sat up straight, a much more ladylike posture, brushing her fingers through her dark hair. Lifting her goblet from the table, she raised it in a silent toast merely tipping her cup to his final words before taking a sip. Each time she broached this subject with a family there was always that feeling of trepidation. At any point she could have made a misstep in her dealings and in at any point in the future there would still be some weaseled way for these people to turn on her, her family. For the time being, with the closing of each deal in good faith it always felt good. It felt good to know that despite the tyranny and madness of the current king and the similar kings before him, there were still those that sought peace and prosperity above war and gold, or at least appeared so. Though her family line was known for it's ability to bring war, this was not a trait Rhaelle ready shared. Even her mother, a Stark woman, had been ready to bring war with true Baratheon fury behind her. Rhaelle held that same fury deep within her but she much like her father, a man who's fury was often solely focused on his annoyance and nothing more. War killed so many. It took so many from their homes and families. While she could not control the ripple of a stone set to water, she could choose the size of the stone. The coup had been her choosing of a smooth river pebble over her mothers boulder coming down the hill. Small, precise, affecting as few families as possible -- taking as few lives as possible. Rhaelle rose from her chair, polishing off a good bit of her wine before putting the goblet down. She flicked her thumb against the corner of her mouth, while motioning to the room with her other hand. "I do not wish to be rude, Lord Yuan, but now I must go find my brother and my son. It has been quite for far too long. I'm sure you have quite a bit to discuss with your lord father." Rhaelle moved into her now clean room. Her ladies were scattered about polishing this or sewing that, some humming to themselves. Her guards stood by open doors. This sight caused her head to tilt for a moment before she turned back to the young Tully lord. "You may tell him, all that I ask is that you hold the door. You may or may not remember, but some of out grandest, yet quietest songs sung of heroes are of the ones that simply hold the door."

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Biird: Once Rhaegar was completely asleep, evident by his release of her fingers allowing his mother to move away, Rhaelle traveled back into the small greeting area in the front of her quarters. Her brother was sitting in a chair, idly playing with the stag head pommel of their father's sword, no doubt a gift from their adoring mother. Sweet thoughts of their parents didn't stop Rhaelle's charge. She gripped the legs of his chair, poised in a sturdy squat and ripped it from the floor, tossing her brother out of the seat. The chair traveled across the room, flung aside like a piece of useless parchment as she stood over her youngest brother, reaching for his tunic.

"Tell me," Rhaelle started through gritted teeth,"what possible reason could you have had to flee the Reach in the sudden, unannounced and suspicious presence of our exiled cousin?"

Brute: Whatever light daze he was in while brushing his fingers over his newly gifted long sword was soon brought to an end as he looked up and was finally face to face with his elder sister yet again, though before even a single second passed she squatted and gripped the chair before pulling it away in a fashion far quicker than most men could; considering the size and weight of the male sitting on the chair. Azaroth as probably calculated by his sister landed on the hard ground with a thud, the leather of his pants and his ass being the only thing to soften the landing but even then it didn’t soften it that much. It wasn’t like he was unaware of her unnatural strength infact he was all too aware of it with the way she swung their ancestors war hammer like it was a simple piece of well-made steel. His eyes narrowed to her as she stepped over his form and looked down at him, if he didn’t know any better he’d think his nephew was right, that would infact be the first and last time he’d get to see him, she was pissed, beyond pissed, she was livid and it showed not only through her stare or the fact that she was indeed looking down on him and reaching for his tunic but her words broke through gritted teeth and he could do was answer as her fingers wrapped his leather clothing; he wouldn’t hide away from a punishment he no doubt deserved.

“The night of my Knighthood ceremony Odessa and I kissed, there was nothing more to it at the time than that but a few weeks later Dante showed up with her in the courtyard and she was privy to our conversation, he asked me what I thought of the Reach and in turn I told him about my experiences there and also what had happened between Odessa and myself. Needless to say she was shocked that I’d share that information, I wasn’t completely sure why it was so important at the time but now I realise it was because she thought it would hinder her path to the Throne…Though I dare say even if I had known she would be the future Queen of the Realm I would still have told our cousin the truth. After that conversation finished they went one way and I the other, and my way took me far out of the reach of the prickly thorns. After I got home mother explained things to me and told me what I should have known from the beginning, though it’s simply too late now to go back and change things, I apologise for my fuck up.”

Biird: Rhaelle had a firm hold on her little brother's tunic, watching his features as he spoke the same truth he'd spoken in the Reach as to why he was no longer where he should have been. The more he spoke the more steam started to coil from her ears and her grip tightened on his shirt. With a flex of her bicep she pulled him closer, but it was subconscious. The shake she gave him was not.

"That idiot." She growled, her eyes averted to the side as Dante's visage appeared in her mind. Then her cold White Walker like stare returned to her brother,"You IDIOT." She growled again, pushed him back to the floor and stepping away.

Pacing for a moments, The Beast of Storm's End whirled on her brother once more. "You fool. Do not ever do something so damned foolish and cowardly ever again! Leaving a land for speaking the truth. I should kill you where you stand." She turned then, speaking more to herself than her brother,"I sent him to find a bride with the wealthiest and neediest region of all but you should have been by his side for the entirety of the journey. Who knows what that common minded twit has done or what he's allowed that little rose bush to convince him to do. No matter. They should be arriving any day now. If he was set to wed it means they are indeed ready, willing and able."

Calmer now, she turned back to her brother, pushing a side of her hair behind her ear which had stripes of red across it. "Go to bed, Azaroth. Between now and the time those flowery fools arrive, do try not to run off."

Brute: The more words left his mouth the tighter her grip on his tunic became, to the point where she was pulling him closer to her form and as she did she spoke of how he was an idiot, words he was glad to hear because before that he had images of her devouring him, the Beast of Storm’s End trampling over a younger Stag.

Thankfully seconds later she pushed him back to the floor and stepped away, ha, he had survived the calamity that was his sister’s wrath and for that he’d thank the Storm God herself when he had a moments time by himself. Standing up and dusting off his own ass his eerily supernatural bright blue hues followed her pacing movements as she started speaking again, those this time it wasn’t aimed towards him but that of his cousin and his plucked wife. When she turned and instructed him to go to bed he stepped forward rather than retreating from her chambers, he needed answers about just what exactly was going on, sure he knew the idea as a whole but he had no inkling of the finer details; perhaps that was how his sister had wanted it all along.

“Been riding for three days straight on that stubborn beast of a horse, I am far from tired, sister. I would take council about our mother’s plan for me, or perhaps it was part of your overall idea, she mentioned staying in his corner at all times but did not go into further details about that, or about any of this. Do you intend on sharing your scheme with me or has our time apart and my actions put me at the opposite end of your trust?”

To her comment about him not running off again he simply did not reply, he needed no further telling regarding that as it had already been hammered into his mind by his mother what a horrid mistake he had made, not to mention the way he would probably be perceived by those who knew of the situation, luckily though due to where it took place and with who it concerned, other than his family and the Tyrells, there would be little to no one speaking of such a thing.

Biird: When her brother didn't take his leave but instead opted to fish for more information, Rhaelle folded her arms and watched him while he spoke. Her initial rage had subsided almost as quickly as it came, but that was usually the case. She was an advocate of violence for that very reason. The moment she released her rage on the source of the anger there was no more anger to be had.

"To be on the opposite end of my trust, dear brother, is to be dead or in exile of my presence. Do not find yourself there for I would quicker kill you than leave you in exile." Her matter of fact tone had returned along side her placid features. Motioning to the chair she'd thrown, Rhaelle bid her brother to pick it up and set it beside the small table where it's match to the set sat. With a clap of her hands, the tray presented for her midnight snack was laid upon the table between them and Rhaelle sat down, dismissing her maids for the night.

"Our mother spoke with me some years ago about about the increasing madness of our wonderful cousin Alexander. She wished to march on the capital and rip the little weasel from his throne," She paused and poured them both goblets of wine, swirling her own as she went on,"and our people are made for it. They are ready for it. They would fight and die for it if Kainen only nodded to the idea, but what of the others? Of the small folk, the servants, the innocents?" As the question that needed no answer lingered in the air, Rhaelle drank. "So I submitted another idea. Of course, Dante was always part of the plan as he is Alexander's brother and rightful heir after the fact. He is not a battle worn man, I doubt he knows the difference between good armor and shit. What use would it be to fight and die trying to keep him alive throughout an entire war and during such a wonderful harvest. War over festivities? How dull."

Rhaelle emptied her goblet into her gut then turned to face her brother fully, leaning on the table. "We will fight, brother. That is our way. Our fury will accept nothing else. That, however, is no reason not to evolve. Our fight will be with those we quarrel and the causalities will be minimal." Sitting up she refilled her glass as she went on. "You were meant to keep out cousin company. Stags run in herds. It is when we are singled out that we are vulnerable. Not so much as a plucked flower, but our strength is heavy in our numbers. though it doesn't so much matter at the moment. What is done is done. Dante will rise as his brother falls and we will see to it."

Treason. Rhaelle spoke openly and bluntly of treason, but there would be no one save those that already knew her plans and her brother to hear. They were not near enough to the thick wood doors for her flat, mild voice to carry beyond. If they had for any reason, the two men stationed there would have quickly and with out hesitation killed any passerby to over hear. Within her room she never allowed any of the castle residents. She had her own maids, servants and ladies, all of whom were instructed, trained, and diligent in removing any foreign body from her chambers whether she be present or not. Even if the Lady Baratheon had not come to kill her cousin the process would have remained the same for the safety of her son.  

Brute: On the receiving end of her matter of fact tone was somewhere Azaroth had been plenty of times in the past, even when she continued speaking about rather seeing him dead than exiled he knew her words, though harsh as they may have seemed, came from a place of love; her own version of it perhaps. As he went about picking up the chair she had launched from its original place in the room he started to wonder whether he could say what she had and mean it, he knew very well if it came down to it and it was for the benefit of the people that his sister would sacrifice himself, his elder brother, even the future king or her own son if she had to; it was the kind of person she was, that was her resolve and to Azaroth it was unmatched.

As her next words about their mother’s idea broke through his ears he reached out for the wine she had poured and held it within a single hand, thumb brushing over the goblet as he listened to her further sentences until she had finished speaking of their insane cousin and the war that wasn’t needed. His eyes narrowed as words rearranged themselves in his head the way she spoke and when she finished, her sentence left him feeling all too curious about just how long she had been planning this take over, to what extremes had she gone to ensure this was when it would happen, that this festival would indeed be host to the death of Alexander. Her skills in planning and seeing through said plan till the end made Azaroth’s impression of his sister go to further heights than ever before, clearly she was playing a whole other game while nobles scattered trying to play musical chairs all to sit their asses on the most uncomfortable chair of all.

He watched her empty her own goblet before he had even taken a drink of his own wine. He was stunned in that moment, impressed beyond belief and it would be a lie to say there wasn’t some part of him that felt a certain fear in knowing the full extent of his sisters foresight. Had it been a gift given to her by the Storm God herself? It certainly didn’t seem like a family trait, at least not one he shared with her.

His face scrunched up lightly as she began speaking once more, eye brows narrowing and his mind going deeper into thoughts of the previous days past and weeks. His mother had recently spoken to him about evolving, pushing the Stormlands into the future and making them more capable than ever before, surely she had the right idea that Rhaelle was the perfect person to do that, if only there had been a P where she had a V, then perhaps his sister would have led the Stormborn to a place even their descendants, the Targaryens, couldn’t even dream of. Should he ask her advice? Should he bring up what his mother had spoken to him about, ushering in a new way for the Stormlands, or was this his burden to bear alone?

Fury she called it, the blood that ran through each Baratheon child was fueled by it, strengthened because of it and eventually every Baratheon gave into it. Such as the old tales of monsters feeding on blood and needing it to survive or those of beasts who got stronger by the pale moon light so to where the Baratheon’s bonded to rage and fury, something the young Stag wanted nothing to do with and tried to keep it chained down deep inside himself; but the slumbering beast always woke up, and unlike his sister feeding her beast a healthy dose of anger on the regular, Azaroth’s was all but starved and feral. He could count on a single hand the number of times he had gotten angry in the past seven years, and one of those times had literally brought him to his back in front of flames so hot they burned far more than the edges of his leather tunic. Her dismissal of him had infuriated the Stag so much so that he actually lashed out on the foundation of an old barn, but he quickly reined it in back then, and it would be the last time he would allow himself to feel that particular kind of anger.

As Rhaelle continued to lean forward on the table Azaroth shifted position in the chair, planting down the goblet of wine as he looked to his sisters face, scanning it as treason lingered in the air, the promise of a dead king soon to be fulfilled. “And what is to happen when Dante takes the throne alongside his new queen? We return to Storm’s End and hope the pretty flowers of the Reach do not extend to the hand or neck of the King? I do not know our cousin as well as you do, sister. Though I suspect you wouldn’t place him on the throne if you didn’t think he was capable of dealing of it, much less match him with the Tyrells. But I do know the Reach, I have a good idea of how far their influence was before this link and I imagine it’ll grow all the more after it, and when that time comes I fear for you. I fear their knowledge of what you are capable of, and I fear what measures we will go to when the day comes that your actions come back to haunt you.” Of course the fear he was speaking about wasn’t the general kind, it would have been clear to the one person who knew him most that the fear he spoke of was internal and linked to the fury in his blood, it was simply a fear of who he would become if someone was to harm one that he loved, of what he would become.

Biird: Her brother’s fear of flowers would have been amusing if it hadn’t been slightly disturbing. Rhaelle let her eyes pass over him. He was relatively unscathed from what she could see.  Reaching across the table, her fingers split the line of his tunic and ripped it open to reveal his chest. She gripped the corner of his top and pulled it down over his shoulders, forcefully shifting him in his chair to see his back before releasing him. She knew for a fact that Azaroth had never been beaten or manhandled during his time in the Reach, not beyond what took place in during training or his few patrols. She knew this because she’d spent time in the Reach all trussed up in armor with gold roses and a helm to hide her eyes. Xara had dyed her hair blond and tinted her skin. Leave her brother alone to the Tyrells? Never.

Nearly two years of her life had been spent on the back roads of Westeros, moving from region to region surveying the noble houses and more importantly how their small folk felt about them. These opinions were the ones that made or broke her intentions to speak with certain people about a very nefarious plan. As it turns out, Rhaelle spoke with very few people.  The knowledge of her presence in their regions was few and far between, often only coming about when she saw fit to approach a noble, or if by some minor glance of the few people that had seen those eerie blue eyes before. Not that glimpsing her presence, free of the normal noble company, was something strange or suspicious. Rhaelle was known for traveling like a hedge knight and traveling often.

In her mild adventures, she’d also had time to view the little Swan of Highgarden. Petite like her mother with her long chestnut brown hair, she was poise and well read, always dressed to the nines. She was small, always trying to be a lady, bigger than she was, just like her sister Rhaenerys but that wasn’t why she was chosen for Dante. No, it was the conversations Rhaelle had been privy to masquerading as her guard. Odessa Tyrell had a head for politics. She spoke well and plainly when needed. Her beauty commanded grand audiences but it was her mind that kept it. Above all, it was easy to tell that she knew what she wanted – to climb. Dante was at the top of the ladder, though Rhaelle had a snaking feeling if she’d enlisted Odessa to marry and murder the mad king the girl would have done so with a smile on her face. It would have been a much simpler plan than what had to take place now, but the Reach had been the last on her list. They were rich and powerful and calculating. They could be a great assets or a great risk, so Rhaelle could slightly understand her brother’s fear.

Soft rustling came from the room and soon a small figure shuffled across the stone floor and crawled into his mother’s lap, rubbing sleepy half open eyes. Rhaegar swaddled himself in the fabric of his mother’s over skirts and rolled into her body. “Mother, is my new uncle still alive?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Will I like him?”

“I suspect you will.”

Rhaegar made a small murmuring sound that quickly became soft snores. Idly, Rhaelle undid his braid and combed her fingers through his hair. “Dante has been isolated for a long time. Ruling a kingdom, despite how many may see it, is not something that should be done alone. Dante will need men he can trust, he will be surrounded by many he cannot. He will need honest counsel, however, most of all, now more than ever, Dante needs family. Something he has never had before and he cannot fall prey to the delusion that he has only what he has married into.”

Rhaelle rose then with Rhaegar in her arms, his white blonde hair covering his face in soft waves from being braided. He rested in the crook of her arm, still saddled in her clothes; the body suit underneath keeping her decent as she mused over her son’s sleeping form, gently brushing back his hair. After a few paces, bouncing Rhaegar’s dead weight in her arms, she looked up at her brother. “You need sleep as well, brother; we have many long days ahead of us.”

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Olena: [/size=11px]The carriages finally arrived in the capital city of Kings Landing after what had been a near two-week journey from Highgarden. Guards holding up the green banners bearing the golden rose sigil surrounded them, and gave signal for the crowds to part for the Great Westerosi house contained therein. Little serving boys and girls sat atop the conveyances and threw golden rose petals and loaves of bread into the crowds. Bards with lutes and lyres rode on horses between each, strumming and singing in sync to songs from their native region, both to amuse the family and the crowd. Had they been in the Reach, Odessa would have gladly hung her torso out the window to wave to onlookers and blow flirtatious kisses to those who would scream with excitement; however, the people here were not the people in the Reach. She had no desire to be snatched from the carriage by a lucky hand, and not to mention her head was swimming from the pungent odor.

The carriage drivers were careful to not drive too closely to the windows of the buildings nearby, because the people there were noted for throwing their chamber pots out onto the streets due to lack of proper sewage disposal. Odessa had never ventured to the capital, given her age she was only recently old enough to be introduced at court officially, and given the current king her family had never been keen on the idea of taking any of their children to visit. Therefore, they were very-much accustomed to life in the Reach: the cleanliness, the beautiful people, and the general air of safety. This king had distanced himself so far from his people, just as Kings past, and therefore they had withdrawn from him and his nobles. This, and the smell, would have to be remedied. Dante’s image and that of House Tyrell to the smallfolk were essential to a peaceful and prosperous rule. Was she as brave as Margaery to venture out among them to gain their trust? Only time would tell.

It was not to say that the people were completely unhappy there, but perhaps they had just accepted such low-living, murdering, and thievery as the way things were. Plenty seemed pleased enough with the ongoing festival and the many carnivals sprouting up throughout the city, but she had no doubt that someone such as herself would be trampled, raped, and robbed without a squad of guards to instill a healthy fear of her person. That was how Alexander controlled them, and that was the only way he had not yet been knocked down from his perch—fear. He was a force to be reckoned with, no arguments there. Say what you will of him, but the only person who stood a realistic chance of overthrowing this mad king was his younger brother. People were too afraid to step up and demand justice for themselves, even the Great Lords with their grand armies, someone who was more afraid of Alexander would be called upon to raise their own army to counter the attack. Not to mention the royal forces were undyingly loyal to the royal family; therefore, a member of said family was the only outlet to be used.

Before long, the wagon departed from the cobblestone streets and reached the smoother surface of the entrance to the Red Keep. Trumpets sounded and announced the arrival, “Welcome The Most Honorable, Lord Juilian of House Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Mander, High Marshall of the Reach, Warden of the South, Defender of the Marches, and Lord of Highgarden to The Red Keep, the royal palace of His Grace, Alexander of the House Baratheon, the first of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Another herald would race inside to inform anyone of import of their arrival, namely the king. Their guards would be stripped of their weapons as servants rushed out to remove the luggage and take it to the family’s respective chambers. A valet stepped forward to take the Lady Odessa’s hand, helping her down from the carriage, and thus she, followed by her ladies unloaded, relishing the opportunity to finally stretch their legs. Thankfully, the castle was situated just far enough from the city streets that breezes from the infamous Blackwater Bay were enough to keep the smell out, as she did not wish to vomit onto the boots of a goldcloak her first time there.

The servants struggled to remove the heavy load from the back of Odessa’s carriage, and thus her mother ventured over to smooth out the situation before they could flip the crate over and send her son-in-law rolling across the enclosure, signaling the strong men who had been charged with the task before to do so once again. She pushed a curl back from her the side of her daughter’s face, placing it behind her ear. “The swan of Highgarden wishes to bestow a special gift upon the king at the welcoming ceremony, these men are perhaps better equipped to carry such…precious cargo inside. To the lady’s chambers, if you will.” Another man stepped forward, holding up a hand to the men. “We should inspect any such items before they be bestowed upon the king, to ensure his Grace’s safety.” The child inside Odessa’s belly seemed to lodge itself against its mother’s spleen, perhaps displaying the horror that she herself could not outwardly express in that moment. “It is an item blessed by the Septon of the Starry Sept in Oldtown himself, you will do no such thing! Lady Mother, you cannot let them sully such a sacred item with their common hands! I would have only our most blessed and gracious king himself inspect so fine a prize.” Davena pulled her into her bosom, patting the back of her head, “Now, now dear, these men shall have to answer to the Seven for such a discrepancy.  I should only hate to see his Grace’s reaction to their violation of his reward. He’ll likely have them placed in the stocks and beaten until they are dead.” The man knew well the extent of Alexander’s….extremeness, and he did not wish to make an enemy within a great house. None had ever been realistically so infatuated with the idea of the terror that was king, but such devotion to the gods was known to be common in the Reach—clearly a fanatic. Then again, what else did noble ladies have to occupy their time with other than sewing and religious devotion? “Very well, I meant no offense my lady.”

As they walked forward, Odessa practically chirped with happiness. “Oh! How delightful! Bless you! Bless you!” She rushed over towards Julian, who was moving towards the doors, wrapping an arm about her shoulders “LordFather, would you join me in prayers once we arrive in our chambers?” The two, swarmed with their companions and other family members, made their way inside the keep, but Davena remained by the man who spoke before. “You must pardon our daughter’s…devotion. We had to practically order her not to join the convent in Oldtown as a septa to the Maiden. She is most…pure. Her regard for His Grace is of the utmost admiration, considering him a truly…holy man.” It almost pained her to say the words, but she kept her cool. “Do tell his Grace, should you find the time. You would meet with Lord Tyrell’s extreme displeasure should any violate an item valued so greatly by the Lady Odessa. It is meant for him on the day when all the nobles are presented before the king to swear their fealty.” The man clapped his hand to his chest, “As you will, My Lady.” She offered him a wicked smile and made her way back over to her company.[/size]

Judge: Taking no risk with his life, the guard charged with inspecting all parcels directed toward the king tried to be subtle as he exited the presence of the arriving nobles. It was only a matter of moments that he was out of sight and made haste toward his king. At this time of the morning Alexander could usually be found in his chambers or the great hall. With the festival in full swing few audiences were given and before that the grievances of the people were often met by his chosen person in charge that day rather than himself directly. The guard, faithful to his king even to this fault, was allowed into the room while the man was being dressed. He bowed low. “Your Grace. The Tyrells have just arrived. They carry a supposedly sacred and holy gift for you. There was a quite the commotion by the young Tyrell girl and mother when we tried to inspect it.”

Alexander ripped an arm free of the seamstress trying to correct the length of his sleeve with such force it sent her toppling to the ground and started to play with the length of his dark hair. His eyes lit up at the prospect of the Tyrells’ arrival in King’s Landing. The stories of the beauty of Odessa Tyrell thoroughly intrigued him. He had longed to judge her beauty for himself for quite some time and of course the suggestion that he would finally have good reason to do so by making the capital the focal point of the Harvest Festival had been a winning one. Yes, his brutish cousin did know how to get her way. He had been on the cusp of his patience awaiting the arrival of House Tyrell and now they were here and with gifts no less. He expected nothing less from the house that liked to tempt his wrath with their boldness and pomp. Truth be told, the only gift he really wanted from the house was sound of Odessa’s screams as he ripped her virtue from her.

Returning to reality a moment from his dark day dreams, the king hissed at his seamstress as she gathered herself from the floor. “What do you think you’re doing woman? Do you want your head on a spike? FINISH THIS.” His arm was back out as though it had never left but soon he would discard the entire ensemble and spend a good rest of his morning finding the perfect one with which to present himself to Odessa Tyrell.

Meanwhile, his brother sat in a trunk – a gift of brother to brother from his “brutish” cousin, you know, the one that knows how to get her way. Dante’s journey from Bitterbridge may as well have been in the trunk the entire time. He and Odessa shared few words after she had awaken in her cold sweat and blurted out news they were both already suspecting of. For the rest of the journey his stomach was in knots. All he could really focus on was getting to King’s Landing in one piece and speaking with his cousin. This had been her grand plan after all maybe she could soothe his nerves. Nerves he hadn’t felt in such force since meeting Odessa.

He’s sat inside the trunk listening to Odessa and her mother con the guards out of opening his cage. Had he been on the other side of the trunk, even with having spent these last two weeks with the woman, he would have believed her tale. She was quite the little actress. It was the most gumption he’d heard from her since their meeting. The personality she’d presented to him was demure but calculating, self-preserving so she didn’t have to be afraid; she had a plan. Dante didn’t have a plan, he knew the plan and that was about it. He’d already been informed that past a certain point he would need to “be a man” and though he would never be alone, he would be introduced to a kind of loneliness only a king knew. To this day he wasn’t sure if the speech was meant to inspire hope or fear or both, so he’d held on to the idea that he would never have to be ripped from his family again.

Family. The entirety of the travel his mind bounced from loss of family to the sudden and joyous gain of it. He would be able to tell Rhaelle soon that he would be a father and write his aunt Eirlys. The idea of a child, whose sex was unimportant to him, growing in Odessa sharing his genes, was almost enough to overshadow the solemn prospect of what he had to do and how soon it would come about. With each flip of his stomach, each time the knot turned, Dante went from happy to dread and back again. By the time they’d gotten to Odessa’s room and latch of his trunk was free, he went straight to the nearest chamber pot and brought up everything in his stomach.

Olena:      The Tyrells gathered before the shrines of The Seven arranged in their private chapel, bowing their heads in prayer, as per Odessa’s previously stated wish to her lord father. Meanwhile, their luggage was unloaded from the carriages into their respective chambers, the young lady’s sacred trunk handled with the utmost care. As usual, the Tyrells brought their own servants and guards to cater to their needs, not wanting their affairs handled externally even under the best of administration, but particularly not when the king’s banished brother was hidden in a crate in their apartments. The staff had been alerted to the situation, and the threat to all their livelihoods back in the Reach had been issued. The Dowager Lady Paramount and the younger two Tyrell sons had been left behind to ensure proper retribution was paid given the rest did not return in a timely fashion.
   
    Once their moment of devotion to the gods was complete, Odessa and her ladies promptly made their way to her rooms, lead by their own guards. They’d cross the receiving chamber to her bedroom, and then to the large wardrobe, which was another room in of itself. There a bed had been made up, typically for the chief handmaiden, who was Mistress of the Robes, but Arylsse would be joining Odessa in her bed for the time being. The visage of her secret husband retching into the chamber pot would typically give her the need to do so herself, but she had been doing so with such a frequency as of late that she was numb to it. She simply walked over to the dresser, pouring water from a pitcher into a small basin and then dipping a strip of linen in it. Quickly as she could, she made her way over to him, kneeling down beside him and patting him on the back to help up heave any remnants, and moving the cloth to wipe across his lips. “There, there.”

    In part, she knew not whether his sudden nausea was from being hung-over, claustrophobic, or if the stench of the city was affecting him as it had her; however, she knew it would pass as quickly as it had come. The ladies had already gone to fetch some bread and cheese to soak up any toxins left inside him. Meanwhile, as she remained kneeling beside him her thoughts drifted back to the poor urchins and other disheveled citizens that were scattered across King’s Landing. She was quite sure she had witnessed at least two murders as they had passed through the city streets, not to mention all the commotion that followed as the young serving boys threw bread from the top of the carriages. The people were not being seen to, and there was no control. They didn’t act out against the nobility, as far as they could tell, but they certainly didn’t celebrate their arrival as they would have in the Reach. “What plans would you have for your people, as king? Did you see them Dante? It was awful. The fountains were not flowing. The streets are overrun with crime and shit. Not to mention, it would seem as though there is little love born for the nobles of the land. Your brother is poison.”

Judge: Emptying his stomach into the chamber pot didn’t stop or even quiet the feel of nausea. Dante turned and sat on the floor, with his back to the wooden seat built around the chamber pot, resting one arm against an updrawn knee. His eyes had been closed when Odessa’s hand brushed wet linen across his mouth and her voice filled his ears. He reached up and took her by the wrist moving her hand from his face as he opened his eyes to look upon her face. It seemed even her presence didn’t have its usual strength. Not even Odessa could cause the uneasiness of being in the capital to fade away.

He released her hand, letting his own fall across his stomach as he listened to her speak of the travel through the city. The smell had been the only thing to reach him other the sounds. His head had been down so that he could sit up somewhat, his eyes closed. This would be his first time back to the city since his exile. Even crossing the Crownlands to reach Highgarden, he’d avidly avoided the capital. From Odessa’s accounts the violence and chaos had grown. Even in the richer parishes around the Red Keep and along the main roads taken by nobles to reach the keep itself, the stench had stretched and the wildness of its people was reaching a breaking point. With no care or sympathy from noble too afraid to do anything but follow his brother like dogs, it was understandable that the smallfolk were suffering.

He’d spoken of this risk to the noble families when Rhaelle revealed her plan to have them all gather centrally. She, in turn, express absolutely no care for people she said were well able to arm and protect themselves. Most people only cared about the nobles and their safety. Dante liked to believe he cared about everyone, but his cousin made no bones about not caring for certain people in certain situations and especially not caring for people who had the means to care for themselves noble or not. He wondered if that was something she was capable of pulling off at a noble level until it dawned on him that she’d set a precedent for his rule by simply choosing him. Dante was the brother of the current reigning king, if anyone were to succeed Alexander it should have been him, and yet there were times when he was sure his cousin had told him albeit in around about fashion that if she didn’t think he was good candidate for the job she’d have killed him too.  Her resolve and matter of factness was somewhat frightening. In three weeks of knowing Odessa he’d seen flashes of a similar resolve.

“I know.” He said finally, barely speaking above a husky whisper. “I do not have any plans for the capital or even Westeros. I have no idea what my brother has been doing. Until I know that, as much as I can know, then I cannot say for certain what I will do or where I will start.” Reaching up, he pulled his hair free of his topknot and rubbed his scalp in an effort to alleviate an oncoming headache. He would just have to get used to this sinking feeling in his gut, sure it wouldn’t leave him until the deed was done. “I will rid this place of the smell for you, of that I am certain. I will replace it with something to remind you of home.”

Olena: She ran her fingers through his hair as it fell from the notch, moving her hand as to cup his chin. “Then you must begin, lest those in power at court swoop in to manipulate us to continue on with this madness. The people do not know the royal family, but they fear it. The gold cloaks instill a sense of terror, not security as is their intended purpose. We must slowly work to gain their trust. As for the smell, a committee should be set in place to create an irrigation system to allow for better sewage disposal. Not to mention, wells should be dug in more places to grant better access to fresh water, granted the ground has not absorbed the filth from above.” Unlike her husband, she had not been so cut off from society. She had simply been fortunate enough to have been born in The Reach, where the effects of the mad king were not as difficult to deflect. “Your brother’s reign has been like that of a boulder placed upon a strong man, from what I hear. Not enough to kill him, but more than enough to weaken his core. Only the limbs sticking out from beneath have been strong enough to maintain a level of resistance, that or they were far enough away to not feel the boulder’s crushing weight. However, when the life leaves the man in the middle, it follows from the extremities, even if they fidget for a moment from nervous impulse.”  

She stood back to her full height, walking across the room to wring out the cloth. “You must remove this burden from Westeros, my love. She cannot bear it much longer. My family shall aide you in any way we possibly can, but you must work to build up your center. Of course, there are pressing issues abroad, but a whole cannot function without its heart beating at a steady rate. You will need to rely now upon the Lords Paramount to help usher in this new regime to their respective regions while you restore the crownlands to their former glory. Make this a safe place for our family—the new royal family.” Her hand went to rest over her lower abdomen. Ayrlsse knocked quickly at the door and brought in the tray with food and drink, sipping the wine and biting into the bread before placing it on the table and departing in silence. Odessa filled a goblet and took a square of the bread back over to him, kneeling before him once more. “Here,” she held it out for him to take. “You must begin to weigh out possibilities before you take control. Once in office you may then weigh out what will work and what will not....I pray my counsel does not offend? I should only wish to help and not see you bear the burden alone."

Judge: Feeling her fingers moving through his hair, Dante looked up at Odessa. She held his chin the way his Lady Aunt did when she was about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. Already his wife was ready to be a mother, but he didn’t want her to be his mother and he didn’t much feel like being coddled. Gently, he took her hand from his face and nodded. Odessa new more about politics than he and in some ways, the ways that would matter now that he was here should he survive this, she knew more about the world than he did. So long as they always got along and shared the same vision, their differences, he hoped, would always be to the benefit of the realm.

He didn’t speak after she stood, letting her words rattle around in his head as he watched the movement in the room. Never again would be able to eat his own food without a taster. Why anyone would want this life he couldn’t know or fathom. His hand covered Odessa’s and the bread but he didn’t take it. “You do not know me that well but I do not offend easily. I will always want your counsel, whether I follow it or not. You will be the mother of my children. Many other may come and go with their counsel but I hope you will always remain.”  Though he should have continued to speak politics with her, he didn’t care for it. There would be time enough for that. His entire life would be filled with it from that point on; every singled damned day. “Tell me something about you. Not about your family or the Reach, just you.”

Olena: She didn’t take offense when he moved her hand from his face, understanding that he was a grown man and wished to be treated as such; however, it displeased her to see him in this state of being. Her small hand pulled from beneath his, popping the bread past her plump pink lips. She needed a moment to contemplate her response to his question. Typically she was in the company of those who already knew everything there was to know about her, and despite the intimacy that had been shared between them, but he was right—they hardly knew one another. She knew what everyone else knew of the forgotten prince, banished to the island of Dragonstone and left to rot by his brother. Beyond that? Precious little. “Well…I speak High Valyrian and some dialects of the Low. I know how to sew,   I have been riding horses since I could walk, side saddle of course, and…”a child-like grin crossed her countenance, her voice dropping to a more hushed whisper, “I can fit three whole lemon cakes in my mouth; although, if you ever dare tell my mother I’ll brand you a liar.”

Judge: Dante gripped the bread as she released it and put it down. He wasn’t hungry and probably wouldn’t be for a long while. Instead he just watched her perfect little mouth as she ate then as she spoke. He could read Valyrian but there had never been anyone to speak it with. Side saddle riding always seemed extremely uncomfortable. A slight smile started to break his lips when she leaned in and her gold-green eyes lit up with child-like delight but it faded as her speech ended. He could have made a stupid comment there meant to be funny but it hadn’t gone over so well last time, so he kept silent. Looking down at the bread in his hand, Dante held it out for her to continue to pick at. “Tell me more.”

Olena: She pulled another small chunk from the piece of a loaf that was now in his hand, as a means to ease her mild hunger, washing it down with a sip from the goblet. The ass. If he hadn’t looked so ill she’d have insisted on gaining some tidbit from him in return, but it was her nature to comfort those in need, within reason. “Hmmmmm, oh! I nearly became a septa, in service of The Maiden.” As the ‘Swan of Highgarden,’ or sometimes the ‘siren,’ she was often revered as somewhat a sex symbol, not so much a saint. Crowds fawned over her, and dozens of ballads were written to praise both her grace and the curves of her feminine body. This was not to say she was seen in the light of a harlot, but merely an image that inspired lust or passion with great ease. As a Tyrell, devotion to the Seven was inevitable, but to take up the cloth? Not so much. “I’d have sworn off the flesh and given up the life of leisure and decadence for a simple cell and habit, but my family decided my destiny lay elsewhere. Therefore, I accepted my fate as a lady…and committed to it whole-heartedly.” Her expression was not one of disappointment, but of acceptance and unbreakable duty.

Judge: As she spoke, he stood and gathered Odessa into the crook of his arm, holding the bread and her goblet in his free hand, then crossed the room to the bed. He was mindful not to pass before to many windows or the balcony doors so his large shadow wouldn't invite suspicion from the constant onlookers and spies around. Placing his Little Flower on the bed, Dante put down her bread and wine on the side table and sat near her feet. "So many men are glad your parents thought better not to let you become a septa. I had many a marriage proposal before you from lords I'm sure wanted to lead this very charge, but my cousin led me to you and I am glad she did. You are more than a beautiful face." Dante lay back on the bed and put his hands behind his head, keeping himself from touching Odessa, believing she didn't want to be mawed in her changing state. "What will you miss the most?"

Olena: She was confused when he carried her from the wardrobe into her grand bed chamber in the adjoining room, but then it dawned upon her that it had not dawned upon /him/ where he was going to be sleeping. When the pair exited, Odessa’s ladies scrambled to be sure that every curtain and every door was slammed shut to obscure any possible view of this great hulking man who clearly underestimated his own size. In order to get to this portion of her rooms one would first need to enter the Tyrell apartments past the gold cloaks, cross their join receiving chamber filled with the Rose guard, enter the doors to her personal receiving chamber, and then know which doors lead to her privy and which lead to her bedroom. Although this may seem difficult to some, anyone with any knowledge of the keep, or any other keep for that matter, would very easily be able to navigate. “The culture. Things are so different here. More rigid. Not to say things are not structured in my home, but life is slower and there are more personal freedoms. I do not know if you recall much before you went to Dragonstone about royal life, but once they anoint your head with oil your body is no longer your own. We shall belong to the state. The release of nobility and the gain of regality brings with it a price. While we shall be the highest and most revered in the land, nothing we shall ever do again will come without consequence. Childish mistakes are lost upon royalty.” She thought back to her kiss in the garden with his cousin Azaroth. Had she been the daughter of a king he’d have lost his head, and she’d have been completely ruined and have little option other than a religious life.

“Now,” she rose from the bed, taking his hand to lead him back to the very room from which they came, “in order for us to make it that far, you will need to remain hidden until the faithful day. Your chest was placed in the wardrobe for a reason. Typically, my chief lady in waiting, my cousin the Lady Arylsse would rest here, as she is in charge of my clothing; however, she shall be joining me in my bed to defend against any rumor of a mark upon my virtue while I am still considered ‘Lady Odessa Tyrell,’ and you, my love, shall sleep here.” It was a room of substantial size, less grand than her own bedchamber, but more so than the other ladies quarters. “After all, a king and queen do not share chambers. We shall both have our own set of apartments and households; although, we need only sleep apart when I am in confinement at the end of a pregnancy.”

Judge: Dante didn't know much about the culture of any region. Any noble his age would have known and first hand experienced the culture and climate of several if not all of the regions of the Westeros by now. Instead he only had knowledge of common life on Dragonstone and some of the culture of Pentos. How Odessa could say the culture of the Reach was relaxed he would never completely comprehend but he could defiantly agree that the air around King's Landing needed to change.

They hadn't been in the bed all of five minutes when Odessa hopped down and led him back to the small room that made him think of her room when she measured him. They brought him in there for a reason? What-- He frowned and folded his arms across his chest. It wasn't so much the size or location of the room bothered him or even that his feet were going to hang off of a bed made for a woman, no, it bothered him that Odessa was going to be across the room sleeping separately from him. "Who in seven hells is going be waltzing into your room in the middle of the night that I have to sleep here? Confinement? What confinement? Over my dead body."

Olena: The sound of laughter erupted from the bedchamber beside them, that of her ladies-in-waiting, both out of amusement to what their would-be king just said and as efforts to mask the sound of their conversation with that of the senseless and unimportant squabble of female prattling. My, how secluded was that island? Had he really been away from royal court THAT long? She’d have need of words with the maester of Dragonstone, as his teachings were lacking in certain regards. “Do you think that any one servant in the Tyrell household does not report back to someone? I assure you nine times out of ten it is directly to my Lady Mother, and the other one percent to some other member of the family. However, we are not in Highgarden anymore, we are in the Red Keep and be certain every man, woman, and child outside our walls is fully dedicated to the master of said keep—your brother the king. The nature of said dedication, be if of fear or lust for influence is of little consequence. It would take but a single glance of your lying beside me in bed from a maid coming to bring fresh linen to my household’s servants to have both our heads mounted on spikes, at the bare minimum.”

She then moved her hand to her belly, and made her way across the room to sit on the bed provided, which had ample room for one such as herself, but would be lacking somewhat for one of her husband’s stature. “All Highborn ladies typically spend the last three months of pregnancy confined to their chambers to prepare for birth and to be sure they are fully rested and kept away from any and all illness for both her sake and the baby’s. No men, save for a holy man, or perhaps a physician in an extreme case, are permitted into the room, which will become the birthing chamber. Only midwives, female servants, septas, and the woman’s ladies or female family. Once she goes into labor, the father and anyone else pertinent to knowing will be notified, and they are free to wait outside in the receiving rooms. When the child is born, someone is sent to fetch the father and give him the news as to whether or not the child and or mother survived, and the sex. Then, the child is taken to be given its name in the sept and anointed with seven different oils. Afterwards, when the mother is well-rested and recovered, she may return to court.”

Her golden orbs studied his expression and stance, arms crossed and feet planted so firmly on the ground. Such was the way things had been since the establishment of formal noble lords and ladies, certainly royalty. “Both our mothers endured the same, do not fret my love” she dared not speak his name aloud, “It is an age-old practice, and it simply ensures the safety of your family. I know it is not practical in the sense of a working lower class female, but consider what such a woman is exposed to and what her body endures on a regular basis. Most highborn women are kept away from such labors their entire lives and are thus far more…delicate and susceptible to sickness and fatigue. I am sure there are exceptions to this rule, but look at me. I am hardly one of them, and I fully accept this as my weakness.” It sounded incredibly harsh to compare the two types of women, but each served a greater purpose. If you are born to sew fields to feed thousands, you grow strong muscles and endure hardship. If you are born to be a ruler or breed them, you pray to gain strength of mind and endure debauchery—all extra is dependent upon one’s own natural capability.

Judge: The laughter from the other room didn't phase him. It didn't waver his gaze from Odessa's face as she spoke about spies and intrigue. It certainly wasn't that Dante wasn't aware that nearly no one in his presence could be trusted it was simply that he didn't care. Even in exile on Dragonstone he'd been watched. Many of the first company he'd sailed to the island with had be disposed of or simply gone missing leaving him with two guards, a cook, a chambermaid and his maester. His two guards weren't even the men he'd been sent with because they had been spies for his brother, trying to kill him during "training" exercises. There was a noble on the island that had held him hostage once offering his brother Dante's head for the keep of Dragonstone. Then there were the assassins he received every year to celebrate his name-day. The point of sleeping arrangements was moot, however, because it wasn't really that he cared which bed he slept him, he'd just quickly become accustomed to not sleeping alone. His former statement would be the last selfish one he'd make on the matter because Odessa's safety was more important than him tossing and turning from sleeping alone. She probably wouldn't understand that, but it didn't matter.

This bullshit about the birth of his child though... fuck no. If ever there was a time during this entire trek that Dante wanted to throw his hands up and call it quits it was this moment right here. He'd been preparing himself for all manner of lies, slander and backstabbing, even from his wife. He wasn't a fool. Everyone in King's Landing was seeking something, mostly power and they were willing to kill for it. He'd squared with that, but not be able to be in the room with his wife while she brought their child into the world. Fuck. That. There would be a line of corpses leading to his own, if anyone tried to keep him out of that room. Leaning into Odessa, arms still crossed, he repeated. "Over my dead body." There would be no mistaking the resolve in his eyes. If anything was going to change, it would be that.

He rose again and went on,"Have you ever seen a child being born, Odessa? I have. I cut a woman open and gave her her child before she died. She and the babe would have died otherwise. I have seen women give birth in fields and on tables at taverns. I know that lifestyle dictates what a woman is capable of, you are not wrong and I am not saying you are, but I have also seen the look on peoples faces when they see their child for the first time. I have seen it when a man is there and when he is not. There is no man in this keep, in any region strong enough to steal that moment from me. So you can forget giving birth surrounded by women and some old man. I  will be there, mark my words."

Unfolding his arms, Dante cupped her face and kissed her forehead, tension easing out of him. Exile on Dragonstone had never been as confining as these last two weeks headed to the capital and however longer it would be before he confronted his brother. "Now, please send for my cousin Rhaelle. I need to get out of this forsaken closet as quickly as possible."

Olena: He was quite adamant on the topic, defying centuries old tradition for a moment of sentimental value. Perhaps the reason no noble man entered the birthing chamber was because none had ever cared to do so as a father or husband. That or their resolve to do so was not strong enough a force to be reckoned with. Then again, who would argue with a six foot five man, nearly equally as broad across the shoulders, when the golden crown of stag horns sat upon his head? Well…aside from her mother? The thought of a woman needing to be cut open in order to deliver a child made her fair face turn pale as snow. The worst experience she had encountered was when the servant was having difficulty passing the child, the midwives tossed her in a blanket to loosen it—which paled in comparison to these things which he had described. Even though she was not yet heavily pregnant, with her current queasiness and constant sense of discomfort she knew enduring such would end her life or damage her body forever.  

She felt it best to step away from this conversation before she emptied the bread and wine she had eaten a mere ten minutes before from her stomach and onto the floor. She held up her left hand as if to tell him to be silent, the other being placed protectively over her womb. “Very well Dante. I shan’t argue with the king. If it is what you wish, so shall it be.” The complications of pregnancy was not a subject she was willing to breach, lest she dwell upon them for the rest of her term and then experience them via the power of thought. She leaned her forehead into his kiss, also taking comfort in his proximity. If it sped him back to her bed, Odessa would personally stab Alexander in the carotid. “Arylsse,” her voice rose in summons, and the lady quickly appeared in the doorway, dropping a curtsy to her mistress and lord. “Yes, My Lady?” “Invite the Lady Rhaelle Baratheon to have lunch with me. I insist.” The woman dropped another curtsy, and backed out of the closet and to the door, where she’d whisper into the ear of the young page boy adorned in green with the golden rose.

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Olena: Odessa and her ladies set to preparing the balcony for their upcoming luncheon with The Beast of Storm’s End. Arylsse submitted the requests to the kitchen Red Keep’s kitchen staff to create the desired pastries, sweet meats, and fruits that would complete the spread. Meanwhile, the servants brought out the table liner and other decorative pieces to set in place along the tabletop’s center such as fresh yellow roses and other small scented arrangements; although, nothing particularly overpowering, only light and elegantly fragrant. Then, pieces of china were lain out to suit both women and their companions. The Tyrell guards were notified to permit only the Lady Rhaelle, her ladies, and perhaps her son, should she see fit to bring him thus.

The meeting with her husband would have to come afterwards. There was little doubt in her mind that the lady stag’s progress to her chambers would be noted by the castle staff, and should any wish to cast a wondering eyes upon them they would see that the women were true to their intentions of meeting together to enjoy a pleasant afternoon lunch on the lanai. That and Odessa wished to gain a better understanding of what she would be dealing with in the line of in-laws, or more correctly who she would be vying against or working with for his attention. As was the arrangement in any set of apartments, one had to pass through many doors to reach the next destination. Rhaelle would first pass through the Lady of Dragonstone before she entertained conversation with the Lord. Although she had corresponded with her mother to see if her family wished to be present for said conversation, Davena deemed that her daughter would be more than capable of handling such negotiations alone; after all, she had been trained all her life to look after the best interests of her family, and was well-aware of what backing they could offer—rather what they were willing to offer.

As far as the lady’s bastard son went, it concerned these Reachwomen very little, Flowers were abundant in both the flora and fauna. Despite their concentrations placed upon chivalry and piety, those same views were somewhat loosened around the topics of sex and sexuality. Not to say it was encouraged for young ladies to partake in these experiences and thus endanger their virtue prior to marriage, but they certainly weren’t left ignorant to the overall process—the size of their population was proof enough of that. The boy’s illegitimate status would simply be overlooked for propriety’s sake so long as no parties were wanting to make some vulgar show of it.   Dwelling upon things that couldn’t be changed was a waste of time and effort that could be spent on more important matters.

Odessa stood before the table, watching as the servants brought in the trays of food and placed them about the table between the decorations. “No, place the meats closer to the center. I have a feeling the Lady shan’t be as interested in our pastries. You may set them closer to the place reserved for her son.” She paced about, looking over the railing to the gardens below, which in her opinion were rather inferior to those back home; although, the king was without a queen or queen mother to manage such affairs, so it was hardly any surprise they received minimal attention. “Arylsse, where has our cousin run off to? See to it that she is present prior to our guest, if you would.” The lady nodded in response and sent the page boy at the door off in search of Lady Alissane with orders for her to return to her mistress at once.

ShayTuan: Alisanne was all smiles as she walked down the court yard, flowers in hand. The whole thing from the Great Hall put behind her as she smiled at every Lady who bowed or smiled her way. In the back of her mind though, she wondered how she would speak with her cousin of the run in with Azaroth earlier that morning. It seemed that the gods heard her thoughts as a page boy came running up to her, stopping her in her tracks. He quickly bowed, looking up at her. “Lady Odessa requests your presence at once, she would like you to be present when the guest arrive, My Lady.” He said this in a quick, and collected tone. She was suddenly out of her smile as she suddenly was in rush mode. Shoot, she had forgotten about that get together. She nodded at the page boy as she quickly made the way to her cousin’s location. She wasn’t quite running, just speed walking. As she finally made it to the Chambers, she noticed that the preparations where set already. She walked a little more until she saw her first cousin, smiling as she did so. She quickly went into a curtsey before going into her greeting, “Good afternoon my Lady, sorry for my late appearance. I am surprised you didn’t wake me this morning.” She finally stood up, walking closer to her first cousin. “It seems that things are going well.”

Olena: The kitchen staff offered Odessa a piece of the sweet meat from the dishes that had been spread out to see that it was to her liking, which it was, and she nodded her approval. “This shall do quite well, you have my thanks.” With that she allowed them to take their leave, and the handmaidens covered the dishes as they awaited the audience that was to partake of them. Then, the sound of her cousin’s heels and that of the guards caught her attention and she turned to face them as they came onto the balcony; however, she took note that one of the guards opted to follow the lady into the room instead of taking his place outside the doors, obviously to convey some message. “Welcome, Lady Alissane.” She raised an eyebrow at the scenario of herself having need of waking her own lady. If there was one thing Odessa was not, it was an early riser. Each morning the ladies-in-waiting were roused from their sleep and made ready by the handmaidens prior to herself, the privilege of being daughter to the ruling family of the region. “That they are.”

The guard offered his message up to the chief lady, Ayrlsse, who dismissed him and then made her way over to inform Odessa of the goings-on of the morning in which Alissane had taken part. Standing to object to a gold cloak? In the Red Keep? The king’s own roof? If there was any time that attention did not need to be drawn to the golden roses of the Reach it was now when they were harboring the king’s own brother in a closet with plans to replace him with one more suited to the role in their eyes. “I would have a word alone with the Lady Alissane.” The rest would bow their heads and bend the knee before departing from the balcony to leave the two cousins alone to speak. “Do see to it that you conduct yourself in a way that if befitting a lady of our family’s name and stature if you wish to have further outings from these rooms, or I will have you confined to them. Guards represent the authority of the owner of a keep. While you are in said keep, unless your position is superior, you are subject to what they say and request of you. If they do not address you directly do not feel the need to interject yourself into situations where you are not involved in any fashion. We are in the Red Keep, and I trust I need not inform you whose authority the Gold Cloaks represent? The last thing we need is a report made that one of my ladies thought to cause a show. Do I make myself clear?”

ShayTuan: Alisanne knew the word of her actions in the Great Hall were going to reach her cousin sooner or later so she didn’t really act surprised. Of course, they were in Kings Landing, thing travel fast. A rush of guilt and disappointment for herself and the image she put to her family name came running down her face. She nodded, her head down and eyes casted towards the floor. “Of course, My Lady.” She says before looking up again, making sure to look Odessa in the eyes again. “I promise not to make a scene again. I am sorry for my behavior.” She knew better, even if the Gold Clocks were being idiots and angered her, she shouldn’t have said any words. She should have just stayed quiet, mainly because they weren’t talking to her. They were talking to Azaroth Baratheon. There are ways she should carry herself. And of course, if she couldn’t obey those things she shouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere else. She knew that enough.

Olena: She made her way over to where her cousin stood, taking her hands in her own and casting her own golden hues into her cousins green. Although her tone had never risen throughout her warning, it softened now. “You must not think I say these things to be hard. I understand other people can be…trivial at times. However, while you are acting as my lady-in-waiting any actions you make are representation of myself, not the Tyrell’s of Brightwater Keep. Demanding the guards not search the crate was show enough, and only masked by my piety. We cannot afford further outburst. This is not Highgarden and I realize the mannerisms here are different but we must make every effort to conduct ourselves as demure and proper women of the Reach.” She raised her right hand and brushed a loose strand of hair behind Alissane’s ear. “Rise above their common means and know that you are better than they.”

She’d place a kiss on the lady’s forehead and release her hands, stepping back across the balcony to go search for the other ladies. “Now, let’s us continue to make ready for this meal. Go and change your gown. I would have us all dressed in cloth of green and gold to meet the Lady Rhaelle of Storm’s End. Let it be without mistake that the stag comes to the rose garden to dine today.” The sound of her laughter echoed across the chambers like that of a summer bird’s sweet soprano melody, and would be met by that of the other women joining in the chorus. The guards were set to notify them as soon as their company rounded the corner.

ShayTuan: Alisanne’s face softened as she heard her cousin’s laughter, making her laugh herself. She herself was very proud to be Odessa’s lady in waiting. She was sure if she was with any other, she would have been punished even more for her actions. And, of course, she looked up to her cousin full. She smiled widely, her spirits brought back up with the mentions of the dinner lifting her spirits. Alisanne was one who loved gathers. And being out of the Reach and having on excited her, maybe too much. She made sure to nodded so her cousin will know she was listening before quickly moving towards the handmaidens. She let them get her ready, switching her from her other gown to a gown of green and gold, just like Odessa had instructed. She thought it was quite smart; placing the two colors together was a nice symbolic gesture. After she was bathed and clothed, she quickly made sure her favorite flowers were in her hair before quickly walking to the middle of the chambers for her cousin to be ready.

Biird: Once Rhaelle was able to clear her room of all her sudden guests, she peeled her son from the many games he played with his aunt Rhaenyrs and sent him to wash up and tidy himself for the lunch invitation they received. Additionally she left her sister with the task of writing to their mother. It would be a long time before they returned to the keep at Storm's End and Rhaelle believed not only should it be sooner rather than later that she found out her daughter was alive, but the news should come from Rhaenyrs' own hand. So, she and the sleeping Scribbles remained within Rhaelle's quarters.

She gathered two of her guards and her son, then left the room. Before heading to the Maidenvault, where House Tyrell would be housed because it sat directly behind the Sept, Rhaelle detoured to her sister's room. Immediately under the impression they were in deep shit, the women set to take care of Rhaenyrs tried to explain her absence from the room. Rhaelle waved a hand and silenced them all. She then issued orders to have her sister moved to the apartments adjoining her own, reuniting her own company of woman, and saving her sister from having to climb walls to be with Rhaegar. There she would also have a stronger hold on the issues that presented themselves concerning Rhaenyrs' gradual reentry to noble life. By no means did she wish to subdue her sister's overtly pirate way, they would need to find a way to blend so that she could be comfortable and yet not draw to much attention.

Rhaelle had sent a page ahead of her while she delayed in her sister's quarters, to announce her momentary arrival to Odessa's rooms. Of course, Rhaegar was teeming with excitement to see Odessa and well Tyrells in general. He kept his hand in his mother's as they moved through the Red Keep and finally the halls of the Maidenvault. Once they arrived at the doors to Odessa's room, they were opened and a small page waiting in the inner room bowed out and ran to inform his mistress that The Beast of Storm's End and her bastard son, had arrived.

Rhaelle stood with her black hair parted around her cat like features. Her weirwood make up was three stripes across her ears and three dots from her earlobe upward. There was a line through the center of her lower lip. Below her think but well manicured black brows, her eyes were rimmed with red and a overlay of black with the purpose of diluting her unnatural eyes. The Stag Queen had the eyes of a White Walker. They were an unnatural shade of bright blue with little or no pupil and many thin white lines moving like storm clouds through the wide iris that seemed to take up all of her eye cavity. The high collar and long sleeves of her black and purple dress, covered many of the other parts of her body that were painted with the weirwood paste, but the tips of her fingers were striped in the pain and there could be glimpses of the back of her hands having those descending red dots. Her shoulders were covered with well made paladrons, because Rhaelle could not stand to be without some sort of armor on her person no matter how she attempted to dress like a lady.

Beside her, still holding onto one of her hands, Rhaegar was wearing brown leather pants and shin high brown boots of good quality and detail, cuffed with metal shin guards. His tunic was that dusty gold that heralded House Baratheon and fell past his knees. He wore his usual undershirts and a vest of chainmail. On his forearms he wore guards to match that of the ones on his shins and like his mother he had a paladron on his shoulder, but only one, held in place by a thick chain. Today he was his mother's guard. His skin tone had darkened a bit in the sun of King's Landing making his white-blonde hair even more stark on his head, but his braid was neat and his hair had grown enough that the end fell nearly to his shoulders. His grey eyes were like the storm clouds that hung perpetually over the skies of Storm's End.  

Olena: A page boy knocked at the door to Odessa’s chamber, thankfully the Baratheon’s delayed arrival had given she and her ladies ample time to prepare and change their gowns to colors that represented House Tyrell. Lady Arylsse cracked the door enough to receive his message and then sent him back on his way before crossing back over to where her lady stood. “They have arrived, My Lady.” The guards would have ushered the beast and her son into her receiving chamber, so there the gaggle of women went with haste to welcome their most-honored guests. Odessa had donned a form-fitting gown of rich green silks, which was drawn together by a golden belt just beneath her now-swollen breasts, an enhancement brought on by the child which she carried. Thankfully she was not yet showing, so her waist had remained unaffected as of yet. She wore her hair pulled back in a braided crown, the rest falling in soft waves of honey-brown down her back, aside from delicate curls about her face. And what a face it was, her fair complexion seemed to glow more so than usual, hints of rose in her dewy cheeks.

Once they arrived in the room, the ladies, followed by Odessa dropped curtsies to the queen of the stags and her fawn, before she spoke in her sweet and high-born Southern accent, “Welcome, Lady Rhaelle. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” She took a moment to scan over the tall woman, who looked every part the Baratheon, such a unique mixture of masculine traits paired with an ultimately feminine form. Her choice of makeup was unlike anything she had ever lain eyes on, except perhaps for Dornish dancing women, but then she made it to her eyes, which nearly took her aback. From her exposure to both her husband and the woman’s brother she had seen her fair share of Baratheon irises, an entrancing shade of icy blue, but never in her wildest dreams did she fathom a human being could have eyes so frigid as this woman’s—it was unnatural. Odessa’s own eyes, given the colors she was wearing, would shine a bright gold like that of her family’s sigil upon a background of green, or that of their coins.

Thinking it best not to stare, although her delighted countenance never faltered, her gaze fell upon the small boy at her side, who perhaps was not all that small but simply dwarfed by his Baratheon mother. He looked nothing like the rest of his kin. Given the dominance of these traits such surprised her, but word of his questionable birth gave her all the answers she needed. He was a doll, and would undoubtedly grow into a seemingly handsome man, what with his fair hair and tanned skin and dreamy grey eyes. “And who is this? You have brought such a handsome accompaniment to guard your person! You must be Lord Rheagar, or is it Ser? One so bold could hardly be anything less than a warrior.” As they spoke, her handmaidens would open the doors behind the group of women, revealing the grand display that was to be their meal neatly arranged on the terrace. “Come, join me.”

Biird: Inner doors opened to reveal the lady Odessa. She was no bigger than Xara though her curves were much more to behold. The stretch of her pale shoulders was enough to betray that her bust had recently swollen causing Rhaelle to smirk. So like a Tyrell to be overtly fertile in such a time of need. If anything were to go wrong in the wake of the deed coming upon them the royal blood injected to her would make for the perfect back up plan. Other than the swelling, Odessa was as Rhaelle remembered her from her disguised days in the Reach, with her honey colored hair and figure flattering gowns.

Rhaelle took note of Odessa's slight change in expression when her eyes came to rest on that of her own unusual hues but she was better at hiding her surprise than most. The girl before her was gifted elegant and beautiful eyes that were startling in their own right like leaves drizzled in gold. Despite having seen Odessa before, this would be the first time they would share words and Rhaelle would be able to assess her features from up close. No doubt Dante would have been quite fond of those features. With any luck they at least got along. Time and conversation would tell how Odessa reconciled life with that common minded man.

"Lady Odessa." Was Rhaelle's reply to the greeting, dipping her head in a slight nod.

Beside her Rhaegar was practically vibrating with excitement and when Odessa lowered her gaze to address him,
it was all he could do to remain looking and acting like a normal noble child. They were no longer in his mother's apartments and he could not simple blurt out every thing that came to his mind. Instead, his arm folded before his waist and he gave her a grand bow. "Lady Odessa, I am indeed, Rhaegar of House Baratheon and I am always my mother's guard, but I am no Ser. Not yet. You flatter me." He rose then and leaned into her, lowering his voice,"There are many who would say I am not but mother says I am and that is all that matters."

His mother gave his braid a tug, then placed her fingertips between his shoulders, ushering him forward to follow Odessa toward the meal on the lanai. Pushing her hair, which moved like an oil slick, behind one ear, Rhaelle followed in behind her son, and left her guards in the receiving room. She really did not want to have to through all these formalities but since not a single movement of her own could be trusted, it was a must. She was however interested in getting to know the woman that would be forever attached her family through this unsanctioned marriage.

Olena: My! How bright this little half-spawn Baratheon was! Odessa could hardly contain her delight in his presence. He so artfully twisted the use of formal and child-like language, quick to sing his mother’s praises. She dipped him another curtsey, as a lady would do to a knight who had just won a joust in her honor, “On the contrary, you do me great honor in joining my ladies and I here today.” The merry sound of her laughter followed after his latter comment, and she walked around the table, placing her back to the columns of the balcony, leaving the row of seats opposite her for the mother and child. The ladies stepped in to remove the lids from the trays of food, revealing the sweet meats, fowl, bread, lemon cakes, and other delicate pastries before them. She felt a sudden pang to devour the whole tray of lemon tarts on her own, and her hand reflexively went to her belly. Given the look on Rhaelle’s face, and a general knowledge of the way reproduction works, the proof of which was present now, she had no doubt in her mind that the lady had guessed her condition. Reachwomen were renowned for their fertility. Pair that with a Baratheon male, equally known for their virility, and she likely conceived on her wedding night. “It is our mothers' words that matter most, and their guidance that makes us into the men and women we become.”

With that last comment she brought her goblet of golden arbor to her lip, her eyes moving to meet those of Rhaelle’s.  Once the foods were all uncovered and the vintages were left to them, Odessa’s ladies sat on the benches about them, close enough to hear a summons, but far enough to not necessarily hear any specific part of their conversation. “Might I offer you an Arbor Red or Gold, My Lady? They come in dry and sweet variations. There is also a darker vintage if you prefer a more…bold taste.” She motioned towards two young serving boys who stood beside flagons containing the wines. “I have also sent for fresh cream for you, young master, unless you’d prefer our sweet golden wine. I quite like mine watered down,” she motioned at the trays. “With your lady mother’s permission of course. Take what you’d like.” Odessa took from the sweet meats and fruit, placing them on her plate along with one of the lemon treats, per her stomach’s insistence. The boys would sample a goblet of each of the wines before ever offering them to the Tyrell’s company. Should any harm come it would befall the unlucky boys selected to serve them. Of course, being the Highgardeners that they were, the Tyrells has opted to bring their own beverages from the Reach, and thus the containers bore the seals of their region, having no affinity for the Dornish wines that were quite popular in the capital.

Biird: Rhaegar followed behind Odessa and pulled the chair of her choosing from the table, when she sat he gave it a push forward to the table then moved to where his mother was standing near a chair on the opposite side. He removed that chair as well and Rhaelle swept her skirt behind her before sitting. Finally the boy took his own seat beside his mother, with his arms resting on the curved armrests, feet swinging as Odessa spoke. When the lady Tyrell spoke of influence of mothers and fathers, Rhaegar turned to look at his mother but she was looking over Odessa’s head and beyond the balcony. He drew his eyes back to the dewy visage of the Swan and nodded. He could have blurted out a hundred and one things at that moment but he had promised to be good and he always upheld his promises to his mother.

Rhaelle was bored of this already; her son was not. He reveled in pleasantries and conversation be it good or bad. Her gaze lowered slightly to fall upon Odessa’s face at the offer of wine. When it came to food and drink Rhaelle was not very picky, she had a preface for cheese and meat but could and would drink just about anything. “Dry, red,” She said, shifting her gaze to the cup barer who would ultimately bring her the beverage. “I do not like cream.” Rhaegar said beside her, crinkling his nose. “My milk comes from my mother. She only makes a cup a day now. Mother says the milk of animals is for their babes and the milk of hers is for her babe. I am not really a babe anymore so I suppose that is why there is less and less milk as the days go by. Mother may I have dry gold?” She simply nodded, pushing hair back behind her ear, and motioning for the page to give the child as he requested.

When Odessa began to serve herself, Rhaegar began to serve Rhaelle. He moved as though this was often their routine when it came to meals knowing what and how much. Once her plate was filled, he served himself and sat back watching his goblet of wine appear. It wasn’t until Odessa plucked a piece of meat into her mouth that he began to eat as well. His mother took up her usual motion of swirling her wine in the glass, her eyes had drifted over the head of the hostess again. “So many gifts you have brought with you from your home of the Reach,” she began,”beyond that of the physical. It is almost as if the region brings with it sunshine and hope. I must thank you, Lady Odessa, for having my family with yours.”

Olena: She was most impressed with the young lad’s chivalrous behavior, so kindly pulling back her own chair and his mother’s before a servant could even think to step forward. If she didn’t know any better she’d think him a child of her homeland, yet he served as a warm reminder of her days in Highgarden which she would now leave behind as merely a memory. Once Rhaelle nodded her consent for the boy to have the dry gold, Odessa did the same, and his chalice was filled. She studied the boy’s words, listening carefully and offering him the same attention as one would an adult with which they conversed. Everything was so matter-of-fact to him, not too different from that of his cousin, who rested now in her wardrobe room.

The Swan’s attention was then drawn back to the other as she scanned out across the marble terrace of the Maidenvault balcony. At her words, Odessa smirked raising her goblet as if in cheers to the sentiment, “Of course, Lady Rhaelle. The pleasure is all mine, rest assured; although, make no mistake, your family and mine are now one in the same—again.” She spoke in reference to the marriage of Edric Baratheon to none other than Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden. History would always repeat itself. For a moment she chuckled and continued on with the thought, sipping the refreshing sweet gold, “We do, however, regret not being able to reunite you with both our kinsmen at once. The lesser of the two opted to take his leave of Highgarden in a most unprecedented fashion. Given his status as a ward my Lord and Lady parents were most concerned for his well-being; although, according to my informants he’s arrived at court unscathed, Mother be praised.” The coast was clear, if there was one thing she knew they could rely upon it was the king’s vanity. If he had half a mind or thought he were somehow unsafe from his nobles he’d never have invited the highest of the high to join him in the royal enclosure, at least not all at once. As far as her own servants went, they were made fully aware that the brutal slaying of their loved-ones back home would follow any treachery on their parts.

Biird: Rhaelle lifted her glass following Odessa and her son followed suit. He was happy to have his wine but happier still to be seated at the table beside his mother with a plate full of meat and fruit. The meal lacked sweet or current bread but he wouldn't complain, however when the woman spoke of his newest uncle as "the lesser" one, Rhaegar visibly stiffened and cut his eyes sideways to his mother. Quickly he stuffed his mouth full of meat to keep from speaking out.

"My brother is lesser to no man." said the Beast, lowering her glass to table, her eyes lowering to meet the gaze of the Tyrell woman head on, the white striations in her eyes flashing like lightening. "As for the other, the sooner I speak with him the better."

But that would have to wait. Alexander had finally come to terms with his wardrobe, opting to wear something a dark blue with silver inlays. The color would cause his own Baratheon eyes to shine like sapphires behind his bushy brows. He came nearly barreling down the hall from Maegor's Holdfast toward the Maidenvault to the far room where Odessa should have been alone. He would have been aware of her luncheon with his dreaded cousin had he opted to listen to the nervous little whipping boy whose lame leg struggled to keep up with his King. There was no time to warn the women inside as the power struck man waved the doors open feet before his arrival. The page begged he follow protocol, announcing his royal presence so that the lowers that visited his castle could be made presentable; Alexander continued on, stopping on in the midst of Odessa's receiving rooms to bellow out. "I want to see her. I want to see this Swan of Highgarden. Bring her to me. You there. Fetch your Lady."

Rhaelle rolled her eyes and pushed out of her chair, taking her son from his own and taking his hand, making her back to the front of the apartments. Alexander could see her coming and visibly recoiled in disgust before demanding,"What are you doing here, you ... you .. woman! How dare you see her before I!" When his beady little eyes fell on Rhaegar, the sound the escaped the mouth of their king was something akin to a startled cat. "What is this, why would you bring that creature into my presence! I should have you flogged!"

Rhaelle waved the door be shut behind her cousin, and her men, wicked little creatures from the Stormlands, gave her wide grins behind his back as the shut out his company save the small page who trembled at the king's side.
His guards were shut out of the rooms as well and quickly engaged in conversation by the men of the Stormlands,
distracting from their duty, though assured no harm would come to him. "I did not bring him into your presence,
cousin, it was you that came fluttering in here like some sort of whirligig."

Alexander hissed again, shifting his form to block Rhaegar from his line of sight. "Shut up, you stupid girl. I did not come here for you. I came for the Tyrell girl. I want to see her. Show her to me."

"I am not your servant."

Alexander whirled then, he almost started to advance on her but then stopped, opting to leer instead,"You are exactly what I say you are." But the beast did not move. Oh how he hated her. Why wouldn't she move! "FETCH HER. FETCH HER. FETCH HER."

"Petulant child."

Olena: She chuckled at the woman’s correction of her words. Their interpretations of ‘greater’ and ‘lesser’ would be based on completely different concepts, given the two women had utterly different mindsets due to their upbringings. Azaroth had fled the Reach, abandoning his cousin out of fear, whereas Dante had ventured into a region unknown to gain aid from a family known for their unpredictability and greed, traits they didn’t care if others were aware of. Odessa had made the comment in reference to their social status and literal rank, but one could view it however they pleased, it was of little consequence. In her eyes, none could equal her husband, or the image of what he was to become. Despite the look young master Rhaegar cast to his mother, and the one she offered Odessa in return, she met and held her gaze. “All in due time, My Lady.”

In truth, the Baratheon sense of loyalty was truly a remarkable thing, for the members of the family that had it. Odessa very much appreciated the lady’s devotion to such, knowing it could one day serve as a great asset to her own posterity. Although, she knew full-well that such a family would be hard-pressed to see that their own influence over the new king remained stronger than that of her own. A queen consort was never fully considered a member of the family she married into, even having to be referred to by her maiden name to see to it that she was discernable from other queens passed, given their lack of numeral bore by their husband’s alone. However, her spouse’s cause and that of her unborn children were things that she held dearest to her heart, and she would dedicate the remainder of her days to their advancement.  She would need to make a friend of this one, no matter their differences.

Then, the sound of an unfamiliar male voice could be heard from the foyer, enough to cause the visiting lady and her son to depart to that place. Odessa rose from her spot, but was met by her ladies rushing forward to alert her to the king’s presence. They ventured closer to the doors to the foyer, which a servant had closed shut behind Rhaelle, and were met by the sound of voices raised in dispute, both offering one another harsh words, including his criticism of her innocent child naming him a creature. How repulsing for such words to flow from the mouth of a man that was supposed to be sacred in the eyes of the gods and man. In all her days, she had never encountered such an acidic tone, and certainly never been spoken to with one. To hear a king regard a noble lady as such was more than she could comprehend. A man in the Reach would be struck dead for speaking to a high-born lady with such insolence. The Baratheon woman treated him with great indifference, and directly opted not to refer to him as ‘Grace,’ she noted. Did she fear nothing? Never had Odessa once been so in favor with such a break in protocol. Despite his, what seemed to be, an obsession with power, had he not realized he had surrounded himself with not only the Tyrell men, but that of the Stormlanders?  Was the king of the Seven kingdoms truly so unaware and trusting? Petulant Child. Rhaelle had dubbed him right.

Hesitantly, Odessa nodded for her page to open the doors and allow them to pass through. If nothing else, perhaps her own presence would serve to shield the young boy. Not knowing what the man was capable of, she’d half a mind to send in one of her ladies to pose as herself, granted they all favored being cousins and selected for that very purpose. He was, after all, brazen enough to burst into a ‘virtuous’ lady’s chambers unannounced. However, noting the presence of both sets of guards outside the door, hopefully this mad king had enough wits about him to know that a single scream and the Tyrell guards would barge in and remove his head from his shoulders with their bare hands. She and her ladies emerged into the antechamber, stepping to the right of the Lady Baratheon and her child. Due to his lack of formal introduction, she shook her head at the herald, who was stationed in the room, clearing her throat before speaking, “Forgive me, Your Grace. The Lady and her son are present at my invitation. I thought it best to behold your kinswoman and ask her about the capital and keep before bothering Your Grace with such trivial matters. I wanted to be prepared before I held sight of so great a man—a king.” She uttered the lie effortlessly, false compliments and tactfulness were all in a day’s work.

And there he was—the Mad King. The man before her was seemingly nothing like his sibling, whose own form she had become rather well acquainted with. He was so thin and pale, and not the pallor so sought after among the nobility, but as though he were riddled with sickness. He had the Baratheon frame, but not the mass to support it. His eyes, the very same sapphire blue, were the only feature she could reconcile as being similar to that of Dante. It was not to say he was an utterly unattractive man, his lineage spared him that, but he would not be her first pick of the litter. It was no wonder the goodly queen had thought to die after her brief time as a matron. Although they had never truly discussed the matter she knew in that moment he could not be left alive. Dante could not simply imprison his brother in a tower to live out the rest of his days. He would die if she did the killing herself, granted he survived the conversation with his lady cousin, who seemed formidable enough to match any man she pleased. [/size]

Biird: Alexander wanted to reach out and slap Rhaelle for her unmoving, unflinching insolence but he wouldn’t. As children he had struck Dante so hard once the boy had fallen and sliced his hand on cheese knife. Without hesitation, Rhaelle had taken him by the hair and hit him so hard in the gut one of his ribs cracked. When the guards tried to pry her off of him, she slammed him into the armor covered man several times using him as a shield and he was not released until her mother demanded it so. To this day she had never apologized for man-handling and to Alexander she’d never properly been punished for the deed. Their fathers were brothers and because the children had been left alone in the room and there was no one around to see his great embarrassment it was settled with Rhaelle getting flogged and never spoken of again. She was just another one of the people who loved Dante more than he. Why did no one love him so fiercely? Even his mother had all but abandoned him after Dante’s birth. The least that stupid beast, with all her words of standing for those weaker, could have done was love him more.

His impulse was redirected as the voice of another woman entered the scene. This must have been the famed Odessa Tyrell for her voice was like honey to match her hair. Everything about her heralded a woman of the Reach, from her curve hugging green dress to the gold green of her eyes and fair features. Those curves! What a woman ready to bare children! His poor, beautiful Xocylla didn’t have hips like that. The Summer Witch didn’t wear such tempting clothing but he had seen her naked on a number of occasions and could speak for certain about her lack of curves. Oh, to have this lovely little Tyrell dove writhing in agony beneath him with all her curves to be explored without those cumbersome clothes and his sweet Xocylla Xaq preparing the tub for what would be left of her!

Turning from the wretched love loss of his cousin, Alexander’s hands disappeared into the opening of his bell sleeves bringing them together in front of him. It was a false monk-like stance. He was hunched, his neck jutted forward, his dark hair framing that long, sharp face, sapphire eyes glued to Odessa’s visage. Slowly his tongue appeared past thing lips, the tip of his tongue was split slightly from the center, less than an inch, but enough to be seen as it passed over his lips. He moved closer to Odessa, leaving her with little room between them as he looked down upon her from the top of her head and her blossoming cleavage. His hand came free of its confines to brush lightly along her cheek. His fingertips lacked the soft ridges of others. They were long ago burned away leaving only malformed overly smooth patches of skin. “Oh yes,” he said, almost shuddering in delight to feel her skin,” For someone so fair you are quite beautiful. Perhaps you and the other girl. With hips such as those you would not fail me.”

Beside his mother, Rhaegar uncomfortably clutched her hand to which she responded by lifted the boy to her hip bringing him nearly to the height of his cousin, the king. Alexander immediately responded with a sneer and put more distance between them by shuffling to Odessa’s side, his chin grazing upon her hair. “Reachwomen are pious and virtuous, so unlike others. You would be such a fresh little flo…” He suddenly jerked away from her, crinkling his nose. “No more of this time with that woman! You smell like her, like musk and man and sea. How disgusting.”

Rhaelle wanted to laugh. It was not her he was smelling but his own long forgotten brother. What a fool.

Alexander rubbed his hands down his chest, smoothing them over the heavy robes with which he cloaked his body. His boney fingers shifted to his hair as he came back around to her front, leering into her face. He seemed pleased with all that Odessa was until his beady blue eyes met her own once more. What he saw there, or didn’t see sent him reeling away from her. “Why can I not see myself in your eyes?! What are you? Creature. That is what you are, some sort of siren. Pious temptress! All of you shut up! Be still!” He whirled back towards the door and flung his arms out as though by sheer will alone the doors would open for him, but the guards were quick and Alexander went screaming down the hall,”Xocylla! Xocylla. My Xocylla Xaq, come to me! Find her! Fetch her! SHUT UP ALL OF YOU.”

Olena: Her stomach twisted in knots as she felt the burned scab of his fingers graze her cheek, and it required all the strength she could muster to not empty the lunch she had only just eaten moments before now onto his boots. When he spoke, his words like that of some sickening snake one need only be rid of, she felt as though she had gotten back on the barge carrying her up-river on the Mander. Surely he was not thinking of taking her to bed? He confirmed this thought when he made mention of her hips. The very idea of him thrusting himself upon her was far more than she could bare, and the blush now upon her cheeks likely only made matters worse.

Before she knew it he was whipping around her and smelling her hair, commenting on the smell of his brother who had been inside her, on her, around her, and any other prepositional phrase the mind might call to mind, every day for the past several weeks. Her eyes widened as she bit at her lower lips to suppress laughter. No man, save for him, had ever been granted such intimate access to her person, and this ghastly figure’s inspection of such made her skin crawl. All her fourteen years of training and structured living were pouring into this single moment to keep her knees from buckling and busting her head open on the floor below, or letting her face hint at the desire to do so. If her ladies didn’t have a bath waiting for her within the hour she’d fling herself from the parapets into Blackwater Bay to rid her of his touch. Suicide. The Baelish girl had to have killed herself.

He repositioned himself one more and then backed away from her in terror, his sudden alarm sending Odessa reeling backwards into the arms of her ladies-in-waiting, who were now supporting all of her one-hundred and ten pounds. There could not have been an eyebrow in the room that wasn’t lifted in that moment. What the flying fuck? It wasn’t the first time she had been called a siren, but a creature? This fool had lost his damn mind. “Close the doors! Now! My lady, are you harmed? Do you need to lie down?” Arylsse was in a tizzy, scanning over her delicate form where the thing’s claw had touched her, but Odessa stood straight once more, taking the moment to regain her composure. The Tyrell guards slammed the doors to her chambers shut in an instant. None would be permitted entry, save for another Tyrell at this point. With that she turned and looked to where Rhaelle and her son stood, both their heads above her own, “No matter what my husband says, that man, must die. He’ll not be kept to rot in some dungeon cell because of Dante’s orphaned heart wanting to keep him as a prisoner of state. Brother or not, he is a menace and must be dealt with. If I must do the deed myself, I will see to it that it is arranged. I want him dead.” She turned on the heel of her slipper to transverse back to the closet where he was kept, “Now, come.”

Biird: Rhaegar clung to his mother, his face buried in the side of her neck as Alexander circled Odessa like a vulture. When the king spoke of taking Odessa to bed, the child's head shot up and his mouth opened but his mother covered it. The more the king went on, the more the boy's eyes would narrow and his body tense up. He reached up and grabbed at his mother's forearm desperately wanted his mouth unmuzzled but dared not try to remove her hand. His Baratheon fury was reaching new heights and he was completely unable to stand still as a statue in a grave yard the way his mother did, watching the entire scene unfold as if she'd seen it all before. Perhaps she had.

When the mad king went flying out of the room in almost the same manner he'd arrived, Rhaelle released his mouth and put him on the floor. Rhaegar flew to Odessa's side and took her hand in both of his, but spoke to his mother. "That is why, isn't it, mother?"

Rhaelle nodded, taking Rhaegar by the braid and drawing him back to her side, giving the woman a moment to breath. The woman of Storm's End had known of her cousin's affliction for quite some time, and she'd been privy to his erratic behavior for many years; he hardly phased her anymore. She was still, however, aware of effects of his behavior on those that experienced it for the first time but Odessa would be spared having to get used to it. So many times had she come close to releasing her own rage upon the man to the point of snuffing out his wasted life,
but killing a king in a fit of rage, even a mad king, would not have done anything good for anyone. Though it would have brought Dante out of exile sooner, the uprisings would have been out of control. No, the plan for now was to set Dante in a benevolent light, and the king to go "quietly" in a cell somewhere.

Hearing Odessa speak, all Rhaelle could do was laugh. It took a single meeting with the man to put her on the same page. Dante would be the only thorn in her side on the subject now. By her words, Odessa was well aware of how he felt on the matter of family and killing his brother no matter how horrible he might have been. He was out voted on the topic however and regardless of his what he wanted, the sickly little monster would find himself stiff in a cell not long after his placement there. It was the one compromise they would have. Dante wouldn't have the heart to behead Alexander, so she would let him take his brother to the cell but after that it would be out of his hands. With so many vehemently against keeping the mad king breathing he would never know exactly which one of them ordered the hit.

They followed the Lady Tyrell deeper into her chamber now, where she could come face to face with her cousin after nearly three years of absence. It would be his first time to see Rhaegar, since he'd been no bigger than a swaddled babe. The child was more traveled than he could remember and he would have no knowledge of so many time his mother and grandmother fought over where he should be taken. Since Rhaelle didn't travel in a company or in carriage, Eirlys was always as white as fresh snow watching her daughter with her only grandchild slung in a cloth about her neck, craddled in one hand as she rode away on top of a wild beast to some far corner of Westeros. It wasn't until Rhaegar began to run and speak that he was left with his grandmother and his first months of living had been spent on Dragonstone.

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Grimm: The roads were thick with the constant stream of traffic heading to the capital of Westeros. Caravans carrying wears from all corners were converging within Kings Landing for the Harvest Festival. The chance to pedal their wares and enjoy the festival atmosphere was something not likely passed up by one of any station. From the Nobles who would spend most of their days within the Red Keep, to the not so rich who spent their time rubbing shoulders with any and all types that littered the streets and alleys of the capital. Even as tension's were high, it was a brief respite for those to try and enjoy the lives they were living and ignore the day to day struggle that plagued their endless thoughts. One such, not so poor, citizen of Westeros was now barreling his way down the last stretch of road as the walls of Kings Landing rose from the horizon like a welcoming morning sun to greet him. The once white horse, now marred and stained with the hardships of a long ride on dirt covered paths, galloped it's way passed not so pleased pedestrians, some of which had to dive and dodge from the streets so as not to be trampled. Finally the reigns of the beast were pulled, steel coated hooves skid to a halt on the stone surface as the massive horse reared up on it's hind legs just inside the city gates. Once it settled, a monster of a figure dismounted, clad in black, scaled and spiked armor with a long cape just as grimy as the mount that heaved it's great breast for breath after a hard ride. With it's crimson hood drawn, it was difficult to tell who this obstruction that stood in the middle of the main gate was, though guards slightly hesitated in their advance upon the person, taking half steps and looking to one another for confirmation. As the obviously male specimen went about pulling his sword, still sheathed, from the side of the horses saddle, another horse arrived, this one carrying two riders and wielding the banner of house Baratheon. The male on the back of the second steed dropped to the cobbled street and walked up to the man, barely reaching the center of his chest. "My Lord, you almost killed my horse" The annoyance the male presented in his words was palpable, but when the hooded man lowered said hood and turned, the one who spoke seemed to shrink in his presence. "Nonsense, he's still breathing isn't he" The words were spoken prematurely as the large white horse collapsed behind him. "Hey, you deserve a better horse anyway, that one was slow" With that, the man turned away and started to walk into the Capital. "Lord Kainen" The man still upon the horse called after the eldest son of the Baratheon's of Storms End, only to be ignored as Kainen turned a corner and lost himself in the bustling crowd, leaving those at the gate now staring at the dead horse wondering what in the world just happened.

Biird: In her company were five men of the Night’s Watch, clad in black and at her back by at least a horse’s length. It had only taken one show of annoyance prior to reaching Winterfell to establish just how little patience she had, especially when it came to talks of Alistar Crow, who was both the bane of her existence and curiosity she couldn’t shake. Between this township or that, the men in her company were boisterous and loud, but Rhaelle only spoke with her young son, Rhaegar, every now and again. The boy, seeing only his fifth name day recently, was over joyed at the long rode from Winterfell to King’s Landing. He’d been just as happy with the ride from Strom’s End to Winterfell, but this ride was far less pampered. They had no escort, rode under no banners and provisions were hunted or bought in minor shops. They stayed off the main roads whenever possible and kept to themselves, Rhaelle never showing her face in towns, or that of hers son’s. Rhaegar didn’t much care either way. He enjoyed hunting and fishing, and riding wildling on the under used roads on the back of his own pony. There was even a time the men of the Night’s Watch had allowed him to ride for several miles in jailer’s box they had in tow. He learned quite a few new words from the men traveling with mother and thoroughly enjoyed their manner of speech, which was much cruder than his mother’s, or even his uncle’s. More than a month they spent on the road, the boy was still lively as ever when they arrived in King’s Landing, but a single look from his mother as she handed over his cloak reigned in that behavior immediately. In the capital the formation of the men and the woman they rode with changed; the recruiter for the Night’s Watch now taking the lead and going about his business and usual while Rhaelle and Rhaegar broke formation and drifted off to join her brother’s company. She arrived in time to watch Kainen’s dismissal of the death of a loyal animal. In a rush to do who knows what, he hadn’t noticed her presence but it was quickly picked up on by the men around, even if she wasn’t mounted on the back of a great wild stag. Stranger was often abandoned for a more typical mount when moving through towns and so he was no doubt on his way to the King’s Wood where he would find himself on the northern brim of the Stormlands and soon home again. “Lady Rhaelle.” Said the man still mounted on a living steed. His eyes begged questions he was too afraid to voice as she gave him a nod. “Ser Grayson. Ser Yennrick. It’s a shame about your horse but you should have known better than to take worn steed behind my brother.” The brunette man nodded. “Take mine, barely more than a colt. Fresh and fit. Go on.” He smiled and took the reigns of the animal from her hand, noting her fingers were ringed with the red paste of the wierwood leaves she favored. It matched her eyes and the markings on her face. A face he had not seen in almost a year. “You’re too kind, M’lady.” She didn’t respond. Only placed her hand upon the shoulder of her young son and headed toward the royal apartments, where no doubt her brother had gone and her cousin’s court had made room for the family that shared his name, if nothing else.

Aegon: *Days seemingly grew ever longer and always ever boring, he was only One and Twenty yet his mind was that of a matured elder. Brandon never claimed to be learned man as far as world and its innovations go, but he was certainly more experienced then many twice his age. Two years pass since he took the oath in which his hand will never again raise against Dornish of the Marches, two years of stagnation and life at castle walls after five years of relentless fighting in disputed lands of Marshes. After his fathers death, year and five moons back, he took upon himself to manage the vast income and estates of house Swann, and men loyal to Stonehelm, but he also groomed his younger brother for the position of the Lord. Teaching him every detail of the governing a castle and neighboring standfasts. Knowing the people from personal experience he learned to always be ready for there worst, but cherish each moment that is anything but. Raven brought word of the Harvest Feast, it is to be held at Kings Landing and under protection and invitation of the crown. Brandon welcomed this with zeal, ordering for the house to be packed and ready at ones, there is good deal of traveling from Stonehelm to King's Landing, and life in Marches made him accustomed to being somewhere earlier rather then later. News of King Alexander state of mind was no secret, his flickering thoughts and paranoia were talk of the Realm, not wanting to believe in them, but still being practical man.. Bran left his younger brother and most of household in Stonehelm. Taking with him only his man-at-arms Berric, two soldiers, squire, septon and two pages. They took the small speed boats to pass the tin, fast and waterfalls riddled river Slayne, leaving the Cape Wrath and mountain range behind them where fresh horses waited for them, rented in Bronzgate. They then took the Kings Road and without much delay came right in to the southern entrance of the Kingswood and soon after Kings Landing. They traveled more then a week, after passing threw the River Gate they took much needed rest in one of the Inn's in the Fishmonger's Square. It might not be the most suitable place for highborn man, but Brandon knew for much worse in his young life, and was grateful just to rest after long ride and sailing. Morning after he spend in with one of the tailors of the capitol, silk and fine tunics knew to tater and damage only by transport, and he wanted to look his best for the royal court as well as for all the nobles who will attend. He only noticed then, that Kings Landing was transformed in to a huge tourney ground, music and tunes from many minstrels and bards caught his attention, wishing for the tailor to hurry. Ones done, he was dressed in dark black tunic, with white silk sleeves sawed on them two swan necks cascading down toward his hands. Talk about rebellion and unrest was fairly known, so this splendor covered his usual doubled chain-mail. His hips and lower legs were covered in a thick steel plates, color of rust with small ornaments of gold. On his right hip stood his dagger for fast draw, while on left sheathed was his trusted blade.. Sirens Kiss. Handle was of a naked woman with her arms spread in to a hug which shielded his hands, lower half of her body was scaled and with two long flippers forking as the apple of the sword. Ones the time was upon him, his two guards lead by his mat at arms started the walk toward the pavilions outside the Red Keep, his father has a custom which he done during his youth, and his son wanted to honor it. Brandon Swann, with his tall and strong figure, lead the group from the middle, throwing coppers in to the crowd of Kings Landing same as his father before him. Knight who is born with wealth have the duty of sharing it on to a joyful occasions. Kids were fastest and gathered the most Bran noticed with a smile, skinny and small, they would crawl between peoples feet, women's skirts.. and scoop the coppers like they were sugar cubes. Cry of a dying animal echo just some 50 feet away, its rider was, it seemed, very large man dressed in night black armor with sinnister looking spikes ornamenting its shoulders. Brandond's men placed there hands of the hilts as the animal roared for last time.* -He must have road him hard, he sounded as though falling from exhaustion, my Lord.- *one of his man noted, as the cart rode just in front of the dead animal. Bran slowed down his pace to allow whoever is in it to enter fist without creating the unnecessary crowd. Stone around them made him hear partial sentences.. 'Lady Rhaella' was something he understood very clearly. His fingers closed around his man Berric's shoulder, stopping him, his eyes passing across the young woman's features. Whispering to his company..* "Look at those eyes, they shine bright even on this distance. That is a lady daughter of out late Liege Lord." *His fingers loosen, and the men again moved forward. The closer they were to the entrance, the more formation opened up, allowing Brandon to step out and walk on the head. Few steps more and he was in the eyes sight of the group in front of them. He glanced on the dead horse on stone road, then in to the boy, and then in to the woman's eyes. He spoke to all of them, but watched only her.* "I do apologize my Lords, ser's, but I must admit those eyes caught me off guard." *His neck bowed down, and his back followed. Arching down in to a gentleman's greeting. He placed his left hand on the body of the siren on his left, speaking while still in the bow..* "I did not mean to eavesdrop my lady, but these walls have nature of there own I'm afraid. Brandon Swann of Stonehelm, it is pleasure to meat you lady Rhaella." *His body moved back up, and his hand from sword on to his back. Moving just one step closer to the beautiful and a very strong looking woman.* "This is my man at arms, ser Berric Green." *He pointed, and all three of his men bowed again. Green eyes went across the big mans features, but he did not recognize him, nor anyone else from the ladies vicinity.* "Forgive me, but I do not recognize any of your companion's. I'm afraid we Swann's are rather closed in house." *He wished to ask her to be her escort to the Keep, but that would be out of place and rude towards other men around them.*

Grimm: The Red Keep was as busy as the city below, the only difference being, people wore nicer cloths to run around in on their daily tasks. Kainen never saw his sister or nephew enter the Keeps main gate behind him, he was too focus on his goal to let even the slightest of things, like a dead horse, disturb him. Bumping and nudging his way through the crowd, that for the most part moved out of his way, bar a few that Kainen plowed through without breaking a stride and who did not offer a complaint once they saw the hulking male of an assailant that struck them. With a turn, Kainen vanished into the kitchens, much to the disappointment of the chef inside who was trying to prepare food for the gathering nobles. "Well this is a feast worthy of a King" Kainen's words bellowed cause one or two of the younger serving girls to giggle, while at the same time retreat a couple of steps from the hulking male. Grabbing a serving platter that was used to hold an entire roasted pig, Kainen walked about the kitchen gathering enough food to feed a family, before resolving himself to a table in the corner of the room, sitting down, feet up on the desk and quickly making up for the last day of riding and not eating. Back at the gate, however, the banner men that were meant to be by his side, were now stuck organizing a way to move the deceased horse. Grayson had handed the reigns of his horse to Yennrick who lead them off to the stables further in the keep, though it seemed already a kart was being hauled out so the animal could be moved. Things were far more efficient in the capital than the other houses they had to visit in the last number of months. Bowing his head again to Rhaelle he spoke low "If you will excuse me M'Lady, I should go tend your brother Lord Kainen before something else goes arry" Before he left, Grayson bowed to Lord Brandon also, then turned and left for the kitchens after Kainen.

Biird: Rhaelle hoped the heads of the house would arrive quickly. This ‘Lady Rhaelle’ bullshit was grating her nerves already. Rhaegar attached himself to her leg as per his usual manner and peered up at every man and woman that bustled past them. When the voice an unfamiliar voice called her by that insufferable title, Rhaelle turned, and Rhaegar followed suit, never missing a beat. She gave the man she’d never seen before a nod. He introduced himself and the resemblance was clear now. He was the spitting image of his father. “Lord Swann.” She said flatly, disregarding his comment about her unusual eyes. That was even less of a topic she wanted to breach with a man she did not know. Rhaegar squeezed the back of her thigh. Her fingers found the end of his braid and wrung it around her fingers idly as this new man introduced the man he’d come with. He was regarded with a nod as well, a flickering moment before she moved her icy gaze to the men that had come with her brother,”Ser Yennick and Ser Grayson. My son, Lord Rhaegar Baratheon.” She said giving the boy’s braid a soft tug. “A pleasure, Lord Swan.” Came the boy’s small voice, though he carried a firm tone. Rhaegar separated himself from his mother long enough to mirror Brandon Swann’s bow. Then Grayson, his body already vibrating with anxiety over the loss of his ward for lack of a better term, politely excused himself before something exploded deeper within the keep. The though almost caused Rhaelle’s stoic, even mean features to crack with a smile. She acknowledged his departure and motioned with a flick of her wrist to the horse removal behind him. “Stable your new horse, but bring my affects to my room.” Yennick’s hand went to the replica Warhammer strapped along the side of the horse and he nodded quickly. “Yes, M’Lady. Of course and for the young lord?” “I got nothing!” Rhaegar piped up, receiving another tug from his mother. His voice would carry to all those little leeches swarming around the keep and cause questions to be raised about the nature of their arrival. He frowned looking up at his mother, who made no eye contact. Not understanding what he’d done didn’t change the fact that he knew that tug was a reprimand. “Lord Swann. I hope to see you during all these grand festivities. No doubt your eerie resemblance to your father isn’t the only thing you’ve come to take from him.”

Aegon: *Little man clinging to his mothers leg looked so cute to Brandon that he could not hide the curving of his lips. His eyes followed those of the boy, as she presented the two men beside. With regular curious nod Brandon acknowledged there names and titles. But on boys name he smiled bit wider, lowering his upper body as child's hair got tugged and he spoke, moving all brave-like closer to the broad shouldered Bran.* "Oh pleasure is all mine my young Lord. Such a beautiful name for such a brave young boy. I'm sure you will live up to its glory when your older." *he winked at a child, and moved one step backward. Giving the youngling the needed space. Sound from the Keep made them all jump a bit, his men gain placing there steel beaded fingers over blade hilts. -So much tension- Bran noticed, as one of the men from there company excuse himself, and went inside with fast pace.* "Ser Grayson." *Brandon said as a parting courtesy, observing the war-hammer that the other knight, Yennick, pulled from the side of the stallion. -Formidable weapon- he thought to himself, glancing at the woman's hips. He realized company of women was not something he was accustomed too in his life. He frat from her beauty and armor piercing gaze more then he would against fifty Dornish spear-men. As she moved, so did Bran, nodding to his men to follow but give space. Her words about his looks made him lower his head to side, childishly smile.* "I cant say I received higher praise in my life. Lady Rhaelle. I did aspire to be like my father almost all my life." *He did not like that these words came out, this he did not admit to anyone. Not in this way. Were her eyes to blame, or her last name?* "They say I am my fathers reflection in many things, but mostly in his sense of duty and honor." *Green orbs lowered down on to the boy one more time before he would turn and walk in to the Keep..* "You have a beautiful boy my lady. If you ever find yourself in a of fitting Knight for young Rhaegar to squire.." *He said in a very low tone, but honest and friendly, looking in to both of them on the end of the sentence* "..I would be honored to care for the boy, as well as teach him everything my house knows in the terms of Knighthood." *Though ones finished, he thought this might not have been the best time nor place for asking such a private thing. But Swann men do things in there own way, sadly. He nod to the woman one more time, before disappearing threw the arched gateway blinding with light from within.*

Grimm: Grayson walked into the kitchen, his manner a bit anxious as he looked around the room where his charge had disappeared into without waiting moments before. The tension in the room was palpable, Kainen was definitely in here somewhere and with the giggling of the two kitchen maids and their locked gaze to the corner of the room, Grayson spotted the monster scoffing down more food than he had packed for a weeks travel. Sighing, the young man walked across the gap between them and came to a stop a few feet away, his voice low enough so only Kainen would hear him. "My Lord..." The title was punctuated with annoyance that he did not hide at all, there was no need, Kainen never stood on ceremony and even if he spoke to the eldest son of the Baratheons respectfully or not, a punch was a punch if the mammoth of a man didn't like being spoken too at all. Grayson was a little more relaxed around Kainen than Yennick was, though there was a 4 year gap between Grayson and Yennrick, though they were brothers. It was one of the reason Kainen allowed them to accompany him, he had a thing for family bonds, plus, he knew Grayson wouldn't let Yennick do something stupid. Grayson was a good kid, 2 years younger than Kainen, headstrong, he knew where he wanted to be in life and had the determination to get there. Yennick on the other hand was always a trouble maker who was forced to serve alongside his brother by their father after he got caught stealing a third time. What better way to scare someone straight that put them as a charge under the Dragon of Storms End. So far it was working. Kainen scoffed down half a chicken, an apple, 12 strips of smoked bacon and 2 mugs of ale before he replied to Grayson who had now resigned himself to the seat on the opposite side of the table. "Yo should eat something. You won't get as big as me if all you do is worry like an old hand maiden" Kainen's scarred lips cracked to a smile before he tore into another piece of meat. "Your sister arrived the same time you did but your nose distracted you again My Lord" Pointing a piece of bone at Grayson, Kainen gruffed, my mother smacked me with a name, not a title, use it when it's just us." Grayson frowned and sighed yet again. It was as if the giant of a man was completely oblivious to the fact they were sitting in the middle of a kitchen with people running around trying to do work. "Kainen.." He wasn't comfortable with using his Lords name so easily in public "Lady Rhaelle is in the courtyard" Kainen threw his head back and laughed "And that's a title that will get you a look that could kill faster than my fist" Kainen knew Rhaelle hated her station, but he quietened himself and stood up from his seat, chicken still in hand as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen and bellowed so loud one would swear the walls of the building itself shook "LADY RHAELLE BARATHEON. You took your time getting here!" A devilish smirk tugged on the edge of Kainen's lips. His lavender eyes could not see his sister, but he was sure his voice would find her without fault. Grayson bolted from his seat and held his hands up as if to pull Kainen back inside but quickly thought better of it. "Please, My Lord. not so loud."

Biird: There were precious few words spilling from the lips of this young Lord that Rhaelle cared about. Rhaegar on the other hand was completely wrapped up. He adored being acknowledged without the hanging mark of his birth manner, so this man had the full attention of his great big grey eyes. Eyes that seemed to widen at the soft spoken offer to be squired by someone who hadn’t snubbed their nose at his mere appearance. His head swung up to his mother, beaming hope and want. She didn’t look at him. She rarely did when he wanted something she was going to say no too, but didn’t stop him wanting. “A generous offer, Lord Swann, so soon into introductions. I would be sure to keep your tutelage in mind when my son sees his seventh name day.” Rhaegar swallowed a squeal that shook his entire little body as he pressed to his mother’s side. His nose wriggled, head shook until finally he righted himself mimicking her stone like features and gave Brandon an appreciative smile. “Thank you very much for the offer, Lord Swann.” He chimed in. Though his face was stilled it beamed in thanks. They continued through the courtyard all three high born children in step toward the guest quarters, until suddenly a familiar voice boomed across the yard loud enough to turn everyone’s head and cause Rhaelle’s face to twist with anger. It a flicker of a moment, a small ripple across an otherwise still pond. She broke immediately from Rhaegar’s side and snatched a long spear free of the hand of its rightful owner. Her stance was firm, rooted, her arm baring muscle under the hugging cloth of her dark tunic, when she hurled the spear in a great arc that gliding over the head of every person in her path until it embedded so deeply in the dirt at her brother’s feet that the blade was gone. Muttering angrily, Rhaelle snatched Rhaegar by the hand and stormed through the parted crowd toward her brother.

Aegon: *Boys innocent gaze disarmed him completely, at least in this moment in this conversation, Brandon was like a molding clay. Cow-eyed by this little bundle of shyness. He again had to smile very widely and without any reservation, he know not the joy of children and there easily obtainable happiness. This little one however thought him more about it then his father in thirteen years of his life. He wanted to pat his head and brush threw his hair, but he stop himself in time.* "Preparations can never come too soon, in my experience at least. Any child should be offered best chance for his or hers growth. Knowing that some of the.. others.." *He glanced over his shoulder toward the music and voices of the Gods only know how many noblemen packed in to the Main hall.* "..would propose same thing, only watered down like a bad vine of skills and knowledge, make me want to say it first." *He parted his hands just a bit, gesturing an apologize if he sounded to abrupt with the offer. Or making the child too excited. Ones the boy shock and move from his words, Brandon promised him with his eyes..* "After his seventh name day it is." 'Loud scream echoed from the side, coming from one of the servant kitchen passages. Man whom Brandon saw entering the Red Keep not a moments ago, yelled and called Baratheon girl a 'sister'. -Kainen Baratheon, by his age and looks- he said to himself, his hand resting on the Sirens Kiss apple without him even noticing it. And the moment later gripping the hilt as the spear started to rotate threw the air, as the woman took its stand for the throw. It was a very well executed stance, it could rival any of the best Dornish spear-men he encountered. But Brandon's face was emotionless, only watching the little boy who now stood alone beside his young mother, with few fast steps he was beside him. It was far from it that the child was in any form of danger or even mishap, but for some reason Brandon appeared behind him like a shadow, not alarming him at all. His men watched the girls form and bouncing tits with open mouths. Spear went flying, scouring the ground and creating the symphony of huffs and sighs. Brandon moved from the boy before she could see him, his opinion of her fully changed now, with a firm and wide steps he walked pass his men same time when he heard her steps behind him.* "Close your mouths and move." *He said with shaking voice, tossing one more look toward the Baratheon siblings. Muttering in to his chin* "It seams that apple fall far from the tree."

PainlessLaceration: The road to Kings Landing seemed to take ages, and was a bitter-sweet journey for the Lannister family. It was a grand thing to be invited anywhere, let alone to the Harvest Festival. Of course the jealousy of the Lannisters still run deep, and having to travel to a place where they once ruled almost seemed shameful. The younger generation could feel it. As though the entire group traveled with their tail tucked between their legs. Why? What was so shameful in graciously accepting an invitation to a festival? The youngest Lannister openly asked this and was quickly scowled by her mother Alysanne. *Alysanne*: "Joanna, please. This is an opportunity to put our family back into the good fortunes of our neighboring houses. Something that we cannot take for granted." *Joanna*: "I do not understand? Why? Why must we walk on eggshells?" Even in her youth and knowing the story, Joanna could not fathom the thought of walking on eggshells when this was supposed to be a time of celebration. She of course was quickly reminded of how if she did not straighten her act and wise up, she may spend the rest of her days in Casterly Rock and never see the light of day. This methaphor was taken back immediately and her mother graciously apologized, but Joanna had none of it. *Joanna*: "I am blind, mother. I cannot see the light of day whether I wanted to or not." The rest of the journey was spent in silence. Joanna traveled with her mother, two brothers and about seven loyalists to the Lannister House. A small entourage with nothing flashy, so they arrived in Kings Landing under the radar practically. Joanna travelled on a older steed. One she could easily control and not hard to ride. It was led by a servant of the house so the blind girl did not have to lead it herself on the road less taken. Upon arrival, Joanna was removed from her loyal horse by one of the senior loyalists and gaurd, led over to her mother who was already dismounted. *Alysanne*: "Darren is aware of our sleeping arrangements.." The old woman knew her daughter well. She would avoid another hole for as much as possible, insisting she be allowed to explore. Away from her pesky brothers and hovering mother. *Alysanne*: "If you need me, you know where to find me. I have some business to take care of. Behave." She bent low and kissed her daughters forehead who turned away and took Darrens arm. *Joanna*: "Lead the way, ser." She requested, voice dull. Unruly blonde locks crossed over her face and in her mouth, wearing a dark blue dress made of decent fabric. As well presented as she could without wearing a finer dress, she would save those for the noble activities. Without a word, both she and her loyal guard began to trek into the crowds, Joanna with her shoulders back and head held high.

Grimm: Another mouthful of chicken was torn from the bone before Kainen tossed it aside, leaning against the door frame in which he stood. Grayson was still behind and to his side, sighing, trying to urge the towering male to act a bit more, respectful when in the company of, well, anyone really. Kainen's arms folded across his chest, he knew Rhaelle had more control that the other siblings of the Baratheon line in Storms End, even if she could destroy a man almost as quickly as Kainen could. "Did I not just tell you to stop worrying, you gained at least 3 years just coming in here, not to mention the other 40 on our journey." Peering out the door, Grayson heard no reply from Kainen's sister, maybe she had no heard the oaf, but then again, that was impossible. Going to take a step passed his charge, he was halted when Kainen shot upright and a moment later, right where Grayson would have been, a spear impeded itself in the ground between Kainens feet. "You know, maybe that was a bit loud" Kainen's face contorted slightly as one eyebrow raised, the sight of his raging sister and nephew moving quickly through the parting crowd almost made the Dragon fear the Beast, almost, if Kainen was capable of such a thing. Grayson on the other hand had turned whiter than a walker from the North. Rhaelle had as much of a temper as Kainen did, but managed it better, usually. Reaching forward, Kainen pulled the spear from the ground and handed it to Grayson just as Rhaelle pulled up in front of him with Rhaegar. Behind him, Grayson gave Rhaelle a nod before taking a pretty big step backwards. "All that traveling make your arms weak? I think you should have been able hit me from that distance at least?" Kainen teased as he looked down at Rhaegar and gave him a wink. "Should have let him throw it" A smirk tugged at the edge of Kainen's lip, knowing he was not really just playing with fire anymore, his legs were already burning, slowly.

Biird: Of course her outburst was not typical not her, not really for her. Rhaelle’s reactions to thing were usually more subtle though just as brutal if not more. Rhaegar’s little leg struggled to keep up with his mother, who blatantly ignored all stares and whispers, but he didn’t so much as make a noise of discomfort. They pulled to a stop abruptly in front of his mountain sized uncle, just as he ripped the spear from the earth. The little boy couldn’t quell his giggle when his uncle spoke,”I can throw far, uncle!” A jerk on his hand from his mother just down his beaming smile. “Never. Do. That. Again.” She sneered through gritted teeth, the eyes of a white demon dropping onto Grayson. The man managed to pale more and widened his distance from the Beast of Storm’s End. “Forgive me, My Lady. I tried to stop him.” Jerking upright from leaning into her brother, Rhaelle’s already ramrod posture stiffened further. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally uncurled her fingers from around her son’s hand. If he was damaged by her angry grip he never said a word. Raking a hand through her shoulder length hair, Rhaelle’s eyes darted around, sending spectators back to their jobs with a single look. As her rose red lips parted, something exploded in the back of the kitchen. A dark plume of smoke mushroomed out of the kitchen chimney and filled the room behind her giant brother. The cooks were cursing and shouting. The smell of spices flooded the air. Two men came running from the darkness of the smoke carrying a long tray of charred meat. They were about to run out of the door where Kainen cast his shadow but instead stopped dead and let the burning carcass fall to the floor. “Move you giant oaf.” Rhaelle said shifting to the side of the door. “Why are you in here anyway? We have things to get ready for. Have you seen the other one yet? No. I do not need an answer. I know it. You followed your massive stomach here without a care for anything. You couldn’t even be bothered to notice the arrival of myself and Rhaegar.” Rhaelle moved away from the kitchen, her gaze drifting across the court yard once more. Another caravan of people arrived at the gates. There were few families that accept the invitation to the festival yet lack the boldness to fly their banner during their march. None of those families received a visit from herself or Kainen. It had begun.

Aegon: *Overly agitated respond by a Baratheon girl made him some what panicked, he dismissed his escort with a wave of his hand, telling them to go inside and mingle around guests. Any news would be welcomed at this snake pit. Brandon however turn to the right and back threw the big arched gateway he pass threw to get in. He leap from the small bridge and down to the side road of the Red Keeps entrance, smell of stables and ale could be sensed. Rhaelle did not do nothing too drastic, or out of the ordinary, but for some reason he found it very repealing at that moment. His fingers pressed between each other, making his bones clack under the pressure.. Dornish Marshes made him behave like that all day long for five years, he perhaps expected to be spare of such sites in the capitol. But that was very naive and childish view on the world. He wanted to slap himself for even thinking it. Cart arrived at the moment he jumped from the lowered bridge, but he did not look back at it, just lost in his thoughts with eyes crawling up the bricks of Reek Keep. Soft sound made him lower his ear though and turn just a bit to side, then again sound moved, closer. Ones he turned he noticed a guard leading, it seamed, a child threw the tin and foot layered out track around the entrance. Guards eyes met his, and Brandon did try to look as pleasant as possible. His body moved to bow, but on the half way he stopped, noticing the misty net reflecting light in her eyes. Girl was blind, he knew. Ones closer he also noticed she was not as young as he originally estimated, but she just had a very young looking face. He made sure to make a sound with his belt buckle ones he straightened out, knowing that this cannot be anyone else by the Lannister girl. Blindness in the Red Keep was simply too rare to be any other girl.* "Lady Joanna. Pleasure to meet you in the flesh. My name is Brandon of house Swann.*

PainlessLaceration: The sounds of the buzzing world around her was overwhelming. Usually able to pick out at least a general direction of where someone was by their voice was muddied by a thousand voices. Her guard, clad in "hand me down" plate armor weaved his way through the crowds while trying to keep people from bumping into her. Darren was a young (ish) man, though hard labor had increased the age lines in his face and dark hair now peppered with grey. He kept Joanna on his right, his other hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword. While he saw no immediate danger in anyone intentionally at least the man made it his best effort to give Joanna a smooth walk. Joanna, while confident in her stride, clung to the man with her scrawny arms. The new sounds and smells sent her senses into overdrive and while she tried to maintain composure if you knew her well enough there were signs of her comfortability level shrinking dramatically. One sign was she began grinding her teeth. Another and less obvious was her at times was hesitant to take a step, in which Darren reassured her with a gentle pull. He could get away with pressing the Lady to an extent. Not only did he watch this girl grow up he was more often than not her escort. Joanna felt no personal tie to him, but obviously had to have enough trust in him to allow him to be her eyes in this new place. "What is all the ruckus about, Darren?" Joanna's high pitch voice squeaked. For someone nearly sixteen years old, she sure didn't look the part. Before her escort could respond he stopped. Joanna took another step forward before realizing they had paused. Hearing the man, she tilts her head to the left as if to better hear him. Darren kept his eyes locked on Brandon. "While I am pleased to know that names and appearance travel well, Swann.. I wish I could I have heard of you." The young lass smiles, as if the insult would be overlooked by her cute features. "However. Pleased to meet you as well, ser. I pray your travel was swift and without conflict?"

Grimm: The rage bellowing behind the haunting hues of his sister did not stop the Dragon from laughing at his nephews words and patting him on the head, or going too until Rhaelle all but punctuated her words with a poke on Kainen's chest. He could hear Grayson retreat even further backwards which also caused him to laugh. "But if I did not, I would never get to see that fire you keep inside." Kainen always hated when she just stood and took the beatings from others that earned her the nickname the Beast of Storms End. His sister was not an attractive woman by normal standards, but she was built like most males her age wished and it drew out what he could only describe as jealousy on their parts. It's what drove him to be what he was, though he does not remember it being that way, he does not remember a time not being anything other than what he is now. It was also the reason he pushed her to release that fire she kept 'mostly' under control. Kainen paid no attention to the ruckus behind him, that's what Grayson was for, and the boy had a weapon, what more did he to sort out whatever problem was occurring. Though when his sister ordered him to vacate the doorway, he still did not budge, instead he crouched slightly and plucked Rhaegar off the floor as if he were naught more than an empty cup, placing the young boy on his shoulder allowing him to overlook and survey the entire area. Eventually he left the kitchen doorway, Grayson in hand who did eventually return the spear to the knight it was 'borrowed' from along with an apology. "You know the food in the capital is better than anything I have eaten in weeks on the road. I'm a growing lad, I need my food. Ain't that right little mouse?" Kainen poked the boy in the stomach and tickled him with a giant digit. The boy squeed and kicked happily. Kainen never gave it a second thought as to where the boy came from, all he knew was he was his sisters son, and that was all he needed to know. Turning his attention back to Rhaelle to continue to answer he flood of questions. "You know our brother, if he is not lost in training then he is probably fawning over some hand maiden. I'd be surprised if he has even left The Reach yet. Hell I'd be surprised if he knew with a hand maiden if he ever caught one, like a puppy chasing a carriage" Kainen and Azaroth had a strained relationship of sorts, though it was basically all down to Azaroth wanting to be better than his brother and Kainen reminding him daily it wasn't going to happen. "Anyway, enough talk, I have eaten, I have laughed, I have been threatened with bodily harm, bare the horse though I haven't killed anything in a while. So I think it is time for a rest" Behind him Grayson let out another sigh, it seemed that was the boys favorite noise to make when around his charge. "You already forgot the man that tried to stop you to pay a bridge tax a couple hours before he arrived?" He didn't say it loud enough for Kainen to hear, but the mountain of a man had punched the guy so hard in the chest he shattered the mans ribs which Grayson then assumed pierced his lungs and heart because he was dead moments before hitting the ground, though Kainen had kept talking telling the man it was a bad line of business to be in, bridge taxes that is, before remounting the horse and riding off. Grayson had given up a long time ago on counting the amount of people Kainen had 'accidentally' killed or had forgotten he did so moments after doing it. The number was too great to think about. Following the three, he was to make sure they got in safe, if that could be used in a sentence describing Kainen at all, before he would retire to his own quarters for the evening.

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Biird: Her morning bath had been less than stellar, her morning meal was nothing to mention again, and constant smell of piss and shit that came over the castle walls made her want to go home with every other passing thought. At least Sunspear smelt of orange blossoms and the food had flavor. Her personal bath looked out over the water gardens, the bathhouse watched the waves of the sea and bath in her brother’s room viewed the line of orange groves that lead winding paths to the water gardens. This place was shaping up to be as boring as her little sister, whom she hadn’t seen since the drama in town. There was one thing that kept her lurking about and interested in this dung pile of a capital; that giant man who had killed her bodyguard with one blow. Now that a beast worth dissecting. The night after the incident in town Lux had laid in her bed and let the whole scene play over and over again on the ceiling of her guest quarters. She tried to deduce who he might have been and kept returning to the same conclusion; he had to have been one of those big burly cousins her mother was always fretting and fussing about. Maybe even the one that had come in the night to speak with her parents and disappeared before dawn. Either way, she was intrigued. So much so that after her morning routine she’d set to the halls of keep in search of a man that couldn’t possibly go unnoticed. However, she’d been distracted and found herself wandering the expansive gardens of the castle. At least here smelt sweet until the wind took sway and hauled a fresh stench of poor people and their troubles over the wall. Luxia wrinkled her little pierced nose and pulled her hair over her lip, filling her nostrils with the scent of coconut and orange oil. This harvest festival thing was a bust. She’d been promised tournaments with blood and guts not shit smell and hoards of people rushing here and there and everywhere.

Joshuel: The Western winds had blown him from Myr all the way to King's Landing. Aboard the deck he had stood, overlooking a pearly blue sea which had darkened the further west they came. And yet, the darkening of the waters or the cooling of the wind did not bother him. He was homeward bound. And it was the best feeling in the world. He had been in contact with the Maester back in Sunspear, who had informed him that his family was in King's Landing. His farewell had been short, his comrades had said their thanks and goodbyes and had sent him off. They knew what it was like to miss their families. A lot of men had signed up for years, not seeing their kin for just as much time. But Dastan had decided he would go home. The way into the Blackwater had been clear of any trouble. And after being cleared to dock by the harbormaster, finally Dastan set foot back in the lands of his home. He'd not seen Westeros for many years. His only contact had been the letters that he'd sent his family. His half-sisters, his friends back in Sunspear, the Watergardens, wherever. The smell of salt and fish was overpowering. And yet could not fully mask the stench that came with a city of this size. King's Landing. He'd always thought of the place as a hellhole. It tried so hard to be something it was not. A pit of snakes and spiders, a pit of shit. But alas, if this was where his family would be, he'd endure. With feet finally on steady ground, he had to adjust. It took a moment for him to feel the groundedness of the quay, and stop wobbling. A breeze picked up, grasping at his tunic. Light, airy. Exactly what Dastan was used to. His trousers waved. With his feet on stable ground he then stepped off, after nodding to his personal serf, who'd gestured to Dastan's luggage. “Find a winehouse where the beds are not infested. I have slept in tents for too long.” His tongue dripped with his Dornish accent, which had mixed somewhat with that of the Valyrian language. He'd spoken Valyrian for so long that it'd snuck into his regular speech patterns. Something which he hadn't noticed himself. Then, with his hand on the knob of his sword – which hung freely by his right hip – he stepped forward and into the city.

Grimm: The travel from the North was long, though it was comfortable and the gradual upgrade in temperature with each step was welcoming to Varien, the second born son of the Stark house. Both him and his younger sister Mirna were sent in the stead of his older brother Jarik who now was head of Winterfell with their father recently passed. Varien was not very comfortable with this, but, it was not his place to question what is asked of him by the Lord of Winterfell, plus, Varien would also do anything to help Jarik regardless of his personal feelings. Arriving the day after the Dornish caravan, Varien and his group of escorts pulled into the Red Keep, having passed the wreckage of a former tent and the flurry of annoying mutters that seemed to be directed at a house guard that was trying to offer some funds it looked like to pay for the damages. Varien did not get a look as to who the guard belonged too, though it was definite he was not of the Kings Guard or a soldier of Kings Landing. As they pulled into the main courtyard, Varien turned to his sister and smiled. "We have finally arrived. Lets hope things go smoothly" Varien didn't really have the penchant for tactful speaking in public places but he quickly cleared his throat and dismounted from his grey steed. One of the banner guards moved to the carriage Mirna sat within and opened the door, offering her his hand in aid to disembark.

Guest_iBlackSapphire: Mirna had played with the ends of her frigidly stiff hair throughout the ride in the carriage, all she wanted was to be out front on horseback with her mother, but formalities called for her to ride by herself in the claustrophobic space. Even though it felt like it had been forever since they lost their father, Mirna still considered it mourning for the family and did not wish to attend such a grand feast with the feelings of grief and disarray the entire situation has caused. She fiddled with the edges of the sleeves of her black gown as she watched the Red Keep get closer and closer into view. Finally their caravan came to a stop and her door opened to one of their many bannermen, with his hand extended. “Oh... thank you,” she whispered, taking his hand and slowly climbing out of the carriage with her dress in her other hand. She glanced up at Varien for a moment, but kept her head down as they headed closer to the Red Keep. She straightened out her hair over her shoulders and dress, ready to meet what this new adventure to begin. "I'm ready brother," she said in her small voice as she stared at the oncoming gates.

Biird: With nothing going on in the gardens, Luxia found her way out. After a few twists and turns she’d ended up in front courtyard where still more people were arriving. Standing on the steps of a platform that led down into the courtyard, Luxia wrinkled her nose in though, her massive ears twitching slightly like a cat trying to hone in on a specific sound. For a king that was cruel and mean and solitary from what the stories told, he sure had quite the shindig set up. Luxia was would have thought with all the people he’d insulted over the years, including his own kin, that no one would have obliged his request to hold the Harvest Festival centrally this year. Light bulb! Maybe they were going to poison him and he would die gagging and gasping for air with his eyes budging out of his head the way it was described that King Geoffrey had died. Wouldn’t that be wonderful. She’d almost squealed at the thought. It didn’t matter to her that in reality King Alexander the Mad was her cousin by blood. She’d never met the man and still hadn’t since her arrival. Her parents were being very secretive and keeping rather low profiles for the time being which made the hairs on her body stand at a tension. There was a buzz of something in the air around the Keep that made Luxia think if she could bide her time and quell her ADD for long enough she’d be privy to something she’d never forget. Well. Whatever. Stark banners came through the gates piquing her interest. Winterfolk. Someone who could explain snow to her and tell stories of wildings no doubt. They funneled into the gates followed by the banners of their lower houses, women coming out of carriages and men dismounting horses. Nothing to terribly different than the way she and her family had arrived. With the exception that they were all pale, worn people and she and her kin were sunkissed and happy. It made her wonder why her sister was so keen to travel. Everywhere seemed pretty shitty compared to Dorne.

Joshuel: Perhaps it was the confidence with which he walked, or perhaps it was the fact that with his weapon on his hip, he looked the part of a thug. But people did not get in his way, but moved out of his path wherever he went. It was quite a funny sight, really, watching commoners, people like him, lower their gaze and move to the side. It was something he would have to get used to. He wandered through the streets, following the directions he had been given by the Maester in his letter. Soon he found himself walking up the mound to the Red Keep. He was perhaps not dressed as a noble, but hoped nonetheless that he would be allowed in. And if not, at least he could leave a message, that way his family would know where to find him. Caro, the serf, would know where to find him. And if not, send a message. Dastan stood out, at least among the pale-faced Westerosi that surrounded him. When he came upon the Keep, there were guards by the gate. And those guards stopped him by crossing their halberds infront of him. Dastan found this to be bad manners, and rose an eyebrow. “Who goes there?” Asked the man on the right, a man that didn't sound like he'd have too much brain in his head. “Dastan Sand, first born bastard of Oberyn the second Martell.” “Tha'so? Ca'ye prove it?” “I'm sure that if I had papers, you'd not be able to read them.” This sparked a low growl from the less than intelligent sounding fellow. “You've got a sharp tongue, perhaps a bit too sharp.” Dastan couldn't help but laugh at that comment, and tilted his head, pursing his lips as he did. “Then let's hope your mind grows to be half as sharp as that tongue of mine, don't you agree? Now run off and find someone to verify that I am infact myself.” Dastan saw the threatening glint in the man's eye, but soon enough a runnerboy was sent off to find himself a Martell, who could verify Dastan's identity. Ridiculous. “You don't sound Dornish, you know?” “No, he sounds like a smart-arse.” Again, Dastan chuckled and rose his eyebrow yet another time. “Can't believe they let such bright lights as you end up as guards. You sure they maesters couldn't use you? I'm sure they need pigs to practice on.”

Grimm: The second son of the Stark's had dismounted and relinquished the reigns of the mount to a stable boy who came to collect the animals. Standing behind Mirna, her personal guard Ser Fenris, an elderly gentleman with greying hair scanned almost clouded eyes about the crowd that was gathering in the courtyard. Fenris was a seasoned knight having served the previous Lord since his youth. The death of Richard had his Fenris hard and he was not too happy with being sent away to protect the young Lady on this voyage, but alas, he also knew his duty and agreed to Jarik's request, knowing Richard would have wanted it such as this. Giving a nod his Lord Varien, Fenris watched the boy depart to find out more information about what the current standings on the festival were, preferable straight from Lady Rhaelle, though Fenris did not know this and simply sent 2 guards with Varien. The commotion at the gate behind did not go unnoticed, but it did not seem to warrant the old Knight to turn his attention and simply held a hand towards the Noble Quarters where Lady Mirna would be staying. "Perhaps you should rest after the journey M'Lady."

Guest_iBlackSapphire: Mirna simply shook her head lightly as she gazed about the courtyard, the air was full of salt and some wretched stench. She waved in front of her nose though it was of no use, she would either have to ignore it or come to get used to it. “No, Ser Fenris. I believe I will wander about for a bit of time,” she distantly answered him. She picked up her skirts and moved further through the courtyard and the crowds of people. Something in her gut told her not to wander too far, but curiosity of this new place overruled that feeling. Some people remained silent watching her and her caravan, while others were smiling and talking about. All the flurry of the people around her reminded her of the Northern blizzards, but this time there would be no shelter for her to hide from them. In the back of her mind all she wished was to be back at home with her elder brothers instead of this reeking city. She put it off and continued to try to move through the crowd, but kept an eye on where Ser Fenris was so that if he lost her, she could go back at any moment. The last thing she needed was more bad news getting back to Jarik.

Biird: What was it about this place that made everyone look so gloomy? Maybe it was the smell. King’s Landing needed aquaducts like the one in Dorne. Indoor plumbing. It was a big thing. In the midst of her wild notions, Luxia spotted a familiar face. He was older than she remembered and more the spitting image of their father than when he’d left. A smile craved through her features as she darted down the steps, shoulder bumping the young runner who’d been sent off to see if he could verify his very identity. She crossed the court yard, darting past the young Stark woman and her man, and ducted under the arms of the guards that held her brother at bay. “Dastan!” Luxia chimed, her large ears wiggling under her loose ponytail, arms wide and directed for his waist in a warm embrace. “Brother! How did you know were here? Where have you come from? What did you bring me?” The guard with an I.Q just north of a Lady’s silk slipper frowned to find that the man had not been lying, for he knew the unusual blond head of the Princess Luxia Martell, her voice, ears and mannerisms were a hard feat to forget. Her presence force he and his gate partner to stand aside and allow the man with the strange accent entry into the court.

Joshuel: He waited, leaning back on his leg. His eyes going over the two men, who were still weighing their chances against this southern looking fellow, who stood so confidently infront of them. Were he not whom he said he was, he'd have to be taken in. But that sword on his hip did look sharp, and there was something about his eyes that made the men wonder if it would be a good idea. Then, a voice. A voice he recognized as belonging to his young sister. One of three voices he knew by heart, mind and soul. “Luxia.” He said with a grin, as he watched the girl bump through the men infront of him to reach him. She was spouting a waterfall of questions, one that Dastan would answer, but not among these people. Perhaps in the confines of the girl's room. “My sweet sister, you have grown more beautiful than I could have imagined.” His arms had gone around her, pulling the girl's frame to his with a smirk around his lips. “I have my sources, my darling. Where are your sisters?”

Guest_iBlackSapphire: Mirna was too busy gazing around at her new surroundings until a flash of blonde hair rushed past her in a blur of her vision, the girl was shouting at someone in the distance. Mirna followed her curious about what might have caused all her commotion. She saw a dark haired man that somehow didn’t look all too similar, but something about their interaction made her think about her and her brothers. Mirna fiddled with her moonstone choker, her fingertips smoothing over the largest stone in the center of the bottom of it. It calmed her nerves a bit and gave her strength to approach the young woman without a timid response. “Pardon me mi’lady,” she stuttered a bit, still grappling with her necklace in one hand and reaching out to tap the girl’s shoulder. “I felt the need to just tell you that your gown is just beyond beautiful.” She gazed down at her own black gown hugging her bodice. It was nothing as extravagant as hers, but it was the best from the North.

Biird: Luxia tried to mimick coy when Dastan called her his sweet sister, but it wasn’t genuine it was foolish. “Imagine often on your travels, did you, brother?” She teased not unaware that he’d glossed over her flurry of questions. It was fine, she’d get her answers in due time. They embraced for a long moment, Luxia taking in the smell of his sea worn skin before backing neatly out of the hug to look into his face with a bright smile which faulted when he inquired about her sisters. “How should I know? They are so dreadfully boring. Yesterday Quorah and I went into town and she got crushed! That wasn’t boring, it was wonderful. I haven’t seen since though.” She mused, tapping her chin in thought for a moment. Looping her arm into that of her brothers, she practically pranced back into the courtyard. “I hope you aren’t planning to stay in some tavern. We should find you an apartment. Mother and Father will be delighted to see you.” A small tap to her shoulder caused Luxia to throw her head onto her shoulder and bat lashes at the person to claim her attention. It was the small, delicate little blue rose from the North. Her voice was mousey like Quorah’s but not as firm. Freeing herself from her brother, Luxia turned fully and gave herself a once over. “Why thank you, Lady of the North! I am Princess Luxia Martell of Sunspear in Dorne. This is my brother Prince Dastan Sand…”placing her hand up to her lips as if to create a wall between herself and her brother, Luxia feigned a whisper,”my father’s first bastard.” Her voice rose again,”Isn’t he beautiful though? This is what real Dornish men look like. I have another beautiful brother too. You should meet him.” She frowned in thought. “But he won’t leave his room. He’s being that way again.” Her eyes had drifted far off but abruptly returned to her new friend. “Who are you? A Stark, I know that. I watched your banners come in.”

Joshuel: “Why, a man needs to think of something when he's overseas. And what better to think about than beautiful sisters?” He said, grinning, his head rolling back as they embraced. When she started rambling about her sisters' whereabouts and what happened to Quorah, Dastan grumbled and rose an eyebrow. “You should be nice to Quorah, my dove. She is your blood.” Then, he was dragged along into the courtyard, but was once again stopped when Luxia was once more distracted. This time by a mousy looking northern girl with skin pale as snow. Dastan had never liked those with fair complexions. To him it was unnatural. The darker the girl, the lovelier he would think them. He was well-known in Volantis for that very fact. Though, that was a story for another time. “Luxia. Perhaps you should let the girl take a breath before drowning her in your musings, don't you think?” He did, however, bow to the lady Stark after his sister's mention. “My lady.”

Guest_iBlackSapphire: “I’m Mirna, Lord Rickard’s only daughter,” she answered with a small smile to the girl. Her flurry of words were almost overpowering, she indefinitely had the spirit of Dorne in her. At the mention that the man was her brother made everything click into place for her. They were the complete opposite of her house. ‘Amazing how these events bring all the varieties of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she thought to herself. She waved her hands in front of her when the man bowed. “No, no please. There’s no need for that.” She made a tiny curtsy and tried her best to keep up with her words. “She is quite alright. In fact, this is probably the longest conversation I have received in some time.” It made her beyond happy to have this sort of interaction with her arrival to such a strange place.

Biird: Luxia waved off her brother. She didn’t much care to fawn over her sisters, though Isabel was probably the more entertaining of the two and she wasn’t taken by his little ribbing about thinking about her. In addition she never stopped talking until she was completely gone on her train of thought. He’d been gone for a number of years so having forgotten that was to be expected. Luxia lived in her own little world, occasionally she passed from the trap of her own mind into the reality shared by others but it wasn’t often and she didn’t really care for their rules or ways. Her eyes fluttered over the little Northern blue rose and her simple gown. “We should go find some lovely fabrics and have some gowns made. I hear the styles here are like nothing either of us know. When else will be get to dress like other ladies. I don’t know much about these hairstyles, too many twists I think, what do you think?” Again her arm looped into the crook of her bastard brother’s arm and she patted his forearm. “I would take you to mother and father but I haven’t seen much of them as of late. Perhaps at dinner? How would you like to escort lovely ladies about the town?”

Joshuel: “If I'm fairly honest, sister dear, I've been on a godforsaken boat for the better part of two weeks. What I would like most now is a bottle of wine, a glass and a comfortable chair. But don't let me hold you back. Please, explore the town. But take guards with you.” He then gave her a smile and stepped back. “I'll send a message with the tavern I will be staying at. As nice as it is of you to offer me a place, I need my space, and I'd rather not be locked in by walls.” He then looked around, as though nervous, at the high rising, red stone walls of the Red Keep, and swallowed dramatically. “Once I've sent a message, later today, mother and father can invite me for dinner. But for now, I still need to redress myself and I have an urge for wine that needs to be quenched.”

Guest_iBlackSapphire: Mirna smiled a bit wider and brushed a loose hair back under one of its pins. She could see the heat and water in the air begin to bring out her naturally wild waves in her hair. “I’d love to get some new dresses, but I’m sure I would need to contact my eldest brother first. We did after all… we recently lost our father, so I’m not quite sure how our finances work currently.” She glanced the man over again. He mentioned traveling by boat, she wondered what it would be like to travel all over without a care in the world and nothing to hold him back. She snapped back into the real world out of her mind as she noticed he was about to leave her and the other lady. “I.. I could call my guard for us if you wish.”

Biird: Luxia’s pout started small then grew with each passing word of her brother until a light bulb went off in her head. Mirna’s words glazed her mind but really all she heard from her was agreeance to her wild plans. “I have an idea! You should walk us to the nearest dress shop.” As was her way, she glazed over the dilemma in Mirna’s fianances and was too wrapped up in her own ideas and plans to give condolences about her recently deceased father. “I have guards…” She turned and let out a loud whistle which drew a good bit of attention but nothing seemed to change in the swing of things. “There we’re protected. There’s nothing wrong with doing a little looking around, besides we’d have to get measured and all of that. I hate getting measured. I hate standing around.” She started for the gates which she’d previously dragged her brother through and quickly behind appeared two Dornish guards, one still living from the ordeal a day ago and another fresh body of dark meat.

Joshuel: Dastan sighed. Luxia had been, ever since she could walk and talk, a handful of energy that could hardly be contained. And if he was honest, he did not feel quite up to the task of running his little sister down to a dress-shop with this pale-faced wallflower in tow. But he'd follow, if he really had to. He was sure to lose the girls, anyhow. As soon as Lux would see a shop, she'd be gone, which was just as well. It gave Dastan the time to disappear into the crowd. One of his specialties. Harder, ofcourse, thanks to the fact that his skin was darker than most Westerosi's were. In Essos it had been easier. And by muttering a few words in Valyrian, one could mix among the people of the East quite easily. “Well, if you insist...” He sighed, and followed after his sister and her newly found companion. Poor girl. Luxia could be quite rude, because she was so intensely self-absorbed. He had even found himself to be annoyed by her demeanor. That bothered him, but he blamed it on his time away. Whenever he would be adressed, he'd answer shortly and politely, and once the girls found themselves in a store or by a stall, he'd take the opportunity to blend away. From there, he'd make his way back to the yard. As a good lad, Caro had been waiting there for his master, after having his delivered to a proper winehouse. One with a good set of whores too, as Caro had made clear once Dastan arrived. When finally up in his room, with a bottle of wine, a glass and some assorted fruits and nuts, he made himself comfortable by the window. His sister would be fine. No Dornishman would allow a Princess to be hurt, else he'd have failed his duties. Hopefully the meet-up with the rest of the family would go over a little less bothersome. One could only hope. “Caro. Send a message to my father. Give him the name and location of this tavern.”

Guest_iBlackSapphire: Mirna walked behind the pair of siblings and gazed around the many shops as they walked back out the gates to the streets of King’s Landing. Seeing the vibrant colors, smells, and distinct sounds were so eye opening she wasn’t sure if she even minded the bit of reek that hung over the city. She glanced back at the gates of the courtyard, unable to find her guard. “Luxia, I believe it would be best for me to first find my chambers before I go about the city to go shopping. I do enjoy your offer though,” she said as she back away slowly hoping to have her recognize her leaving before she could make a break to find her brother and finally get settled into her temporary home. She picked up her skirts and brushed her hair completely behind her back before brushing through the crowds searching for her brother. Instead a guard that recognized her offered to escort her to her wing of the castle for the night.

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Androphobia: Isabel's eyes blazed violet flames as she took a sip of wine from her golden chalice. King's Landing. The sea had been quite forgiving during her voyage, so she had no complaints as far as the trip was concerned. She did, however, hate the smell. The metropolitan stench of King's Landing was nothing like perfumed heat of Dorne, or the floral breeze of Essos. Essos. That's where she had been for the past month. Her parents had asked a favor of her--entertain the affections of a dignitary in order to secure a trade agreement. He had visited Dorne a bit of time before her voyage, and of course Isabel caught his eye (Didn't she catch everyone's? She'd even made out with a eunuch, once). He begged her parents to allow her to accompany him back to Essos, in hopes that by the time they arrived, she would be persuaded to marry him. They obliged, knowing that when it came to seduction, Isabel was much more fearsome than anyone they knew. That being said, by the time they reached Essos, Isabel had not only been given the trade agreement, but also an estate in the Essos ("to come visit"), and as many gifts as her ship back home could carry. This included jewels, gold, clothing, rare fabrics, perfumed oils, and animals for her parents' menagerie. Isabel sighed as she looked onto the steeples of King's Landing. If she was going to survive this hellhole she would need two things.. A hard man and a stiff drink.


Merc: Castos pushed by a few of the other sailors to put himself on the back right hand side of the princess he was sworn to protect, both hands moved at once to his back and clasped together as he stood there wearing nothing but boots, pants and arm wraps. Whatever there was that used to make up the rest of his attire had been taken from him and cast aside into the sea many moons ago, after all the princess preferred her guards topless, and kept in the best conditions so that she may put them to whatever use she saw fit; it was a very stamina depriving job. The 5’9 sand kissed solider stood perfectly still against the cold winds of Westeros, even if it wasn’t as warm here as it was in Dorne or Essos he was still without that shirt though the only difference it made to his body now was the effect the cold winds had on the fine hairs of his body and his nipples which now stood rather erect. Snake like green eyes searched the area as the winds moved his well-kept hair out of place which was something he adjusted to fix almost instantly, bringing a hand from his back to comb the slick hair back into place, after all a bad looking guard around princess Isabel was general one that didn’t have a job or a head for long.


Grimm: Kings Landing was bustling as it always did, though it was even more alive with the festival drawing closer and closer and the number of people growing and growing. Kainen had, for the most part, locked himself away in whatever kitchen he could find both inside the Red Keep and outside, though his visits were usually only one time afairs as he was quickly barred, though he did not know it himself. Grayson was usually the one warned and tried his best to usher Kainen to a new location everytime he ventured out under the guise of "It's always good to try something new". Today though was the first time the monster of a male did not head straight for the kitchens, instead he found himself ontop of the Keeps wall, overlooking the harbor below. Many of the mian fleet was anchored off shore as always, though most were posted more towards Dragon Stone. Merchants were scrambling along the docks, peddling wears or at least restocking those recently sold. This was a time where gold was plentyful and sharp minds were rare when coupled with the alchohol that flowed freely through the streets. Grayson sat at Kainen's side, glad for the day off from the constant shouting he endured following his charge around, his younger brother off tending to who knows what, just as long as he wasn't here bothering Kainen with question after question. Not that the man ever answered, Grayson was usually the one that had too. Cracking his neck to the side, Kainen rolled his massive shoulders as he kept his gaze out across the dock and it's ant sized workers.


Biird: Lux spent the morning being lectured by her mother on goings on of being in the public market. Apparently her mother and father had an audience with her cousin, whom she’d never met, Rhaelle, in regards to destruction of a public tent, and the death of one of their guards. The slight was basically swept under the rug because well… family. Their mother new of the Baratheon side much more intimately than any of them. Luxia had never even so much as laid eyes on her cousins as far as she knew. Unbeknownst to either her or Kainen, he was the great beast she was infatuated with and the one that had destroyed everything with one punch. The lecture was boring and the only thing that piqued her interest was the final few lines of how Isabel should have been arriving today. Her eldest sister would surely liven up this stink pit they’d been brought too. Having to wait for her mother to stop fussing and worrying was a terrible chore. Even though Lux was rambunctious and wild, she still respected her mother enough to sit, even if dramatically, and wait for her to finish saying whatever she’d been saying for the past hour. “Do you understand me, Luxia?” “I do!” She said merrily though she’d heard nothing. Her mother quirked a brow suspiciously, shook her head and dismissed her middle child. Barefooted, Luxia bolted out of the door but not before slamming a kiss to her mother’s cheek. She scrambled down the hall of their apartments and burst into their father’s small study, wiggling her way into his lap. “When will Isabel be here? Will it be soon? How soon?” He chuckled, a deep fluid sound, encircling her in his long, lean arms that were adorned with golden bands and cuffs. “My little hummingbird, so full of energy. Your sister should be docking soon. There’s no point in going to meet her, it will take hours for her to ready her grand procession and make her entrance.” Lux preened. Both she and Isabel were over the top but in completely different ways. She couldn’t wait to see how she burst through those drab gates of the Red Keep.


Androphobia: The princess heard a rustle behind her, and turned her head to see what it was. When she spotted the guard, she immediately locked eyes with him. Isabel’s eye contact was something that was unsettling to some. It didn’t matter what was happening in the conversation, or how awkward not breaking her stare would be. She looked into your eyes as if you were making love to her, even if you were simply asking her what time she would be ready for dinner. She smirked and turned back to the view that stretched before her. “Tell me, Castos. How shall I behave once I enter King’s Landing? Will they think me uncivilized because I am not chaste?” She continued smiling. “Would it be better suited for my time here if I behaved like a proper lady?” Her questions were, after all, more for her own amusement than for than for the answers that would follow them. She loved testing wit, especially with Castos. He was one of her favorite guards. She leaned forward and peered at the crowds that stood underneath the arches and steeples of King’s Landing. This was not a place that she intended to spend much of her time. The people were too stuffy here. They looked down on the ideals that her people prided themselves in. Sexual freedom… gender equality… These folk were sure to turn up their noses at her scantily clad body and “free spirit”. Let their noses turn. She took consolation in the fact that they would later use the memory of her slopes and curves to furiously stimulate their genitals. Monkey, her, uh, monkey, leapt onto the railing from a ledge below and gently tugged on her finger. She poked him in the stomach and he smiled. Speaking once again to Castos, the princess said (quite matter of factly), “Nice nipples.”


Merc: As she turned Castos had just enough time to place his hand behind his back once more, though this didn’t stop the onslaught of her gaze , the assault of her stare that seemingly beat the man down without her ever having to lift a finger or even bat an eyelash. The sun kissed male refused to blink at her challenge, he wouldn’t pry away from her gaze but he also couldn’t deny the appeal and need that her very stare brought to life in him. Giving out a heavy sigh as she turned away from him to once again face the city he knew he was saved, a couple of more seconds and he would have either looked away in shame or jumped on her out of wanting more. Castos head rolled against his shoulders with weight, the games the princess liked to play were almost exhausting to the point where the job wasn’t worth it, but the sight when she turned around or wasn’t facing in his direction was something that kept him around and acting well. The princess spoke and Castor shook his head, again with questions she didn’t care about, he hadn’t seen her ever change who she was, other than the times where it was required for her to get something that she wanted, but even then she was always the seductress, always bringing out the dark parts in others minds. “I think if you be yourself you could walk away from this place holding the crown, and I have yet to see not act like a proper lady, princess.” A small smirk crossed his lips as she spoke once more, her compliment was rather flattering, but then again he knew why she kept him around and all the other guards like him, it was no secret she was one for those with looks she approved of; and in this case he could just so happen to defend her at the same time. “Not quite as nice as yours are, princess.”


Grimm: Kainen pushed himself from the wall of the Keep, stretching his large arms over his head and turned, moving down the stairs without a word to Grayson or the others that greeted him with a polite bow or greeting of his title, not that he ever really responded to that, in that sense he was much like Rhaelle. It wasn't that he didn't like it, it didn't annoy him to be addressed as such, it litterally went in one ear and out the other unless he choose to actually hear these random people. Grayson often found himself having to his Kainen with something, from distance of course, to get his attention. Turning into the courtyard of the Keep, Yennrick came running around a corner and crashed straight into the hulking mass of muscle. Rubbing his head, the boys face paled when he saw who he had hit, though Kainen only chuckled and reached down, grabbing Yennrick by the scruff of his neck, gripping the fabrich and hoisting him to face level. "I'm not that hard to miss that you would not see me standing there, am I?" Grayson came around the corner in time to see Kainen holding Yennrick and quickly ran over to him and dragged him from Kainen's grip, smacking the boy on the back of the head for whatever he had done and told him to vanish quickly. Yennrick did just that, the color still not having returned to the poor boys face as he ran and full speed back towards the stables. "One day he's going to land in real trouble and I won't be around to help him" Grayson sighed. "Sure you will, you're like an old woman that's always there to scold the young ones," Kainen laughed loudly as Grayson grunted. "Where are we going M'Lord" Kainen looked around but shrugged, he didn't have a plan for today, but surely something would show up, eventually, to entertain.


Biird: Luxia accompanied her mother and father to the courtyard of the Keep just about the time her sister was said to show up. The other two were probably locked in their rooms and her parents seemed rather happy to have them that way since they’d forewarned of the snake-like nature of King’s Landing. In Dorne they were the paramount and all the snake-like dealings went through their household and their children were rather carefree, but their protection and safety could not be completely guaranteed in the capital. Not with the way the king was and the nature of the city of itself. While Luxia was aware of all this, outwardly it didn’t seem to faze her. She was a bit more diligently when scooping her surroundings but no one that didn’t know her intimately would be any the wiser of her here or there. Almost daily she had new guards, the ones before exhausted from following her around, were often traded out to watch her tamer, albeit more boring sister or some other family member. As they crossed through the Red Keep weaving down this hallway or that, maids and maesters and septs alike greeted them with gentle bows and murmured hellos of respect. That part was much like being at home and Lux took little joys in flicking their noses as they bowed or tickling their ears, even wiggling her bare toes in their lines of sight when their heads were down. She giggled and trotted along behind her parents. Her mother was looped around the strong arm of her father and he stood straight and tall though he was of average height. The two strutted like a pair of panthers down the halls, all flounced and silken. Their mother had soft creamy features that had finally taken to the Dornish sun. Her eyes were vibrant lavender like that of her children but her hair was like an oil slick. Their father was polished cherry wood next to her with his own black hair and silvery grey eyes. The only boy since Prince Duran not to be cast from his noble house for not being pale enough. He wore a circlet of gold around his head, taming his long wavy locks and his wife matched him. They came into the courtyard, their mischievous child in two and paused at the bottom of great stairs, the very same that Lux had been on when her bastard brother showed his face to the gates. She chittered merrily behind them, prancing the length of the landing of the stairs, unbearably excited for the arrival of her sister.


Androphobia: At his final remark, she gasped in mock disbelief and turned around to face him. The heat had caused her to glow with sweat, and it slicked her exposed body. A trickle slowly journeyed between her breasts, which were already large enough without her poking them out in his direction. “Why, Castos! I could have your tongue for saying that!” She stepped towards him slowly, her violet eyes dimmed underneath her thick lashes, her lips full and soft. “I could have your tongue right now.” She stopped just before him, still locked in a visual embrace. “Would you like that, Castos? If I had your tongue?” Her breath was shallow, and she breathed her words in that way that brought thoughts that were not of conversation, but moans and screams of pleasure. She leaned forward and kissed his neck, her lips parting and tasting the salt of his flesh. “How about it, Dornishman? You said I shall have a crown. Shall I also make your face my throne?” She was interrupted by a loud trumpet signalling that the ship had docked. She smiled up at him, wickedly and innocently at the same time. Straightening her body, she cast aside her thoughts of riding his lips and prepared herself for what was to come. Her parents would be proud of her success, but disappointed with her tardiness. Her brother would be… in his room. Gods knew what he did in there. She had a theory that he dressed up in a gown and fondled corpses in his spare time. Quorah would be buried in a book, imagining lands she’d never visit, and things she’d never do. The poor girl was as intelligent as she was boring. Honestly, the only person Isabel was anxious to see was Luxia. Her little sister was just as spirited as she was, and her antics always made Isabel laugh. She held Monkey to her chest as one would cradle an infant, and she spoke to Castos. “Escort me to my chamber. I need to change into something a bit more scandalous to greet the good people of Sewer Village.” After saying this, she made her way to her room, without turning to see if he would follow. He would. After she entered the cabin, she shimmied out of her dress. Her pet tiger lay in a corner, his eyes blinking slowly in acknowledgement of Isabel’s presence. He had been a gift from her father. Isabel was sure that were her life in danger, the beast would protect her. At least she thought so. There was no way to be sure… He spent most of his time napping. On her bed lay a number that was shinier and more expensive. It was also barely there, as far as fabric was concerned. Servants, slaves and guards prepared her procession. Isabel being Isabel, they had rehearsed this process twice a day during their journey. Animals were brought from below, exotic beasts that yowled and hissed. Luxia would enjoy taming them. They also carried gifts that she brought for her family, gold, jewels, and other treasures. Her tiger, Rhaeses, was fashioned with a golden chain by Isabel and handed to her maidservant. “Walk with him.” With everything ready, Isabel departed the ship, her long gown trailing behind her. She climbed onto a dais that was gilded with gold, and carried on four poles by four large, muscular men. She looked down at Castos as drummers began to play. “Walk beside me.” The procession started, and before they knew it, they were entering the courtyard where they were being expected. Isabel couldn’t help but make a mental note to have everyone walk slower next time. She enjoyed being watched, even if it was by curious commoners. As they entered the courtyard, the crowd that gathered there stared at her, open mouthed. She ignored the men nudging each other, licking their lips at her and exchanging lewd comments amongst themselves. She ignored the women, plumed and pompous, with their twisted hair resembling pastries and their bodies shaped like pudding. She ignored all of them and searched only for her family. The dais lowered, and she was lifted onto the ground. Her hair fell in a long, soft braid that shone in the light of the sun. Her dress was spun of gold, and inlaid with precious gemstones. It wasn’t a gown so much as a silhouette… it outlined her body and only covered enough of it to avoid revealing the petals between her thighs. Where on earth was her sister? Isabel knew she wouldn’t miss her arrival, no matter how hyperactive and easily distracted she was.

---

Biird: It had been quite the morning. So much that Rhaelle had put her sleeping babe to rest in the center of her large glided guest bed in her chambers and left his knights at the door with orders to remain standing until her son awoke and summoned them or came looking for her; the latter was more likely. In her chambers her ladies waited patiently, doing what, she could not say, even if they always seemed busy. Rhaelle waved them out of the room and behind her. "The sun is warm today, and smell of shit is less than it was yesterday. Come out and let some of the lonely nobles look at what the Beast of Storm's End keeps in tow." She knew well the unflattering name that trailed around her when amongst other women and most men; it rarely phased her. Rhaelle had more important things to worry about than what bratty lords and ladies thought of her garb, manner of speech or actions. Most importantly however her actions were always under the careful and knowledgeable watch of her son who suffered the same indiscretions, an example had to be set. It was about noon now, so the courtyard would be more alive with the arrival of many more nobles. However, on this day, she'd already managed to come into contact with a good deal of allies, there was only one left that would set to arrive today but they were cast so low on the rung nobility now that they would not be breaching the gates of the keep until they were summoned. Their guest accommodations would be outside the gates and between the keep and the township, so that's where Rhaelle led her ladies.

Olena: Padmé cast aside the shirt that she was mending for the little lord of Storm’s End, placing it inside the chest upon which she sat, and dropping a curtsy with the other handmaidens before following their liege lady outside the chambers to the courtyard. She bit her bottom lip to refrain from chuckling as her mistress made jest of the terrible nickname so many of the other more posh nobles had seen fit to bestow upon her—leave it to the Baratheons to make light of an awkward situation. The crowds would part for the senior noble woman and her troupe of ladies and guards behind them, but they all remained silent keeping their eyes lowered to those within the crowd. If they were needed to attract the attention or gain information from another, they would do so when they were bid, not before. Padmé took short, quick, breaths to keep from inhaling too much of the putrid smell of waste that lined the streets of King’s Landing, nothing similar to the sea breeze that washed over Storm’s End. Everything was so crowded here. No matter which way you turned, perhaps save for the guarded Red Keep itself, there were always at least a dozen people to either side of your person. She took the time to glance over Rhaelle’s attire, seeing if there were any adjustments she would need to make when the garb was discarded later that evening. She was under the instruction of the dowager lady Eirlys to see to it that her daughter fit the part of a woman born to such high station while in the capital, but one could only do what their betters allowed them to do—miracles were for the gods. If the ladies were not fussing over their battle-clad mistress they were being terrorized by her little blonde haired son, who went from cherub in his mother’s presence to a hair-pulling, wall-climbing, lightning-fast imp in theirs. They all took their turn at the wine bottle, needless to say. They did, however, manage to present themselves to the public eye in a way that complimented their lady’s look. Given the purple sash at her side they all made effort to wear similar gowns of the same hue, Padmé’s being a floor-length dress that outlined her feminine shape and bared her shoulders. Given their function, it was their job to make others look, to talk, or to seduce, if need be. Their duties were well-lain out for them before they ever went into her service.

KeiichiroTsukishima: "Yes, father." Were the only words that Yuan spoke after the slew of instructions that were given to him by both his parents, the Lord Tully and his wife quite anxious about the behavior of their children, even though they were mostly of age, while in King's Landing. Sometimes he wanted to swear that he knew their lessons by heart, but the heir apparent of House Tully was too tactful to say such things to his parents... well, even if he thought of them. In truth, he believed that they would fare fine especially without Ygor, bless his soul, around to spew words that could curdle milk in a few seconds. It was only when he exited their modest apartments that he was able to breathe freely, although only for a moment until he realized that his father had asked a couple of their men, more than the usual, to accompany him wherever he went. Strict, as was usual of the Lord Eóden, but he can hardly blame his tyrant of father for Yuan knew that it was only for the benefit of the family that he is the way he is. "Lord Yuan." Darius voiced in greeting as the unit bowed respectfully to Lord Eóden's heir, noting the unusually blank expression he wore, something that they knew the young Lord utilized when he was thinking of none-too-pleasant thoughts about certain things. The men were told that Yuan might not like too much company but he knew better than to defy his father at this point, considering where they are. "I didn't realize that I needed this much men to go for a walk." He jested politely with a small smile, not wanting to seem ungrateful for the effort that these men made to protect him, even if he could protect himself. "Well, there we are then. Nothing to be done." Yuan mused out loud before proceeding to walk to a random direction without much of a destination in mind. He's heard a lot about King's Landing but this would be the first time that he will be exploring on his own, away from his father's very watchful eyes. The young Lord was mentally recounting his options, of where to go, but he paused as he caught sight of the gate that led into the massive structure, thoughts wandering off to the significance of the Keep even if the stench that permeated the very air they breathe wasn't too welcoming.

Biird: They breached the same side gate she and her son had done before but instead of being led, Rhaelle led her ladies on a very determined path toward the banners of the knighted Tully house. A once noble house reduced to nothing more than nurse maids with swords for a craggy old liege lord that should have never been; a line that should very well be snuffed out with that of her cousin. Before her were the typical undoings of travel which her eyes needed to shift through in order to find their intended target or targets as it were. They parted ways, forcing Rhaelle to choose one. She shifted her direction opting to address the young wondering lordling rather than his departing father. They’d met only once before in the shabby little keep that was not their home on the Oldstones. Whether they exchanged anything more than a greeting Rhaelle couldn’t recall. Her memories of his parents however were quite vivid and heavy motive for her choice. She was not a fan of the long wended or naturally tyrannical in nature. That wasn’t to say that his parents were wicked people only that they were clearly of a generation of micromanaging nitpickers. In order to avoid having to do that awkward half curtsy bow, Rhaelle had perfected, she fell in step with the young lord Yuan merging his party with her own. “I would avoid that place. My mad cousin flutters through the walls mumbling to himself and lashing out at this one or that.” Her words were treason by Alexander’s decree. The paranoid little snake didn’t like to be spoken of in any ill manner. His eyes and ears were everywhere, but since he refused audience with his on kin, there was not much of him that Rhaelle feared or even paid very much mind too. “How as your travel, Lord Yuan, and how is your family?”

Olena: Padmé eyed the sigil up ahead, that of the former great house, and thus she followed suit when her lady stepped alongside the lord, only she and the others dropped the knee in a curtsy. As chief among the handmaidens she stood a pace closer to Rhaelle than the rest, the only one to be classified as lady-in-waiting, given her birth to a lesser noble house within the realm (not specified which one at the moment), and thus they rose from their act of respect by order of birth rank. It was such a shame to see a family once hailed among the greatest of the seven brought so low, especially to another as vile as the Frey’s—descendants of those would would violate Lady Eirlys’ ancestor Robb Stark in such a disgusting manner. They were likely the only High house would support the weakling that now held the Iron Throne, a weakling who’s very visage made her feel sick to her stomach. He was nothing like his cousins, even her own lady bringing him to shame, and especially that of his brother the one-time Prince Dante, now reduced to Lordship on the isle of Dragonstone, left for dead. She had only a faint memory of him when he was brought to Storm’s End at the fair age of ten for a summer, but Dante at ten was more a marvel than the king nearing his thirties. It seemed as though he was one of few who managed to inherit all the Baratheon looks with none of the stature, looking like the more swallow Baelish family if one were to examine him closely enough. The women exchanged looks at Lady Rhaelle’s treacherous comment, but were met with the cold glare of Padmé’s brown eyes, a mute ‘be still’ communicated without question. It was not their place to question the actions and words of those higher than them, even out of fear for their safety. It was their duty to serve.

KeiichiroTsukishima: Gazing at the gates for a moment or two, the young Lord wondered how his ancestors would've been welcomed into the Red Keep. He knew the answer to his own question, honestly, but currently they will never experience that kind of treatment because of how low their family name had been dragged that fateful phase centuries ago. Well, not unless he did something to change the way things currently are and, young as he is, he recognized that the tides were somehow shifting and it was up to his father... or him, to take advantage of that imminent change. His musing was cut short when a woman and her retinue fell into perfect step with him and his detail, the young Lord simply glancing at her as she spoke treasonous words that he didn't need to remind her about. No, these were things that every noble, of whichever rank and station, knew and must adhere to. There was a subtle understanding that she knew the implications of her own allegations but there was also recognition in the way he watched her speak, seemingly assessing if he should dignify her statement with a response. To be fair, there were so many thoughts that did not manifest in words for him that hearing a blunt opinion was quite refreshing. "Well met, Lady Rhaelle, I will keep your advice in mind." He replied with a small smile of greeting, bowing in respect of the vast difference in their stations and using that pause to quietly acknowledge the woman's detail that greeted him as well. "Our travel to King's Landing had been pleasant, M'lady, thank you for asking." He quipped in a sincere fashion, the young Lord dignified regardless of how the Tullies have fallen from grace. "My family is also faring well and would be joyous to know of your inquiry." Yuan then focused on Rhaelle, wondering if it was mere coincidence that she was here and speaking to him, but knew in his gut that there were rarely any incidents that happen by chance in the political world they moved in. "Have you just recently arrived?" He asked. "I hope that your journey has been as pleasant as ours, if not better."

Biird: It was well that he knew her on some level. Not that it would have been hard for even low born to merely recognize the Storm Cat. Whether the girl liked it or not the rumors of her strange looks, however Baratheon they were, spread far and wide. The rumors had only gotten more prevalent after her roaming about Westeros collecting allies for her solemn cousin who lie in exile but not death saved by his own lanky clumsiness. The relaxed line of her lips turned down for the briefest of moments when the Tully boy turned and bowed to her. He received a mere nod in response, as Rhaelle had hoped he would simply continue walking. Stupid girl. She should have known better. Tully ambition was not merely brute force but politeness and protocol as well. A trait she could respect. “See that you do.” Rhaelle only half joked about her cousin. She had been in King’s Landing nearly a week already and all she ever saw of her soon to be dethroned cousin were glimpses of his sickly figure as he paced through the halls of the keep barking orders with his raspy voice, often to no one in the near vicinity and arguing with vehemently with the gods. The few times he’d been aware of her presence, Alexander had a strange of way of looking down on a person the way a crane spies fish in the river. Each time was the same disdain followed by the same stupid question – “Where is your mother?” His obsession with her mother was beyond agitating. The words always left his lips with lecherous tone, a dark shine appearing his eye. It was no secret he had a penchant for dark haired women, so what he was going to do with that Velaryon girl, Rhaelle only shuttered to think. Her suffering would come to an end soon enough. “A journey is a journey. Frankly I am quite sick of travel at the moment, despite the shit smell, it’s quite nice to be settled for a moment. Do you accompany your liege lord on this trek?”

KeiichiroTsukishima: Yuan Tully was mostly a facial enigma to those that didn't know him that well. There are times that even his liege lord would wonder about what was going on in his head for despite any taunting, direct or implied, the young Lord would simply take it in stride with a modicum of dignity and a demeanor that was politically blank and pleasant. The thoughts in his head were vastly different though, having killed the Freys in innumerable ways that were both imaginable and unimaginable for an even tempered lad like him. "How can I not?" He asked in good humor, as if her previous statement was the most natural thing in the world for him to seemingly agree to. "Journeys can bode both ways for different people, that much I can agree to." Yuan replied to her statement, pausing as she asked if his family was accompanying their /liege lords/. It was hilarious for him to think that they had any hold on his family, to be honest, because he knew from what has been written and told that they've always been the ones truly doing the dirty work. He was aware that if not for the Tullies, the Freys would never be able to manage the Riverlands on their own. Still, he indulged the Baratheon with an answer. "Aye, M'lady. Our Liege Lords have arrived soon after we did and I am sure that their presence will be made known in no time." Which was true, the Freys were so inadequate in leadership that they resorted to dishonorable things that may or may not be appreciated in the capital. He made a factual statement, but there was a difference in the way he spoke the words, and the disdain was so minute that one would've been paying VERY close attention to catch the faint note that mingled with his manner of speaking. "Did you wish to convene with them, Lady Rhaelle?" He asked, wondering what her intentions were in 'seeking' him out.

Biird: In terms placid faces, Rhaelle very well may have met her match. It was an increasingly becoming trait, for the girl never could understand the need to wear your emotions on your sleeve or your every whim on your features. She too, preferred indifference in her tone and manner even when the occasional joke or respite left her lips. Of course she was not nearly as polished as this young lord in keeping her distaste from edging her words. “Absolutely not, I’ve had my fill of piss and shit for the day.” She retorted, her words flat though the stringing together of them was incredibly disrespectful this close to their quarters. Before she could truly delve into her sudden appearance into his presence, a knight baring the sigil of her house clattered up to the two, bowing, out of breath and cut in desperately. “My Lady, my apologizes, but you must come quickly. Your son..” He was waved off then, she needed to know no more than that. “Come with me, Lord Yuan. The wine in the Keep is much better than what you’ll be gifted down here anyway. This will only take a moment.” His rebuttal was not needed, whether he came along or not, her son needed her. The knight led the way back to the guest chambers in the keep with hast. They met two other knights at the doors – they quickly put their helms on to mask the fear in their eyes. The sounds of screaming and heavy furniture being moved could be heard far down the hallway. Just before the doors swung open, her son’s small voice breached the confusion clearly,”I WANT MY MOTHER.” Mumbling and shuffling. Rhaelle stepped into the room, her eyes scanning the damage. Trunks had been turned over, their contents spread across the stone floors. Two of the curtain rods on the bed had been pulled down and Rhaegar’s entourage save one woman, scattered like cockroaches to the walls furthest from Rhaelle, leaving only Rhaegar and his septa in the center of the room. She had a blossoming bruise on her cheek in the shape of a small hand. Her coif was pushed down, hair mused, and part of her top ripped. Rhaegar spun and dove into his mother legs, sobbing wildly. Rhaelle patted his head, her gaze bearing down on the septa as she tried to right herself and rise to curtsy. “My lady, thank the heavens, he would not quell without you. Perhaps he had a nightmare of some sort.” Viciously wiping his eyes, Rhaegar spat back,”She lies! I wanted current bread and cheese. I’m hungry. She said bastards boys should starve to death that’s why my mother didn’t leave food provisions for me. She said you didn’t love me. She said you left me forever in this place. She said the King would stick my head on a spike on the gate for all the world to see what should be done with bastard boys.”

Olena: Padme hastened quickly behind her lady, having opted to wear boots in place of heels to avoid sullying them on the filth-ladden streets that made up this revolting place. That and she knew the much longer legs of the lady Rhaelle could cover much more ground than that of her own in a single stride, so it was best to come prepared. A rush of discontent filled her as the guards made their way so quickly to them in regards to the little lord. She herself had been set to the task of seeing to his care for periods of time on many occasion, and never once had things gone so far as for her needing to send guards to have the boy’s mother come and rectify the situation. He could be a handful, no doubt, as would any child void of playmates his age to help him release such pent up energy, but he was not that difficult if dealt with properly and with a certain playful tenderness. Although, the list of possibilities had sprung up in her head. The king could have gone off on one of his tangents and thought to strike the boy or cause him harm, and it was only to her horror to hear what the child accused the supposed holy woman of. She would step around to the side of Rhaelle to see the situation better for herself, seeing the room and woman thrown all about. “Have you lost your mind? Laying hands on the little lord! You know better!” The words flew from her lips as she stood there aghast, as for whether or not the woman had struck the child at any point she knew not, but her clothes being torn showed she had been fairly close. She felt the urge to slap the woman for being so cruel to a child, it was beyond her comprehension. The other women crowded behind her as they looked on at the spectacle. Granted she wasn’t murdered on the spot, the septa would be begging for scraps come nightfall.

KeiichiroTsukishima: The woman didn't show as much emotion as his brother, Ygor 'The Brute' Tully, but the way she spoke those disrespectful words made Yuan wonder if his brother had been rebirthed or descended in the form of a woman, a lady that was currently in front of him. The corners of his lips twitched but his control won over in the end and he managed to keep a straight face even when a knight interrupted their conversation. With a polite amount of disinterest, Yuan feigned giving the woman her space as she spoke to the knight but cautiously followed as she bid him to. His father was right about recognizing the innate leader in Yuan but the follower in him could simply not ignore the fact that was woman of higher station /invited/ him to come with. To be fair, even if it was not just a moment, Yuan would appreciate more time away from his parents, at this point, for they were insufferable when they wished to be and when they were anxious... they were simply people you do not want to be around of. They hastened to exercise control on a situation that seemed urgent, so it did not take long for them to reach their destination, a place that seemed quite... disheveled. It was something that Yuan felt he should not have witnessed but by the choice he made to follow, the circumstances have changed drastically. He became a quiet observer in the background, knowing it was not his place to execute any punishments but his stance became rigid at the words that the child spoke, a subtle anger apparent in his steely gaze. Yuan held his hand up to stop Darius from speaking, the young Lord annoyed by the fact that there are those that seek to enforce power unjustly. A grown woman doing this to a child reminded him of the moments that the current Head of House Frey usually insulted his family and their honor... so much so that the young Lord quietly stepped forward and spoke: "No one must go through such torment, Lady Rhaelle. State your chosen discipline and if I may, I will enforce it for you." The statement was chillingly calm, the absence of any disturbance like that tranquil moment before a heavy storm sets in. Yuan wasn't even looking at the woman at this point, his gaze level as he waited for the Baratheon's decision.

Biird: There as a torrent of rushed words floating around her. Emotions were running high, and though Rhaelle was burning like the fire of the seven hells, her features had not changes while her son poured forth accusations as to the reasoning for her room being left squalor. Of course anything Rhaegar said needed to be taken with a grain of salt, however, the fact that her child was red faced from sobbing led Rhaelle to believe he was closer to truth than he had ever been. Padme, who had on several occasions been his handler without incident was unable to hold her tongue at the sight before her. The horror in her voice near palpable. “He’s not a lord!” The septa shot back to her,”He’s just a bast…” Leaving Rhaegar in the charge of Padme’s skirt, Rhaelle’s hand found that bold woman’s throat so quickly her last words were stumbled upon while she gasped for air. The septa clawed at her liege lady’s hand, her feet dangling as Rhaelle held her up. “Say it.” The Stag ordered through gritted teeth. “Finish your thought. Let me hear you call my son a bastard.” Bending her arm slightly Rhaelle drew the woman closer a split second before slamming her frail form into one of the heavy pillars in the room. A loud crack caused Rhaegar to yelp, burying his head in Padme’s skirt for the briefest of moments before he turned and stood tall to watch his mother. There would be no rebuttal from the woman, while her eyes rolled to the back of her head and blood began to run down the back of her neck. With a simple flex of her fingers, she could have snuffed the life out of the woman, but softly spoken words were just now working their way into her consciousness. She half turned then, to her child and her guest. She suspected that most other lords and nobles would have been horrified to witness the treat of her septa and not her son since it was widely known that Rhaegar was indeed a bastard. For every single person that discounted his status opting to view him as a child and not a smear on the ass of life, was a person Rhaelle would be more likely to draw into the folds of her life. Pitching the disheveled, wounded woman to the floor, Rhaelle picked up her son rather roughly by the arm and held him against the front of her body. “Thank you, Lord Tully for your generous words but you need not stain your hands with the blood of fools.” Nodding to her guards she went on, “Take her to the rack. Tell my cousin she is a witch who speaks the Old Gods against him.” To leave the woman at the hands of the mad king with such an accusation was possibly the worse thing anyone could have done and yet it left Rhaelle’s lips as quickly and as easily as a comment about the weather. As the septa was removed, Rhaelle motioned for the room to be cleaned and Lord Yuan to follow her out onto the balcony where he would no longer have to look at that mess. Wiping Rhaegar’s face, her usual flat tone returned. “A fool child you are. What have I always told you?” The child sniffled,”Even in death you would always be by my side.” She nodded,”Yes, now stop that fussing, for I am neither dead nor near it and you should never let the lies of others cloud what you know to be the truth again. Understand?” “Yes, mother.” “Now, straighten up and say hello.” Turning Rhaegar around, she motioned to the young Tully. “Lord Yuan Tully, this is my son, Lord Rhaegar Baratheon.” Wiping his round face once more Rhaegar beamed up at Yuan,”Lord Yuan, it’s my pleasure and my apology that you should see me so.”

KeiichiroTsukishima: Has the world been plunged to madness? Yuan wondered as the Septa had the gall to answer the woman with words that would only lead to her folly. Did no one think of consequences anymore? The young Lord's questions whether valid or not were outplayed by the violence that directly resulted from the woman's statements. Bastard or not, the child was too young to be subject to such treatment so even if he abhorred the barbaric ways of hitting someone defenseless, he felt that Rhaelle's anger was justified. Not that he was siding with the Baratheon for using force, and not that he claims agreement of her methods, but there were certain things that a mother cannot stand when it comes to the treatment of their children. In his own experience, there were definitely moments when his own mother resorted to actions that most characterized as something that women of noble birth would not do. However, with all that the Young Lord had seen in the battlefield, there was nothing happening in the current scenario that could much of a reaction from him. There was only patience as he waited for Rhaelle to indulge in her vengeance, not even flinching at the loud crack that resounded in the room. It was that very moment that Yuan knew that the Sept probably regretted how she allowed herself to run her mouth... and to the wrong person too. Bastard or not, a child is a child and no status can change that in a mother's eyes, especially if she were the kind that all mothers should be, and Rhaelle seemed to be just that. "Very well then." Was his only reply when the Baratheon finally addressed him, moving to the balcony when he was bid to, with the usual patience and fortitude that they Tullies were known for. The conversation the Lady had with her child made him smile inwardly, remembering the moments when his own mother scolded him and forced him to be as he should be... creating perpetually useful habits that he will never forget for the rest of his life. As soon as they were introduced, Yuan would actually bow to the renowned bastard, not even caring if the child was indeed a spawn of wedlock. What use would such information, as whose child one is, be in the long run if the person itself would be useless? Better be a bastard of noble intentions than a noble of bastardly deeds. "There is no need for apology, Lord Rhaegar. There are some things that are out of our control, especially what others think about us." He smiled, kindly, before stepping carefully towards the child, the manner easy and unintrusive as he crouched in front of the boy so their faces were at level in a respectful distance. It would seem that the young Lord somehow sees himself in Rhaegar, knowing how it feels to be ridiculed simply for being who you are... and worse, for bearing a family name that you didn't even choose to be born into. "But the restraint we show in such situations is something that we can own." Yuan paused for effect before he spoke on, looking at the boy as if to state that this was a very serious conversation, much like he does with his own willful younger brother. "Remember, sometimes, what others speak about is more a reflection of who they truly are than us." The young Lord smiled. "Never let them see you angry for you only show your fury when the time is right."

Biird: Rhaegar shifted out of his mother’s lap, feeling more like a man than a child as the moments passed as the deeds of his septa began to fade. Though he would never forget every slight others made against him, his mother had warned against grand ideas of revenge. He learned to pick and prod and if he were good and learned well, his mother said he’d lose her rage in favor of his grandmother’s sharp political tongue. His little legs swung off the edge of the chair, his hands on the arms, each word spoken by this new Lord in his company drying his eyes more. His wild grey eyes were wide and doe-like, taking in every little nuance of Lord Yuan’s words. He nodded his understanding, eyes cutting to his mother when the lordling came closer. Though neither his mother nor himself moved, his mother watched the man diligently. He would have been a fool to attempt to touch Rhaegar inappropriately after that little show, but the septa had been a fool to provoke the little lord and his mother, so perhaps today was a day for the foolish. After giving his mother a long look, Rhaegar set a look of puzzlement upon Lord Yuan. For a long moment he stared at the man’s hair. Then his eyes and then leaned back a bit as if measure of him. Before he spoke, he looked to his mother again, then leaned in attempting to keep his questions between men,”Have you lain with my mother?” “Rhaegar.” The boy sat up. “Well, he doesn’t look like you but he sounds like you. I thought maybe you brought my father to meet me.” “I can assure you, stupid boy, that if he were your father you would not be this insufferable shade of blonde.” Gripping Rhaegar by the back of his tunic, she hoisted him off the chair, dropping him off inside the room. “Go now and find your uncle. Let him keep you occupied until supper.” Bowing out of the room, Rhaegar bolted down the hall in search of his lumbering uncle, who he fully intended to set on a quest to find his new aunt, of course with his guards in tow. Shaking her head, Rhaelle motioned for wine to be poured,”My apologies, Lord Yuan, these are not at all the events I had in mind when I first sought you out.”

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Grimm: After the fitful morning venture through the fair grounds, Rhaelle had all but ushered everyone back to the Keep, mainly Rhaegar, but as he sat on Kainen's shoulder, the large Lord was also steered in said direction. Greyson followed in tow behind his charge and friend, always close by to aid in whatever capacity he could, although being with Kainen, that usually required him to clean up in the wake of one of Kainen's adventures. After a few hours of rest, Greyson found himself walking alone through the corridors of the Red Keep, Kainen remaining in his room to sleep, almost exactly like his nephew. It was almost comical how similar the two were despite their age difference and size. With his arms folded behind his back, a frown tugged between Greyson's brow, he did not like being without his weapon almost as much as Kainen did not enough being without food. But alas, within the palace of the King, he was not permitted such for leisurely strolls. It was not often that Greyson was seen without Kainen, but he did enjoy his brief moments of peace where the world around him was not on the verge of collapse if someone should bump into his massive charge, the Lord of the Storm Lands. Those that passed him gave him a curt nod, a bow from some of the handmaidens and a salute from some guards that knew of him. Greyson was a Knight, though he still acted as a squire in more situations than not when with Kainen, but none could dispute his reputation and the stories that surrounded his prowess in battle. Also, when not marred with worry as to what may upset his Lord, Greyson's features almost fully returned to his youthful expression and in all respects, he was a very attractive individual, one that never went unnoticed by the young ladies and maidens of the court in any place he visited. The life he lived however, did not permit him the luxury of anything passed a whore house door and for now, he was content with such. As he rounded another corner, something a lot shorter than himself crashed into his leg, ramming into the center of his thigh. With a slight frown, he paused and glanced down to notice the young Lord Rhaegar rubbing his nose. "Ouchy." Rhaegar too was frowning as he looked up at Greyson, whose features now changed to a kind smile. Lowering himself to one knee, Greyson placed his fist against his chest and then leaned down further to bow to Rhaegar. "My little Lord Rhaegar. My apologies, are you okay?" Greyson never once treated Rhaegar as anything other than a Baratheon and even a little brother when the two found themselves alone, but always treated him in the capacity of a Lord. Almost being face level with one another now, Rhaegar giggled and patted his hands on Greyson's knee. " Yes yes, Ser Greyson. I need to find Uncle Kainen. Can you help me?" Lifting his head, Greyson chuckled, though in the back of his mind he sighed comically. There went his quiet evening stroll, but he did not mind at all when it came to the little Lord. "Of course. He is in his room taking a nap. How about we go wake him up, I think he has slept long enough, don't you?" Throwing his hands up, Rhaegar nodded enthusiastically. "Yeaaaaaaaah. Time to get his lazy bones out of bed, he's not a baby." Greyson chuckled again and stood up, turning and walking back towards Kainen's room with the little Lord of Storm's End in tow.

Diitzy: Early morning was very eventful for Rhaenyrs Baratheon. Not only was she pocketed by a child. The little bastard gave her a wild goose chase across King’s Landing. Who would've known that this little chase would end up with her reuniting with her Family. Seeing her older siblings Kainen and Rhaelle. Most importantly her new favorite partner in crime, her young nephew Rhaegar. Rhaenyrs found herself later that day in her room. Passed out on the floor, while her beloved companion, Scribbles, had the whole bed to himself. He was rolled in a little ball in the middle of the bed, fast asleep. Til he was rudely awoken by Rhae’s face planted into him squeezing him tightly into a bear hug. “SCRIBBLES!” She began to rant to him. As it dawned on her again, where she was and who she saw this morning. She couldn’t stop talking about the morning, even the pig was overly annoyed of the constant volume in Rhae’s voice going from high volumes to whispering to herself. “Can you believe it Scribbles? We are actually in walking distance from our family? That little nephew of mine has a personality. I tell you what. I just want to go and see them again. Stupid dresses, I don’t think I remember how to put one on. Do I?” She twirled around in her room. Feeling overly nostalgic to be finally with her family. Meanwhile also pulling dresses out of the large chest by the foot of her bed. Maids were summoned for her behalf, however, they stared blankly at the tiny female. They took a few steps forward to assist but then she would twirl around bumping aimlessly into them. Took quite some time to get Rhae’s into the dress she picked out. If she had her way she would just wear the clothes she came with. That outfit lasted her as long as her first day of the pirate life. The way Rhaenyrs attempted to put on a dress, it looked like she never wore a dress a day in her life. She used to love dressing in her finest gowns. She had a talent for always pleasing her mother by her graceful poise. By the time, they managed to get her into the dress fully. Rhae’s was silent for once staring into the mirror. “Well ummm Damn, I need a drink”. The moment she stated it one of the maids came around with a glass of water. “Oh no lassy, not that vile stuff”. She pulled away from the maids finishing braiding her hair as she reached for her sword. Second thought, probably be best not to lug that giant thing around the halls of the Red Keep. Especially since she could barely breath in the dress she was in. Instead, she put on what mattered most. The gloves she always wore. Her very special personal gold dagger, her light torn scarf she just couldn’t part with, and of course the most important treasure in her life, Scribbles. “Come on Scribbles, I clench the thirst for rum and more rum” She clapped her hands together, as she made her way to fetch some. With much help from several knights and servants pointing her in the right direction, she finally was able to chug a bottle of rum. Which also she requested to have a few more bottles to her room. Highly doubtful she would make it this far again. “Let’s go find nephew, your nephew Scribbles” She poked his little snout, happily buzzed but not plastered from her rum bliss. “Nephew should be around here...RHAEGAR!” She shouted down the halls finding it easier to have him come to her, than she come to him. After all, she was already lost again.

Grimm: It took a few moments, a few corridors and the passing of more than a few occupants of the castle before the duo arrived at the door they sought. Greyson waved away the guards that stood before the door of Kainen's room, and if one could see their faces they would have been lined with relief to final escape the vicinity of the Storm Lord. Even when not in his exact presence, those that knew of Kainen still prefered to be at the other end of a massive keep. Pushing the door open once the guards departed, Greyson stepped back and allowed Rhaegar to enter first and of course, wasting no time, Rhaegar burst into the fastest run that his little legs could manage, straight over to the side of Kainen's bed where he still lay sound asleep. Rhaegar paused at the side of the bed, looking up at it for it was far taller than a normal one. A quick glance around the room and he found something to aid in his endeavor, a stool. Folding his arms, Greyson just stood by the door with a chuckle as he watched Rhaegar clamber about the bedchamber. Dragging the stool loudly across the stone floor, with still no stir from Kainen, Rhaegar pulled it to the side of the bed, crawled up onto it, then without a moment's thought or hesitation, dove onto his large uncle. Still however, there was no sign of waking life as the large form of muscle stayed snoring and the only thing to twitch was his nose. Rhaegar began to beat on his chest, shouting straight into his face for several moments before he sat back with a huff and folded arms upon Kainen's chest. Greyson knew full well how hard it was to wake the Lord, but there was one way that he also knew, Rhaegar, being the keen individual he was despite his age, would quickly come to realise, in order to wake Kainen. A moment later the idea Greyson thought about hit Rhaegar, so, crawling further up Kainen's broad chest, he leaned to his hear and whispered the magic words. "Lunch is ready, uncle." Then, as if a bear from its hibernation, Kainen grunted and slowly began to sit up causing his little nephew to tumble backwards down his torso, giggling the entire way. Brushing his hand through his hair and away from his face, Kainen still grunted, the common tongue escaping his own in any audible form as he shook off his sleepy state. Rhaegar gathered himself up to his feet, hands reaching up and grasping Kainen's massive face on either cheek and demanding his attention. "Wakey wakey, Uncle." Rhaegar shouted again, yet again it didn't even seem to phase Kainen, though he was more aware now of his little nephew. "Lunch?" Rhaegar giggled again and shook Kainen's face. Meanwhile, outside the room, Greyson heard the calls of another familiar voice, that of the Lady Rhaenarys. Moving out of the room and towards one of the turns the corridor lead down, he greeted her. "This way Lady Rhaenarys, you will find your nephew with your brother." Greyson held out an arm, indicating for her to follow and guided her towards the bedroom.

Diitzy: “You know I used to think they would move. “ She stated as she poked the statue of the full armored knight aligned with a few others as Scribbles sat by her feet. “Sometimes I would say. One day I’ll be tall enough to dance with you and not step on your boot” She climbed up and tapped his boot. This was a big mistake as it came crumbling down along with Rhae’s with it. She dusted herself off and looked in every single direction making sure no one saw just happened. She clicked the roof of her tongue as Scribbles dashed with her to the next hall, fleeing from the scene. As she turned back to make sure she wasn’t followed she bumped right into Greyson who greeted her. Turning around she flung her arm on his that pointed the direction that indicated where her nephew was. “Oh Greyson! I am happy to see you! There was a loud crash. Um that way! I wasn’t involved any sort of way I just came running after I heard it” She pointed in the direction she came from as she swung back into the room skipping into the room. “Kainen! Rhaegar! Why are you hiding from me? You know how hard it is for me to make it here?” She joined them as she leaped up on the bed standing on her two feet at the end of the bed. The repercussions of her spring made the others jump a little from her pounce. Stumbling a little from the soft surface, she barely made herself to stand still.. “Did someone say lunch? What shall be the menu?” Scribbles wiggled his way underneath the bed to hide from being seen from the mention of food. She fixed her hair from her face so she could get a clear view of the two. She noticed how big the bed is as she jumped up and down. “LOOK at this bed! Scribbles, we need to get you a bed this big!” She plopped on her knees hunching over the bedside to look at her pig upside down.

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Biird: The Septa lay on a cold slab of stone, her neck was cradled on a wooden rest, held in place by a strap across her forehead. Her arms were not bond and neither were her legs, but there were thick leather straps across her bare chest and groin. For what felt like hours, she had clawed away relentlessly at her straps but to no avail. Now she lay tired and frightened staring into the unforgiving dark. Every now and then a door would open behind her head and the sound of footsteps would echo in the dark room. Even from the flickering light beyond the room she could see nothing more than her own ankles at the end of the table. Each time a presence accompanied her in the room, the septa would cry out and attempt to acquire some sort of knowledge as to her situation. No answer ever came. No one ever crossed into her line of vision.

Alexander stood naked on the banister of his balcony. He was tall and too lean for his height. His long black hair was like a dark shroud around his lanky pale body, covering the bits that would offend or shock any to spy their king in that moment. Unlike his brother, his chest was bare of that fine black hair. His claw like hands grazed over his long hair as he peered over the rooftops beyond the keep toward the Sept of Balor. Alexander had that same shocking blue-eyed stare of his kin and like his cousin Rhaelle, whom he loathed, his thick black brows only intensified the crystal-like blue of his eyes. They were far set in his face, a little too close to his long aquiline nose and very narrow even when he wasn’t purposely squinting.  The rest of his face was like his nose, high, pointed and sharp. If he hadn’t been so frightening he might have been handsome.

The voices were quiet today; a gentle hum of noise like zoning out during a feast. They were always fussing and clattering on in the back of his mind but for the moment his thoughts were his own. He heard quite clearly when the stumbling page came in to inform him that his loathsome cousin had sent a plaything. The idea of Rhaelle made Alexander sneer. He hated her broad shoulders and square features. He hated how she carried their ancestor’s Warhammer in one hand as though it were nothing. He hated that when he’d tried to take it from her he couldn’t lift it from the ground. He hated her manish blunt way of speaking and the way she stood at attention like a soldier. Most of all he hated that she seemed to disregard any and all fear of him. Why didn’t she fear him? Was she a fool? If she was truly not afraid of him – oh he would make her afraid!

The empty glass goblet in his hand exploded against the wall. It was bad enough that the Seven mocked him. They mocked him in their abandonment of him. They’d left him prey to this vile old creatures with their incessant chatter and claims of war and chaos. He had been faithful. He had been noble. He had been pious! His reward? Voices. Constant and often intelligible. A vivid scene of his cousin strung up by her ankle from the dome of the Sept and the encroaching green flames of wildfire as it devoured the temple and his wretched cousin caused the mad king to smirk as he stepped from the ledge of the balcony and returned to his room. There he was quickly dressed in one of his favorite dark red and black robes. Tucking his arms into the large bell sleeves, Alexander assumed his slouched posture and shuffled toward the Traitor’s Walk that would take him down into the dungeons where his offering awaited.

The page was dismissed from his entourage and sent to find Xocylla Xaq. What a beautiful creature was Xocylla Xaq! As much as Alexander loathed his cousin he did recognize that she often sent him wonderful gifts and brought into his world beautiful, graceful, magical creatures such as Xocylla Xaq. His white haired, dark skinned witch from the Summer Isles. Oh, how she had blossomed under his hand from a quiet shy mouse-like nymph into a thundering presence of blood and visions. Alexander had never before felt such lust nay! Love for anything before. His eyes longed to behold her twisted beautiful features as she carved an animal from the womb of its mother to create her potions and scry her mirrors. He took pleasure doubly from the small passes of his fingers in the thick fresh blood of her bath, while she lay therein resting so peacefully. Thoughts of his former wife caused him to cringe. He had never been able to lay with her until her screams of pain and terror lit the fire within him, but Xocylla, sweet Xocylla Xaq, her heralded cackles over the sounds of breaking bones, they were enough to entice him into a frenzy.

The door opened slowly behind her again. Could that have been two sets of footfalls? They parted at her head and came around the side. Torch light now danced across the walls and the shadows of men came quickly into her line of sight. Parched and cracks lips could only whimper at the sight. Hope in her heart thought they would let her go. Surely a slip of the tongue would not truly warrant a punishment in the lowest level of the dungeons – the king’s playground. Though, even now the septa could feel the dull ache of pain in the back of her skull where that monstrosity of a woman had slammed her into the pillar. The Seven had not warned her that even beasts cared fiercely for their young.

Joining him to play with his treat at the moment was the Lord Confessor, a small man with a perpetual pout. He had been the Lord Confessor for Alexander’s father Rux but since the rise of Alexander his joys in torture had severely been cut; the king liked to play with his own food and with the addition of his brown-skin witch there were hardly any scraps left for him. With folded arms, he remained by the cell door and looked on while his king circled the septa. She didn’t much look like a septa strapped naked to that stone table with her curves exposed to the dim light. Her long chestnut hair was dripping off the edge of the table and matted with blood.


Diitzy: Far down below in the depths of the Red Keep there holds a labyrinth maze to the dungeons. Along the first level to the dungeons a musk, dark copper red door remained. Rumour has it the King’s own personal flesh eating monster lives behind this door. Such rumours arise when some prisoners were never spoken of or seen again. Priestess [Lady] Xocylla Xaq, was known by many as the Summer Witch of Koj from the Summer Isles. There was once a time her heart was pure of light till she crossed paths with King Alexander. The moment she swore to his side as his personal sorceress she unfold a new power within dark magic. Every moment King Alexander tempted her to dab into this dark power the more compulsive she became of it. Thus that innocent heart of hers became poisoned. Eventually she sold her soul to obtain the blood magic she now uses by King Alexander’s wishes. With with use of magic there comes with a deadly price. This has been known for every being who follows the path of using magic. For Xocylla, she learned this by what happens to her if she doesn’t use her unforgiving magic.

There were multiple advantages for Xocylla having her own personal chambers in the dungeons. Her practices all involved blood and sacred sacrifices. Which any dead body gave a foul odor, no one suspected anything being so close to the dungeons. At first Xocylla used small animals when she first started the practice. Quickly she learned that human sacrificing gave the most promising results. Not just any humans but infants especially. Nothing was left for waste either, after every ritual she used the remaining of the carcasses for her potionings and fake medicine remedies that she sold to the dimwitted commoners.  Xocylla didn’t care much for mankind, King Alexander corrupted her to the point of bare humanity. The shred of humanity left was for her beloved sister Xara. Who she only saw in her visions blessed by her dreams.  Seeing her sister was the little comfort that she held on to through the torture of her magic. This she knew to keep well hidden from her King, his madness was consumed of her physical affections and the power she bestowed to him through her own vessel body. Her King must feel and be the center of her existence to keep his jealousy at bay. There were times she did miss her sister. Though as of late, she barely had dreams of her sister but of everything else that surrounded her. There was nothing but a hollow monster in that room.

“May this gift of innocence please you, higher one. Grant me your power to perform your deeds.”. The female chanted as her dragon golden eyes shifted to pitch black. In one arm she held a blessing, a infant castaway child. In the other her ritual dagger hand carved by herself personally.  She plunged her dagger into the screaming child as she pulled the little one’s heart and dropped it in the bathe. This was the ending to her ritual as she walked over to her table placing the infant in a bowl for later harvest. She then took a few strides to the mirror as she undressed herself. The ancient tattoos along her body burned red to the sacrifice as she hunched over catching herself by pressing her hand against the mirror for balance. “It’s time.” She muttered while her eyes flickered over to the bathe as she made haste to it and tumble in head first.

Underneath the surface of the dark red liquid. Her body uncontrollably bent backwards as her last shredded vision stared at the ceiling.  Her arms opened for the embrace of the grant offered to her from the one she worshiped as her last breath was taken from her. One would assumed she would of drowned. Though her head rose above the surface followed by her eyes flashed open and a gasp returning to her body. Her eyes renewed to their fiery yellow, dragon embers as she drained returned to the stairwell of her bathe resting her head on the highest step. Such a ritual would cause her to fall into a slumber. Just for a moment, while her body was restored to its natural state.

Within her dream she saw a face. A familiar face she never thought to see again. Xara was shown to be near not within the castle but in some tavern with the noble Baratheons of Storm’s End. There was a time where Xocylla stayed with the Baratheons aside with her sister. It was easy to paint the faces to everyone in the room. The sight brought Xara sitting on her knees with the little Baratheon bastard child brought a smile to the wretched priestess. She reached to touch her sister’s cheek in this dream the moment she did blood scattered over her sister’s face along with the bastard. The images became distorted as Xocylla swung around to see what happened all that she could see was her frightened sister.  Then she awoke.

She woke up clinging to the door handle to her chambers as she turned a trail of puddles followed her. Her attention was brought to the foot of the door, seemed her claw-like nails scratched against it left some marks as she let go of the handle trying to gather the pieces. She could sense someone coming down the stairwell as she fetched one of her robes. Just before the young boy could knock on her door she flung it opened and stared at him blankly with no expression. She took a step forward as she slammed close the door shut. Still dripping of blood she tossed her white long locks of hair back as she wrapped her arms around her body. Immediately being visible to the guards who guarded her door came to her side. It was by her request she had two guards to avoid anyone coming in physical contact of her.  There was only one reason why a young page would be down in the dungeons this time of night. Her neck snapped over to one of the guards “My King requests  me” She collected her words as she stumbled through them she began to walk up the stairs. There was some seared bind connection between her and her King. Didn’t matter where he was in the castle, she could sense his location. This being one of the many benefits for his majesty. He had control over her like a string puppet. Standing by the cell door  she bowed humbly folding her hands over her stomach as she raised to her cursed mad skeleton king. “My Majesty, how may I serve you?”

---

---

Biird: In the wee hours of the morning before the sun broke the horizon or servants came in with the morning meal, Rhaelle and Xara rose. There were a few other of Rhaelle's ladies that were early risers as well and a few maids. Those maids were the ones that sent for the morning meal and prepared the clothes for the ladies while they took to their bathes. Xara and many of the others who wore their hair in long locks often needed assistance working through the tangles and fitting it to whatever style they saw fit for the day. Rhaelle, on the other hand, roughly shook excess water from her hair and only needed assistance with the armor she wore. She did not corset often where her ladies did every day. Though she was broad through the shoulders the lack of corset did not take from her female shape, no, that was simply done by her chosen outfits.

From her bath tub, which was situated near the balcony overlooking the entry courtyard, Rhaelle watched the Tyrell carriages stream into view. She watched men struggle with a suspiciously heavy trunk and the parade of gold and green that started to flood the castle. This would be the influence of her chosen garb for the day. With full intentions on going to Lady Odessa's room to rip a limb from her cousin and king to be, Rhaelle donned a dark gown with a purple overlay and long sleeves. Of course she was painted with her usual weirwood make up. The ring finger of her right hand bore a golden stag head with long ornate horns that stretched nearly to her second knuckle; a gift from her father. On her left hand, her middle finger bore a golden shield with the sigil of House Baratheon on it. She also cuffed her red stripped ears with golden branches that tangled into antlers and the heads of stags hung from her earlobes. The earrings would not survive her son's morning bath.

While they sat down to break their fast, having only moments before Rhaegar awoke and brought nearly of the Red Keep with him into a waking state, Xara brought Rhaelle's letters. The lady of the house lazily sifted through each of them, taking note of each wax sigil and discarded all but one. Breaking the seal of her mother's personal seal, Rhaelle took only moments to read over the letter. Then she departed the breakfast table for her desk and completed a letter of her own. As the wax started to dry on her seal, Rhaegar could be heard bouncing on the bed and singing what he called the "Morning Song"; Xara could be blamed for that.

The sound of Rhaegar's singing caused a smile to brighten her features. Many of the other ladies view the song as the doom of the rest of the day; Rhaegar was a lot too handle. He had more energy than could be spent in a day and wise beyond his years, his observant eye, keen mind and unfiltered mouth left many embarrassed in their antics. At this point all of Rhaelle's ladies had learned that attempting to keep secrets of vanity could not be done in the presence of Rhaegar, so now all they had to contend with was his relentless curiosity and energy. Xara, wearing layered silks with long sleeves in the traditional dress of the women of the Crownlands, came twirling into the room, where she and Rhaegar danced along the bed singing the "Morning Song". It was a song Xara had created for one of her more melancholy brothers in an attempt to show him how to cherish each day and how the rising of the sun was the wiping of yesterday's slate. The song had come in handy for Rhaegar too, who often suffered from melancholy after many days in the presence of other noble families.

Whisking the child off the bed, they twirled their way toward his morning bath where he would carry on great wars on the high seas for nearly and hour. In that time, Rhaelle informed her lady that she needed a message delivered to Lord Greyson, the sworn sword and brother in arms to her brother, Kainen. For some odd reason, Rhaelle also requested that Xara change her garb into something more befitting the Stormlands and something red. She had been so flippant about the comment that Xara dismissed her own questions as foolish, thinking her Lady simply did not like the garb of the Crownlands. By the time she had changed, and Rhaegar was out of his bath and dressed the room was full of more creatures from the Stormlands and Xara was left to entertain Rhaegar -- that is until his aunt Rhaenrys showed up. After slipping out of the game and leaving them to it, Xara took up her letter for Lord Greyson and excused herself from the room.

She traveled the near empty halls toward Lord Kainen's room growing more and more hesitant with each step. Kainen Baratheon was a monstrous man. His bicep along was nearly the size of Xara's waist. He could blot out the sun with his size. He was of few words when matters of food were not the case and his voice was a deep, rumbling timber the like of which could only be compared to a dragon's voice, should they have had one. His deep purple eyes were keen and his hair was black as tar. There had been moments, shadowing his sister, when Xara had seen that hair loose about his shoulders, which went on for miles. It was the same length as Rhaelle's even now. In their youth, there had been many times Xara had gone running to the back of a black head of shoulder length hair only to have those piercing purple eyes turn on her. Each time she was startled and each time it was as though it was the first time he'd seen her.

Many of the maidens, not only in Rhaelle's company but all about the Stormlands, both fawned over and feared Kainen. A man that size could snap a woman in half -- no matter the activity. Though the activity most wondered about was sex. Was he as girthy all about? For a man with the attention span of a fly how could of a lover could he have been? The giggled talks about Kainen in bed went on and on. The few times he had been spotted bare chested, the talks lasted for months. There were rumors that one of his mother's ladies had taken his virginity and lo to the Seven don't talk about the rumors of his birth! Some believed that the Lady Eirlys gave birth to a grand opulent plum colored egg and three days later Kainen burst free of the shell and into the world with a vicious roar. Other's told stories of the boy born during a great storm and the seas about the keep rolled with shadows of dragons in the water. The ladder was confirmed by his mother to be the truth, but people loved to see the boy asserting his strength as he forced himself from a shell like Ironwood, in their minds.

Xara, as one of the few to have actual contact with Kainen as Rhaelle's chief lady in waiting and best friend, could not contend her feelings for the mountainous man. There was something about him that was frightening, perhaps it was that no matter how physically close to him you got, there was no real and true idea of what was going on in his head. Rhaelle often said that her brother simply didn't have the time to care about the little things. He kept his heart pure by instantly letting go of things were swiftly "dealt" with. The explanation did little to quell Xara's nerves around him. There had always this almost living hum of power and ferocity buzzing of him whenever she got near enough.

She fiddled with the letter at in her hands, which were neatly placed in front of her as she stood before Kainen's door. The letter was for his constant companion, Lord Greyson, but still Xara was nervous. Lord Greyson though, was a kind man with a soft voice, though it could never be mistaken for anything but masculine. When he wasn't worried about Kainen disappearing or destroying something, he was handsome. The guards standing on either side of Kainen's door didn't even seem to acknowledge the woman that barely reached their chins. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Grimm: Days seemed to blend together within King's Landing, even for nobles with nothing to do but stand on ceremony while waiting for the King to summon them for an audience. Even if this was a festival, it was all just a show, the core of it still controlled by a living corpse who thought of nothing other than his own greed and refused to breath his final breath and rid the world of his presence. Yet, another day dawned, the number of which was lost to the hulking individual that had stood for an hour already facing a wide open door to a balcony beyond. To the side, leaning against a wall, another male who picked at his nails with the tip of a dagger, dressed in fine armor and easily noticed as a high ranking guard or possibly a Knight. Of course, this was Greyson, Lord Kainen's closest friend and personal guard. The one standing by the door, the Lord himself and ruler of Storm's End, the Demon Stag whose massive arms folded across his his broad chest with his head slightly tilted forward, tar black hair draped about his facial features and glowing purple hues looking forth as the sun gave life to another day.

The silence between the two was not an awkward one, in fact it seemed almost natural even as minutes ticked by to hours and as mid day rolled around, the massive Baratheon opted to bathe. The bath was already prepared, though the water was now very chilled. Slipping into it's cool embrace, sinking into the clear liquid only to emerge a moment later, Kainen let out a content sigh as he relaxed, rolling his shoulders and  resting his massive arms upon the edges of the tub.

"Not long more. Are you prepared for what is to come?" Some would think it very strange as the Knight spoke to his Lord as a commoner would his neighbor with a tone that almost teetered on the verge of unsurety. It was as if Greyson did not think Kainen was capable of handling just what was about to happen regarding Rhaelle's plan. If the tone and question irritated or struck the wrong cord with the hulking male in the tub, well, his posture did not hint at such at all. Instead, Kainen's head lulled back some, eyes closed and face cast towards the ceiling.

"It does not matter anymore, Greyson. We will do what we always do, what Baratheon's always will do." Kainen's head returned to neutral again, eyelids cracking open once more. "We will destroy whatever threatens our own." There was an almost growl lilting off the end of Kainen's words, spoken with a boiling rage that some would never see or mistake for something else, but unlike Rhaelle who controlled her fury perfectly, Azaroth who denied what he was, Rhaenarys who was a force of springful chaos and Rhaegar who would be the best of the all in mind, body, spirit and skill, Kainen's rage and fury was ever present, always consuming, always rippling across his skin. It was because of this that so much destruction followed in his wake, whether he wished it, knew about it, or even cared, the Demon Stag was a Dragon take human form, a walking calamity and it was Greyson that followed in the wake of destruction, tempering war with a brief peace.

The mood of killers and destroyers was dulled with the knocking upon the chamber door. Spinning the dagger in his hand, Greyson sheathed his weapon beneath his cloak and pushed from the wall, making his way to see who would call at such an hour for maids knew very quickly to steer clear of this room. Pulling at the doors handle, Greyson offered a smile as he saw Xara Xaq, one of Rhaelle's Lady's standing before him looking incredibly beautiful with her exotic air and warmth that always carried about her person. "Good Morning, Lady Xara." Greyson offered a slight bow to her as he always did before standing upright again. "How may I aid you this hour, Lady Xara?" Looking at the note that she offered, Greyson gave another soft head nodding bow as he took the letter and opened it to reveal and read it's contents immediately, not wishing to delay the woman any longer than need be required.

Biird: Though she should have expected him, Xara promptly presented the letter has if she expected Kainen to answer the door and not Greyson. She'd forgotten to curtsy and her hand trembled slightly.
That was, until she heard Greyson's voice. Calming herself by smoothing out the golden embroidered fabric of her red dress, Xara flash and smiled and finally curtsied. "Lord Greyson, good morning." She said with her light voice. "My Lady Rhaelle bid me bring this to you." She watched as he opened the note and so added,"Do you require anything further from me?"

The folded parchment, with Rhaelle's personal seal, was written in her own hand:


As he read, Xara fidgeted with the heavy and intricate gold necklace that rested just above her cleavage. Her shoulders were bare and her hair hung in a heavy spiral over one shoulder. She wore a wreath of fresh red roses in her hair. Her habit was to wear flowers in her hair, but the habit was one that saved her the smell of King's Landing when the breeze turned against you. She was a petite woman with a slender frame, though she was not lacking in curves. She often felt like she looked like a child in the company of her lady and her family, a commonality she shared with their mother, for even the women of the Stormlands were inches taller than and Greyson now stood nearly a foot above her so the idea of standing directly in the wide shadow of Kainen Baratheon was intimidating to say the least. She wasn't quite sure why she'd never gotten comfortable in his presence, maybe it was that buzz of power that wafted off his skin, something others either ignored or didn't feel.

Now it was up to Greyson to devise some inconspicuous plan to send her deep into the lair of the dragon to start some mock conversation that would bring them closer together or send her running for the hills. For the next few months, he and Rhaelle would move the two around like pieces on a chest board, creating this dance in which the ultimate goal was to find the two in some sort of embrace that would promise a mutual relationship strong enough to carry the Stormlands on. It wouldn't be easy, as Rhaelle was well aware of Xara's trepidation when it came to her brother and her brother had never shown any interest in a female beyond a night or two, depending on his appetites.

Grimm: Hazel eyes scanned across the sheet of paper as a slight smirk tugged at the edge of Greyson's lips, though he kept it under as much control as he could muster as to not make the Lady before him uncomfortable. The mother Baratheon was both a fortunate and unfortunate woman. Gifted with powerful children, yet cursed with those same gifts. Greyson knew her struggle well, but her daughter, Lady Rhaelle, was a hidden gem, a diamond among coals and an excellent player in the game of life.

Greyson's features returned to their usual calm and welcome expression, looking up from the note and back to Xara as he took a short step back and to the side, opening the room to Xara's view. "Lady Rhaelle requests information I have gathered the past few days. My findings have been noted on parchments located in the next room. Would you mind retrieving them Lady Xara while I gather the last few documents, please.?" Greyson offered her a slight bow yet again but uncharacteristically turned away and moved deeper into the room without giving Xara a moment to offer an objection.

Meanwhile, within the room where the notes were kept, upon a table in the corner, Kainen still sat within the cold water tub. The tub was far larger than any a normal noble would possess, custom built to accommodate his massive size. With a deep intake of air, the hulking male sunk into the clear liquid, disappearing beneath it's surface and staying submerged as he allowed to water to coax him into an even more relaxed state.

Biird: When Greyson asked her to enter Kainen's chambers in order to retrieve papers for her lady, Xara's eyes widened slightly. It was one thing to see Kainen come barreling down a hallway or in the dining hall or in the training yard but she'd never one been in his chambers beyond the foyer and never without Rhaelle to make her feel somewhat safe. Make no mistake, she was not afraid of Kainen in the sense that he was some sort of mean man. It was just that Rhaelle was proven capable of subduing The Demon Stag in the few times he'd been so worked up it was like watching a dragon come alive and that, was truly a frightening sight to behold.

Her second thought was that if she'd been sent to retrieve papers, why the note? Why hadn't Rhaelle told her simply to go and get them? Before she could voice any sort of question as to the topic of the papers, Greyson and turned and gone into the room on the opposite end of where she'd been sent, leaving Xara to deduce the papers must have been of private matters. With a quick intake of breath, which she held, without knowing, Xara lifted the front of her skirts with one hand and went further into the room, turning in the direction Greyson had motioned. Pausing, Xara noted that the papers were upon a desk in the far corner of the bathing room. The bathing room! Her hazel eyes darted quickly around the room and found it clear of any other person, so she shuffled quickly, her slippers barely making noise on the stone floor, to where the papers lay.

Just as she had sorted them into a neat pile that would be easier for her small hands to carry, something shifted in the water of the tub. Xara froze. The movement continued, shuffling, then rising, then dripping. What possessed her to turn about she could not  know, only that perhaps her logical brain said she could not remain there all her life.
What she found, was the mountainous Kainen Baratheon, stark naked, heavy droplets of water rushing down his large and chiseled form... all the way down. BY THE MOTHER. Letting out a little yelp, Xara held the papers in front of her face. "Lord Kainen. My apologies, oh my gracious, I am so sorry. I did not know you were in the tub."

This should not have been the reaction from one such as Xara Xaq. Xara Xaq was a woman of the Summer Isles where sex and nakedness were not something held in shadows. She had seen many a man naked. Here education including the study of pleasing a sexual partner as well as histories and mathematics. Hell her clit is pierced, people. As is one of her nipples and her tongue. So why did heat rush her body and her heart begin to race to see her house lord standing there blotting out the sun with his great form, causing this golden black halo to silhouette his body? Why were her feet frozen in place and the urge to peek around her papers, have her hands slowly lowering?

Grimm: When the oxygen in his lungs started to burn away, Kainen's eyes opened beneath the water as the burning need to breath started to tug at his chest. Finally giving way to their want, the massive Goliath emerged from the water, unaware of the presence of the female to his side. Large arms hung loose by his side as his head was tilted back, face towards the ceiling and eyes closed as he stood still, just feeling the water drop from his skin. Even as the words from the female fell upon his ear, he still did not react for a long moment.

When he did, his head only lulled in her direction, lids cracking slightly to reveal his glowing purple orbs piercing through his dark black locks that hung heavy about his face and around his shoulders. With a stoic expression, it was almost as if his eyes looked straight through her to the wall behind and still he did not move for another long moment. Eventually the giant statue did return to life as Kainen moved one leg out over the edge of the tub and walked towards the tanned female that had found refuge behind her pieces of paper.

As he approached, his steps slow, it was almost as if he were going to walk through her but only to stop mere inches before her, his massive chest directly before her eyes though still hidden behind the paper. Xara only reached the bottom of his chest so his shoulders and face was still visible to her above her makeshift shield. Reaching past her with a massive arm, water dripping from him and onto her hair beneath, Kainen retrieved a towel that had been laying beside the notes Xara had been sent to fetch. Without taking a step back, Kainen brushed the towel across his face and through his hair, ridding it of a lot of the water and sleeking it back out of his way, though those piercing purple orbs never left the female that still stood before him and when he was satisfied, Kainen's arms returned to his side with towel in hand, though still he did not cover himself.

"Xara Xaq.?" Kainen's usual light tone was none existent, washed away with the water that dripped from his body and what remained was a deep, almost rumbling growl as he spoke. If one were not looking directly at him they may almost expect smoke to lace his words, much like the dragons he were often compared too. The very water on his skin almost visibly started to evaporate for Kainen's core temperature was far hotter than a normal mans which was why he liked to bath in cold water more often then naught.

Raising a brow, Kainen's free hand rose and with a single finger, pushed the pieces of paper down so he could see the girls face more clearly. "You are one of my sisters acquaintances are you not? Does she have you passing notes now?" It was rare for Kainen to recognize an individual, let alone remember their name and where they belonged, and even less so offer into a normal conversation willingly. Yet, those that knew of the male also knew there were those particular moments where clarity took hold of his mind and all the information that normally lay dormant were free and at his fingertips upon a whim. Two of those people were now playing matchmaker unbeknownst to Kainen and Xara who was currently having her personal space very much invaded.

Biird: Even with the papers in front of her face, Xara did not move. She could feel his buzzing presence in the tub and almost hear the hiss of steam as moisture evaporated from his skin. She had lowered the papers enough to peek over the lips of parchment in her hand and could see as he moved so languidly slow it was like the sun rise. When his head turned, his long ink blot black hair moving around his head those deep purple eyes came her way, Xara sucked in another breath. She couldn't be sure if he was looking at her or through her and either way his gaze was heavy and intimidating. Despite all of that, Kainen must have been completely unaware of the aura of his presence because he stood there with such a relaxed posture as though he were not even disturbed.

The moment he stepped out of the tub, Xara took a step forward completely intent to rush from the room. After all even with all the time that had passed between them he had not yet answered her startled apology and so she assumed he simply wanted her to leave. Yet, that would not be possible, not with the monster, moving like some massive lion or better yet, dragon, came roiling toward her. Once more, Xara froze in her tracks. He came right up to her with the same ferocity of watching a tiger in a cage. It didn't same to matter that he stopped moving inches before her and had no real intent toward her as he had yet to acknowledge her presence, she tensed up, releasing a little yip of anticipation. When his arm started to move outward, the little woman from the Summer Isles coiled inwardly, swearing she could actually see the steam rising.

That buzz of power coming off of his body was intoxicating to point where she could feel her muscles relaxing. Behind that buzz was the scent of earth after a storm and burning coals. Was this Kainen's scent? Oh, Maiden. Some of his muscles were bigger than her head. He was like an Ironwood tree. Pushing his still wet hair slick over his head sharpened his square features. Now that he was out of the tub, sunlight had flooded the room, glinting over his plum colored eyes. Then suddenly his voice crushed the silence in the room like a hammer on a raw blade causing her to jump slightly. Just as quickly her features twisted in confusion. Had he just addressed her by her name? Her full name? Until that very moment Xara hadn't been sure Kainen knew she even existed. He went on to point out her place in his house at his sister's side and she was completely floored; at a loss for words.

She was so close to him, that when he lowered the parchment from in front of her face, a shock of electricity ran through her body and directly to her core. How could this even be? Was she really started to feel desire bubbling in her veins? He was completely naked, standing only inches from her, and he was not a visage to thumb your nose at. It wasn't just that. It couldn't have been just that. Xara had seen him shirtless many times. Smeared with dirt and grime and sweating like a pig after training session, then he had been something to fuel lonely nights, but now, there was something else beginning to rise and burn between them from her end.

He was staring at her now. Directly at her, she could feel it as she stared directly into the crevices between the muscles on his stomach. What had he said? She needed a bit of the Crone on her side right now. Papers... something about papers... Oh yes! They were in her trembling hands. Slowly, Xara let her gaze climb and climb and climb to meet Kainen's unusually focused gaze. She gave the papers a little wave, mostly to fan herself but hoping he would divert that heavy gaze to them. "Yes... My Lord... It would seem so."

Grimm: Everything Kainen did seemed slow, methodical, almost unnatural, even down to the blinking of his eyes which seemed to take an age to fall closed and reopen again, though his facial features remained stoic, unchanging, his eyes seeming to drink in all of the females features as he stared down at her face which now peered back up at his own. Seconds seemed to tick into minute and minutes to hours as the two stood awkwardly close, at least that's how it may have felt, but only a moment later, Kainen turned from Xara and walked back towards the balcony door, the towel in his hand now being raised and placed atop his head, draping around his face as it soaked the remaining remnants of water. Still though, he remained naked, even as he looked out onto King's Landing, the idea of being scene not even a flicker of a thought.

Standing just beyond the door of the room Xara and Kainen were in, stood Greyson, a smile across his face and a raised brow as he was rather impressed when he had heard Kainen knew who the girl from the Summer Isles was, in full name and station. Perhaps there was already something there and this fanned flame would take light far easier than originally thought. For now though, he decided it would be unwise to smother the flickering ember and entered the room with a cough to clear the silence and break attention for the moment.

"Lady Xara, I see you have the documents, the rest are here. Please see them quickly to Lady Rhaelle." Greyson held out the remaining papers for Xara to collect as he offered her his usual smile and light nodded bow. There were no more words from the Lord Baratheon as he stood with folded arms for a while longer, his skin now completely devoid of lingering moisture and only for the few droplets from his hair it would have been difficult to tell he only just stood out of a bath mere moments before. "And tell her, things are moving more swiftly that previously expected." Greyson added once more while he would follow Xara to the chamber door and see her off and her return journey back to Rhaelle.

Biird: He didn't reply to her stuttered statement. Like his sister, Kainen was a man of few words -- ha. Neither of the Baratheon creatures ever opted for anything more than what was necessary in conversation as if speaking was bothersome somehow. Instead he stood watching her features, his eyes slowly roaming from top to bottom, side to side, in a painstakingly languid motion. He gave her the sense that he was memorizing her features, that they would be stored somewhere deep in his mind like most things he came across.
It was such an intense moment that Xara felt her heart start to race. Kainen, when focused, had a way about him,
that allowed you too feel as if you were the only creature to exist, the only thing that mattered in that moment;it was both exhilarating and frightening because you didn't know if he wanted to devour you or simply cared enough to remember you. Yet the idea of being devoured by him, seemed strangely titillating.

Suddenly the air around her was soft and she was able to breathe again. He was gone. Just like that. In a flash; those long legs carrying him back to the balcony in few strides, leaving Xara clutching the papers to her chest, her breasts rising and falling with each deep inhale. It was though she felt she had been crushed by heavy relentless waves and now she was free, laying on shore, wondering how she managed to survive and yet the vivid beauty of the sea was what she remembered most. By the Old Gods and the New, what was happening to her!

Reality hit her swiftly as he turned and left her alone, knees weak, heart still racing slightly, she turned to rush out of the room, and nearly crashed head long into Greyson's chest. How long had he been standing there? Oh Mother,
say he had not been witness to all of that! His slight smirk said he had seen enough to be amused. Unable to school her features pass her unease with her own emotions on the situation, Xara simply removed the papers from her chest laying them flat in her hands just long enough for Greyson to add to the bunch. She nodded to him, her brow furrowed and deep in thought, as she slipped past toward the door and out of the chambers. In haze, the dark skinned girl moved down the halls back to her own chambers which were shared with Rhaelle. She had completely forgotten to curtsy her way out of the room, absently she deposited the papers onto Rhaelle's desk and then floated into her room to fall on her bed and stare at the ceiling, images of Kainen dancing on her canopy.

---

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Judge: When Odessa left for the meeting with Rhaelle, Dante took the small pitcher and basin in the room to clean himself as best he could. After a fresh change of clothes, he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed made for a woman with his leg jumping. The anticipation of seeing his cousin again was trembling through his body making his leg jump as he chewed on his nail, his ears open to everything happening in the rooms beyond his own. All the while his conversation with Odessa rolled through his mind. They saw the world so very differently and he had no doubt she was an excellent choice for a queen; she'd practically been bred for it. What worried him was if he would ever be able to see her as just a woman, if she would ever present that side of her to him. A woman and not a noble woman, or now, a royal woman, a queen. There was no joy to be had at the distance between them which left him warding off thoughts of that distance only growing once a crown was placed on their heads.

Beyond the room, he heard the serving trays rattling and Odessa giving orders. All throughout the room there was movement, shuffling and muffled words. His own tiny room lacked windows giving him a sudden appreciation for natural light. Standing, Dante began to pace the room the sound of those around him moving rapidly. He couldn't picture what sort of extravagant display his Little Flower was arranging for his cousin and little cousin. The invitation to lunch might have been under pretentious but the nature of it's presentation was anything but. All of it would have been done in true Tyrell fashion.

Speaking of his little cousin, the last time Dante had seen him, Rhaelle had him swaddled in cloth of the traditional rusted yellow of the Baratheon colors with a great stag embroidered on the blanket. She kept him close to her breast in a wrap around her body and the boy had light fuzzy of blonde hair and the biggest grey eyes Dante had every seen. Even then his features had reminded him of someone though he couldn't quite put his finger on who. He was excited to the see the boy, now that he was older and moving on his own, perhaps even speaking a bit. It dawned on him then that he was now close to the Kingswood and once he was free of this stupid cubby hole, he might even find occasion to look up on that massive stag his cousin rode. It would be these small moments he'd have to hold onto if he didn't want to lose his mind as king.

Maybe his brother didn't have moments like this to hold onto. Maybe with more family around him, more loving and dear moments, his madness could be soothed away. Dante wouldn't dare broach that subject with Rhaelle. He knew that she knew Alexander perhaps better than anyone and she was set on the fact that he could not live. He'd been assured that he would not have to do the deed himself, it would have been done quickly and quietly, but to Dante it didn't matter. Taking the throne from his brother and sitting on that throne while he died was just as bad as killing him with his own hand. That through was pushed away with a heavy sigh, his hands raking down his face.

He'd been lost in thought and hadn't heard Rhaelle and Rhaegar come in but the sudden opening of Odessa's chamber doors and the booming of a voice he could never forget had Dante moving with purpose toward the door of his little lock box. Before he could cross the threshold, it was filled with the small bodies of women begging him to think of his actions. Dante put his hands over their head and gripped the frame of the door. He could hear Alexander shouting at Rhaelle, then quiet, muffled speech, then his brother screaming again his voice drifting down the hall. The wood of the doorframe splintered and cracked under his grip, it's jab coming away when the young Lord of Dragonstone ripped away. Tossing the wood aside, he paced deeper into the room trying to reconcile his feelings.

The women parted from the door as Odessa appeared and Dante stopped in the center of the room looking her over. He knew Rhaelle would never have let anything happen to her, he could see his cousin's full face over his wife's head, standing behind her with those blank, strange features. She had the face of a Snow Cat with the eyes of a White Walker and the shoulders of a young Baratheon boy. His own eyes drifted from his cousin and back to his wife as he closed the distance between them, taking Odessa's little face in his hands,"Are you alright? Did my brother frighten you?"

Olena: Her handsome and somewhat disheveled husband was a most welcomed sight in after having been in the presence of his older sibling. It was truly a wonder. If it weren’t for certain unmistakably Baratheon features she’d have sworn to The Mother that their mother was a whore and Alexander was her bastard—he made her skin crawl. Hopefully this was nothing genetic, because he was too closely related to her future offspring than was particularly comfortable with. As Dante’s warm palms clasped at her cheeks her hands rose to meet them, turning just enough to place a kiss upon the right one, “Frightened is not the word I would use, no. You are certainly….the better…the better of most things where your brother is concerned, to put it lightly.” It went without saying she was fully in favor of exterminating this mad king by whatever means were necessary, and she fully planned to speak with her lady mother on the matter before the sun set that day.

Her hands moved from his to rest on his flanks as he looked on at his two cousins that filed in behind her, “Although, on a more cheery note, I had a rather enchanting time dining with a handsome young bachelor at lunch today.” Behind the nobles, Odessa’s handmaidens and attending ladies would exit pulling the door shut and making their way to the other rooms to create enough sound to cloak any internal conversation and to scan for any prying ears or eyes that might venture too closely to the Maidenvault suite. “Although, his lady mother chaperoned, so you needn’t be jealous, my Lord husband.” Pleasantries aside, this was obviously not what they had gathered to discuss, but she rather enjoyed the charming little boy’s company.

Biird: As Rhaelle framed herself behind Dante's wife, her eyes fell on him, lock away once more. Immediately her blood began to boil to think he could have been so stupid as to let her brother leave Highgarden. She wanted to reach over Odessa's head and choke him until he passed out, so she kept her arms folded across her chest. She'd sent him there to make a match of convenience and judging by his reaction to Odessa's safety and well being and the fact that the woman was already fucking pregnant, the great oaf had gone and fallen in love. She could have rolled her eyes at the thought.

Beside her, Rhaegar was peeking around Odessa's legs to get a good look at Dante. He'd heard many stories of the boy from Dragonstone that would one day be king. Now he wrinkled his nose to look upon the man and looked up at his mother. As he opened his mouth, Odessa made mention of dining with him which sent him preening. He jumped to Odessa's side and pointed up at Dante,"Mother said you would be a great troll of man. She said the lady would have to see straight past you to the throne for this to work, but you are not a troll. Xara Xaq says trolls are big and ugly, they hold bridges on their shoulders and tax people for passage if you cannot pay your tax they eat you. In fact you look like the paintings of my grandfather Arsen. You don't have hair growing from your lip, but having hair on your lip seems really bothersome, I think. You treat your wife nice. Mother says, only people who marry for more than contracts treat their spouses like that. I would have married her for more than a contract too but I think I will marry Xara Xaq."

Judge: Maybe he'd been gone too long, repressed too many memories of his life before exile, because to hear Odessa speak so acerbically about Alexander made him cringe. He wanted to ask she not speak about him in that manner anymore but he knew everyone would soon be speaking of him that way following a certain incident in the Great Hall. He let it go, letting his hands fall from her face, one moving around her shoulders and giving her mock look of jealous to hear about her dining companion. "Is that so? Well I suppose I will have to get used to men fawning all over you."

A small voice suddenly bombarded him with insults, information and knowledge someone of their size shouldn't have possessed. Blinking down at the boy, Dante was immediately distracted by the color of his hair and his features. He still had those wide grey eyes, but his features were starting to look more and more like... Wow, The Mother had a strange sense of humor.

Taken aback, Dante didn't know which to address first -- his parentage or his barrage. "I... uh..." He couldn't help but laugh, rubbing the back of his head. Who the hell was Xara Xaq? "Hello, cousin Rhaegar. I see your mother speaks more than I recall but did she not tell you how to address people when you first meet them?"

Looking up at Rhaelle, Dante smiled, stepping around Odessa and opening his arms as he came closer for an embrace. "Rhaelle, it's good to finally see you again. Your son is rather impressive."

Olena: “Bolt it” Odessa said softly to Arylsse, standing beside the door. It was best that any further unannounced visitors find themselves struggling with a door rather than bursting in on the scene that was soon to unfold within the confines of the Tyrell’s most spacious wardrobe. “Comes with the job description, I’m afraid.” Once his attention was drawn to that of his kin, she made her way over to the bed to be seated, scanning over the little lad’s mix of fair and tanned features. Rumor of his birth had spread in the Reach not long after it was announced, but there had always been little discussion of his possible paternity. Then the child stepped forward, clearly aware of their current privacy and less so about ranks and titles. She raised an eyebrow, casting an amused look over to the child’s mother. Apparently the brooding stag queen talked mad shit in her free time, something a socialite raised on court intrigue and gossip could hardly judge. From the mouths of babes.

As for the name the boy mentioned, Odessa hadn’t given it a tremendous amount of thought, but it sounded foreign. However, at the mention of contracts she felt the child within her do a somersault. What would this woman think when she learned her cousin had given his wife the crown matrimonial? In the event of his death without legitimate issue, their marriage contract signed away House Baratheon’s rights to the throne to that of House Tyrell. Her family had considered this a most unprecedented offer, but they dared not turn it down. Although, given their shared fertility, which with her hand resting upon her now-queasy abdomen she was not afraid to boast, it would most likely never come to fruition, not that she particularly cared for it to, as such would imply the loss of both her husband and child. Although, what mattered now was the plan by which they would enact the removal and destruction of His Grace, Alexander, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

The terms of their marriage agreement were signed, sealed, and locked away. “Yes, my lady. He is most charming, but it is not your son we have come to discuss, is it? Begging your pardon, young Master Rhaegar. What would you have us do?” Frivolities aside, when it was time to get to business the rest would have to wait. Too much was at stake to waste precious time now, especially with the king naming her a siren and creature. She’d much rather have his demise and Dante’s establishment as sovereign well planned out as to avoid being burned alive by some psychopath because he was not bright enough to understand that standing over her and blocking the light might hinder his ability to look upon himself in her pupils.

Biird: "How do you know my name?" Rhaegar demanded, peering up at Dante. "Mother teaches me everything. Mother says that formality is for formal moments and men who have nothing else but their title. Since we are standing in the quarters of a servant and no one one else should know your name, I do not think this is very formal." He gave a little huff of annoyance when Dante didn't immediately answer how he knew his name and watched as the man went to hug his mother. To Odessa, he gave a little nod and a smile.

Rhaelle allowed Dante to cross into her personal space with his arms wide, but as they started to close in on her in what she was sure her cousin intended to be a rather warm embrace, the Beast of Storm's End reached for his shoulders, drawing his upper closer to her own as her knee launched for his gut. He had little place to go and his guard was very well down. The blow should have sent him flying from her person, but her hand would have remained on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Bending over him, gripping his hair would have easy enough and making him look at her easier still.

Rhaegar stepped away from them, moving to the bed where Odessa had placed herself. He laced his fingers behind his back and stood tall, feet shoulder width apart. "Do not worry. Mother will not kill him. We still need him."

Rhaelle spoke through gritted teeth then,"That is for being fool enough to let my brother leave you alone in Highgarden, you idiot." Raising her free arm, a balled fist launched for his face,"And that is for being fool enough to think I would not have known, worse still for having completely forgot." Rage sated, the woman stepped away from her cousin, leaving him a simple pat on the head, her eyes diverting to Odessa in order to address the previous statements that had not gone unheard. "Your part in this is all but played. Your family has provided a cushion of monetary reserve, you provide an heir and with blessing more still. All that is left for your family to do is hold the door." She had turned completely from Dante then. If he chose to fire back at her for her outburst, she didn't seem too worried about it.

Judge: Having not expected much response from Rhaelle to his hug, yes, his guard had been completely down, and his head turned to explain to his little cousin, how he knew his name. He had been about to tell the boy how he held him when he was a baby when all the wind went sailing from his body and pain exploded in his stomach. His jaw went slack as he folded over and not much force was needed to bring him to his knees, but his cousin wasn't one to slack off because you were already injured. There was no time to react let alone think, leaving Dante with no fathomable idea as to why his cousin had just basically flattened his stomach to his spine. He didn't have to think, because she practically growled her grievance in his face.

Oh fuck. Azaroth. Azaroth, who had been gone the following morning when he'd gone to find him. In that moment he had known Rhaelle would not let his mishap slide but he couldn't recall the exact moment when thoughts of Azaroth had completely gone from him. No, now he was telling lies to himself; the wedding night and every moment distracted by Odessa's naked form thereafter. Shit.

His only form of resistance to her attacks was to put his arm up over his face when she made a swing for him.
The blow landed, hard, causing his arm to tremble and he knew he'd be wearing a bruise to match the one forming on his stomach for a long while, but it was better than taking the hit to the side of his head and being effectively asleep for the rest of the conversation to be had. It seemed that was all she intended to inflict on him in that moment and turned forgetting him much the same way Kainen had. He let out a breath he must have been holding since her arm went up and sat back on his ass, letting the injured arm fall into his lap.

To hear Rhaelle speak of Odessa being with child, surprised him. No disrespect, but she didn't come across as a woman to pick up on such things. Maybe having her own child made her more aware. Of course it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she just knew. There had been many times in their brief shared history to suggest that she was simply keen enough to pick up on it.

"I am sorry about Azaroth." He said when she finished speaking to his wife, but offered no explanation. It wouldn't have mattered to Rhaelle why or what. It had been done, he had been punished and now it was time to discuss what else had been done. "I have always wondered, though, how am I getting to the Great Hall without being stopped?"

Olena: Had Rhaelle been a man of equal or lesser standing she’d have either flown at him in a feeble attempt to remove him from the room, propelled by hormones, or screamed for guards to slit his throat on the spot; however, the Swan of Highgarden found herself stunned that a woman, no less a lady had all but brought her husband to the floor with a single blow of the knee. Of course this was not the first time she had witnessed the move, having attended her fair share of tournaments, but this was akin to things one only saw in history tomes that featured stories about Brienne of Tarth or wildling women. Female participation was not specifically banned from these combat events in her native region, as it was more an unspoken rule or uniformed mindset that was generally understood and the need to block it had never arose. The Beast’s son must have interpreted her look of confusion, what with her hand at her pearls and her jaw aghast, for he soon appeared in front of her to assure her that the man she married would survive the encounter. Arylsse was of a like-mind, and in truth Odessa was surprised she’d not fainted.

The fuss seemed to lie with the fleeing of a one Azaroth Baratheon from Highgarden the morning after Dante had arrived therein to seek out a political alliance with House Tyrell. After her ‘words of warning’ concerning the hand that fed him, and the fact he had betrayed news of their secret kiss, she can’t say that she particularly blamed him for packing his little things and hauling ass on that terror he called a horse. Not to mention, his participation in the terms regarding the marriage agreement would have only served to further inflame said wound. The roses were seldom quick to lash out, but if one ventured too closely to their stem the quick jab of a thorn would serve as reminder that they maintained their place in the garden not simply by merit of beauty but for their ability to fend off those who might seek to upheave them; furthermore, if the prick was not tended to it could result in a most unexpected and unapologetic fatality. Azaroth, no matter the criticism, was not a fool. He had lived there long enough to know their ways.  

Whether or not the other lady knew that Odessa had played a part in his disappearance was of little consequence. They were now united by a common cause, and that was to restore peace and prosperity to the realm by ridding it of its incumbent head of state. The agreement of their marriage contract was signed and sealed, and given her delicate condition the term regarding her own inheritance was basically null anyway, so long as their line provided the realm with a long-lasting dynasty. For her to become queen-regent for their child in the event of Dante’s death would shock no one as the practice was common-place. Not to mention they had paid a high-enough price for it. All these things she contemplated while looking on at the little boy, so much a man for so tender an age. Her hand would extend to stroke his small cheek, and her gaze would revert back to his mother as she made her way over to them. “Then hold the door we shall. You need only name the day and the place. Our families are as one.”

Then, Dante made an interesting point, in questioning how he would reach the doors of the Great Hall unscathed. The crew could hardly invite an army within the city gates, but like Highgarden she suspected there would be passages to get him from one point to the next without being seen, unless there was some other plan in mind. Putting on a disguise would scarcely be enough to hide his massive size. If the gold cloaks were now on their side, the tale from the kitchens involving her cousin and Azaroth were enough to hide that fact. Even with the strength of both their families’ guards combined it wouldn’t be enough to fend off a castle’s defenses within its own walls. The king was his own jester, but he still wore the crown. “Yes, pray tell what you had in mind.”

Biird: Alexander was pacing in the Great Hall. His polished boots were light on the polished tile. The heavy, fur lined robe with the bell sleeves common in style of the Crownlands that he wore dusted the floor following his footfalls. Beneath the robe was a towering man far too thin for his frame, who had the posture of a vulture and the Baratheon blue eyes that watched everyone in his company just like one. His long back hair was an oil slick that run down his back rivaling the length of any woman's. Stroking the locks like the back of a beloved house cat, the King of the Seven Kingdoms muttered incessantly to himself as he paced. With him in the Great Hall was his maester, his mother, Queen Portia Baelish, a gaggle of guards, his White Cloaks, his Septa and smattering of servants going in and out and about their duties. There was, however, one missing from the gathering in the Great Hall that caused the man to abruptly turn towards the doors and declare a scathing hatred for the woman. Queen Portia, poised with her thin hands folded in front of her, barely lifting her soft voice above a whisper as she tried to sooth her son. With a great huff in response, the boy king returned to pacing.

The woman missing from the gathering, Rhaelle Baratheon, was in no rush to meet her cousin and king. Her pale blue eyes, like that of a White Walker, gazed lovingly down at the swaddled bundle in her arms. The child's face was buried against his mother's modest breast, a cleavage that was only ever admirable when the woman was undressed. The child in her arms, a bastard, newly born, had a head covered in downy soft white blond hair. His small hand was wrapped around his mother's finger as he suckled feverishly. The act of a noble woman suckling one's own child to their breast was practically unheard of. Noble woman had wet nurses and maids and governesses. Rhaelle utilized little of these resources. She suckled her own child and in her absence left him with sealed jars of her own milk to be fed to the child by her Chief Lady in Waiting, Xara Xaq, who also served as the child's nanny. She and the child's grandmother were only persons trusted with the Baratheon woman's infant.

The rocking chair ceased movement as the boy's mouth went slack with sleep. His mother rose from her chair, still bouncing him softly and placed him into his bassinet. Almost immediately she was set upon by her ladies to be dressed. The simplicity of her garments, noble or otherwise, allowed the act to be completely swiftly. Soon, though not soon enough for her waiting cousin, Rhaelle appeared in the Great Hall. Alexander set upon her immediately, nearly flying across the room to come to a hard stop in front of the woman. Taller than the average man, Rhaelle required only a slight tilt in her chin to meet the eyes of her towering cousin. He immediately recoiled. "I've told you not to look at me!"

The woman's gaze didn't falter but by then Queen Portia had floated to their sides. Her hand came to rest upon Rhaelle's weirwood stripped cheek but was quickly slapped away by her son. He muttered about errant touching and flew on his cousin. "Greet me! Stop looking at me and greet me!" Slowly, Rhaelle's eyes lowered, not in prostration but to look upon the hallow vision of the man's mother. Queen Portia was struggling to smile. Those all encompassing eyes then returned to her king, "Your guests are at the gates." She said flatly, turning toward the doors. Behind her, Alexander let out a shriek like a banshee and rushed forward. He had been reaching for Rhaelle's chopped hair, but halted as he found his eyes upon her face once more. She didn't say anything. She didn't have too. He knew she had no qualms about beating him into the floor. She'd done it before. Even if he had the muscle of the White Cloaks behind him, he wouldn't survive having her killed. After all she'd used him as a shield once. Letting out a streak of frustration, Alexander stormed past his cousin, his unspoken Hand, and marched toward the gates of the Red Keep. His entourage lept to position to follow him out.

Meanwhile, as the castle rose in the distance casting a shadow over their convoy, Aethon Valeryon sat beside his eldest daughter, Valinea. His hand was placed lightly on her knee, but there was a threat of violence radiating him even it's placement. "You will not flinch, you will not recoil and you will take no notice to his quirks." He said. The translation clearly -- do not screw this up for me. A flex of his fingers bore the bones down into her tender flesh. "I have spared no expense to prepare you for this moment. It could have been any of your sisters, but our King chose you and you will serve his every whim and elevate your house." There were shadows of sadism in his words. The rumors that the king dabbled in black arts with the aid of a Summers Isle witch had floated through the kingdoms for years. Of course, it was of common though unspoken knowledge that Aethon, head of the house of Valeryon and the few remaining pure Valyrians since the fall of the Targaryen regime, was no stranger to strange and sadistic fetishes, some of which were rumored to be shared with the King.

The man's ash-blonde hair was feathered around his once strong features, those greyish-blue eyes, like that of a ghost and just as cold bore down in to the purple eyes of his daughter. She was the perfect prize to him. Had her elder brother been so fortunate as to inherit the eyes of old Valyria his cold heart would have soared. Sadly, it was only she and her bastard brother who showed true Valyrian traits and it had taken him years to procure both of them. Despite his continual trying, he was unable to produce further offspring with such traits. The wrath of his wife had rendered the bastard nearly useless to him but Valinea would be different. Her marriage to the King would surely elevate him to Hand, or perhaps he would place another in that stead. One with strings eager to be pulled. Then he could be rid of the demon the king called cousin. His thoughts were stilled as the carriage came to a stop. The great gates of the Red Keep stood open and a gathering had formed for their arrival. A page opened his door and Aethon stepped out, holding out his hand for his daughter. [e]


DibelIa: The journey from Driftmark to King’s Landing had been pleasant enough, the seas offering no resistance. The sailors upon deck made jest and joke about how it seemed as if the sea were pushing them faster to the capital, encouraging the esteemed betrothal. The further they sailed from her home, the more dread clutched at her stomach – she was hesitant at first, being thrust into the hands of a King who had rumored anger problems, but her Ladies encouraged that there were few who could be worse than her father and his manipulations. She knew if she were to go along with his planning and plots, that she would be seated upon the throne. She knew she could have the King himself, and be his equal in the eyes of the Kingdom’s law. And when she was seated in that power, Father would have no further control over his daughters, she could bring them to court and keep them there, safe from his toxic grasp. Her aunt warned of the depths of his desperate ambition, though perhaps her aunt should have heeded her own warnings, as she met an untimely death. Once the ships came closer to the capital in the South, Valinea’s dread was trickling away, replaced with the growing realization of freedom – not in the literal sense, as she was merely exchanging one home for another, but in the sense that she would be free of her father’s dominion. The convoy had made quick movement through the port and the city, footmen and guards moving to escort their Lord Velaryon and Lady Valinea. Her father ensured her Ladies sat separate from himself and his daughter, in a wagon just behind their carriage – this appeared normal of course, yet Valinea knew it was so her father could maintain that tight control up until she was gifted to Alexander. She sat beside him, feet flat upon the floor, wearing low satin heels of pearl coloring, her hands clasped in her lap only to prevent from combing her fingers through her hair, her attention focused as far from her father as possible. She was lost in thought, her strange eyes fixated upon the towering castle that cast shadow over them, the vast heights and architecture of the Red Keep rather daunting to look upon. This was the home of history. This would be her home. When she felt her father’s painful grip upon her knee, she winced, but offered no sound of pain or rebuttal. She turned her eyes upon her father, Aethon’s gaze locking firmly onto hers, his brows furrowed as they always were. She lowered her gaze a moment, those amethyst depths gleaming in the bright sunlight of the city’s sky. With a gentle nod, she stared fixated upon the floor, the woven rug beneath their feet. Her skin burned with heat as he gripped her, angered that he would presume to inflict pain upon her even here in the capital. As they pulled into the keep’s courtyards, a crowd had gathered, people standing on their toes, arching their necks without shame, trying to gather a glance within the curtained windows of the carriage. Aethon had drawn the curtains the moment they rolled away from the port, though Valinea stole glances through gaps between the sheets of fabric. All wanted to see her, yet none could. Aethon hoarded the beauty of his daughter as if she were a thing, a treasure. The horses whinnied as a distant bell tolled within the Sept, marking a change of the hour. She straightened her neck, lifting her chin with pride, before inhaling deeply and exhaling. “I will not flinch, will not recoil, and will take no notice of his quirks. I will honor my house, serve the King’s whim, and please him as wife and Queen. I will bring the rise of House Valeryon,” she said, her voice quiet but smooth, voice unwavering with a strengthened resolve that only a woman of her standing could obtain. She had been groomed for this throughout her life, controlled and manipulated, even abused by her father’s tongue and touch – all for his ambition of seating his daughter upon the throne. Once the carriage came to a halt, she gave a nod to her father, her eyes glinting with something, some stab of emotion – disdain? Hatred? Intolerance? Once the sunlight of the courtyard shined within the carriage, her face once more became unreadable, her eyes soft and shimmering as if a jewel were held up to light. She smoothed her skirts, and stepped down the stair of the carriage, following her father and taking his hand lightly upon touching foot on the stone yard. Gasps fell over the crowd, silence spreading, eyes fixated upon her. She stood, skirts gently swirling around her feet before coming to a still as she stood beside her father, back straight and head held high. Her waist-length shimmering silver blonde hair was brushed with pristine concentration that morning, her Ladies making effort to ensure she was flawless upon presentation to the King. Her hair hung down her back, away from the graceful and delicate curve of her collarbones. Her chest rose and fell gently, with each breath she took, nostrils barely flaring, not making any movement, except for her eyes falling upon the crowd. Her skin was a cream color, contrasting to most of the commoners she had seen in the city, with skin leathery and tanned by exposure to the sun. Valinea rarely got to enjoy the sun, as her father hardly let her leave the keep, let alone her bedchambers at home. Her long lashes touched the tops of her high cheekbones when she blinked, her full lips parting slightly as she took in breath. She wore a gown of well spent wealth, with silk and satin of aquamarine coloring, and ivory. The embroidery and stitching was gold, with a corset that fit her small waistline well, and sleeves that fit to her arms and thin wrists. The gown dragged along the ground as she and her father moved forth, legs striding in unison, though the petite silver haired woman had to take longer strides in order to keep up. She kept her head held high, not with arrogance, but in pride. She was a Velaryon, and would not be seen as common or unfit for her station. Her hips swayed slightly when she walked, though she stood close to her father when they stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading into the Keep. The Royal family had yet to make appearance. She gulped down the last bit of dread, before looking upon the vast size of the Keep before her. This was to be her home, and Alexander to be her husband. She glanced at her father out of the corner of her eyes, before hearing the doors open.


Biird: Aethon's grip was a touch tighter on his daughter's fingers than it needed to be. Before she appeared to the world beyond the cart, his gaze had squinted upon her visage as if inspecting her once more. Had she been unsatisfactory in any way he'd have shoved her upon her ladies and they would have been punished come the night. She was pristine and it did not go without notice that she kept her movement minimal in order to keep it so. It would garnish no praise from the man however, because it was his expectation and his expectations were to be met at all times. Their footing was not firmly settled on the sand when the gates began to open. Beyond the gates was a royal procession with the King, Alexander at the forefront. Alexander stood grooming the length of hair that fell over one shoulder with his talon-like nails, blue eyes shining with curiosity like an impatient child prepared to receive his new toy. Behind him was his mother, the thin and frail but demure looking Queen who used to glow with pride at her husband's side. Now she stood a shadow of herself, emaciated and sickly, even the lightest gowns looking too heavy for her frail form. She stood to his left. To his right was the beast, The Beast of Storm's End, Rhaelle Baratheon. She stood a mirrored height to Aethon with a frame that held such subtle curves, hidden by her dark masculine clothes, that she fancied a man from nearly every angle. Aethon made sure to keep his eyes off that woman as he moved forward with his daughter stopping a few feet from his king and bowing. His hand was still upon her own and any misstep would be met with a threatening squeeze. "Good day, Your Majesties." Aethon's words slithered forward. When he rose his attention turned on the beast. "Lady Rhaelle." Her head was turned in his direction but those damnable inhuman eyes made it difficult to discern whether she was looking at him or not. She didn't reply and that made Aethon's mouth want to curl into a sneer, but instead he turned his attention to his daughter. "Your majesty..." His words were cut short as Alexander pushed forth, breaking his touch with his daughter so she could be circled. The king was standing behind the girl, dwarfing her by nearly a foot when he said, "Is this the one?!" He rounded to her front, nearly crouching so he could peer into her face. "Is she the prettiest? Look at me, girl! I want to see you."

DibelIa: Valinea remained steadfast and silent at her father’s side, her touch light upon his hand, as she did not wish to touch him if she didn’t have to, but for appearances sake they must look the part of loving father and devoted daughter. In truth, she could not wait for Alexander to take her hand from her father’s. She curtsied beside her father when he bowed, offering respectful gesture to the King himself, with the Queen Mother at his side, and the Hand on the other. Her eyes fixed upon Rhaelle a moment, taking in her size and stature – she had not seen a woman of such build before. She noticed her father tense up upon the appearance of Rhaelle, and it cued a sudden interest and curiosity, and an appreciation for the woman. Any woman who could make Aethon insecure, was a woman she wished to know. Her gaze was interrupted however, as Alexander nearly jumped forward with a lunge towards her, breaking her grasp from her father, her amethyst gaze downcast as she lowered her hands to a clasp in front of her hips. She stood still and demure beside Aethon, though now there was greater distance between them. She could feel Alexander’s breathing upon her shoulders, as he circled her. When he came to her front, she swallowed her breath, and upon hearing his words, she lifted her long lashes, her amethyst hues locking with his gaze. A swirl of dark amethyst around the edges of her eyes, with a lilac coloring just around the iris, she had the distinguishing features of the Old Blood of Valyria. They were quite the sight; the great Baratheon King standing before her, towering over her petite figure, his darkness a stark contrast to the light of her own figure. A soft gaze, a true gaze, a degree of admiration in her gaze as she looked into his blue eyes. She looked upon the dark hair he let hang over one shoulder, long, smooth and dark in color. She wondered if it were as soft as her own. She was drawn from her thoughts once more, hearing his voice, his lips moving. Her full lips opened slightly, and she inhaled before speaking. “Your Majesty,” she said, her soft words as gentle and beautiful as her appearance. She breathed in the smell of him, her own figure smelling of lilies and amber. She blinked, and when her words had ended, she found herself looking upon him with a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, her bust rising and falling with her light breathing, pushing against her corset. He was handsome in his own way, though not as striking as she had hoped a husband to be, when she was a child. Of course, every little girl daydreamed of a handsome prince, who was gentle and kind. He was tall and thin, with a skeletal facial structure. She softened her hands and smoothed her skirts, tilting her head slightly, the gentle breeze blowing her white hair from her face and neck, her waist length tresses swaying down her back.

Biird: Alexander's hands hand stroked over his hair repeatedly as he stared down upon his newest gift. She was a beauty to be sure, but was she the most beautiful? Craning forward, uncomfortably breaching the girl's personal space, Alexander regarded her eyes. Shades of purple, deep and bright. She watched him with a look of ease which made him suspicious. In an unafflicted man, the look would have been rewarded with warmth. He whirled around, the air around him smelling of salt and earth. His long hair lifted with the momentum of his jerk around as he regarded his cousin. "You forced me to wait, you awful girl. How do I know now that she is the best one." It took everything in her being not to roll her eyes, but Rhaelle managed. "Because you chose her." The comment meant nothing, but Alexander it meant everything. He gleaned from it that his choices were always correct. It didn't matter which daughter he chose, he would have always chosen correctly. His judgement decided what beauty was, how it was defined within the kingdom. Grinning, the king didn't even turn as he started to march toward the Great Hall. He was muttering to himself and his steps were rushed as though he had somewhere very important to be. Before she turned, Rhaelle let her eyes fall on the girl. She had a way of focusing upon a single object that left a clear impression she was looking at them. Aethon had never received such a look and it infuriated the man to no end. How dare that woman, a woman, any woman not regard him as important. It was no excuse that she looked nearly like a man. The Queen Mother struggled silently and with great poise to keep up with her son. His cousin strolled leisurely behind but her long legs kept her close. Snatching his daughter's hand, Aethon hurried behind the party. He waved a hand noting for his men and attendants to take his things to his frequented guest quarters, where his daughter would be in the adjoining room until his king decided otherwise. Within the Great Hall, Alexander was standing upon a dais pacing. Once all others had filed into the room he rushed to his cousin, his eyes wild, his soul barely in control of his own thin body. "I want her. I want to keep her. But where? Where should I keep her? ... I WILL NOT." The last of his rushed words were for some unseen bothersome foe he constantly battled. His eyes struggled to focus on Rhaelle. "Tell me. Tell me. TELL ME." His foot stomped. "The Maiden Vault." She answered. He echoed her words loudly then rushed to the Valeryon girl snatching her hand from her father's. Alexander's hand had long, strong fingers and nails like talons. His hand would have completely covered hers as he lead her to the door but before they could get there, he growled in frustration and turned pacing to the other side of the room. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP."

DibelIa: Valinea saw no warmth in his gaze, no kindness for her, and her stomach shriveled up with anxiety and heartache. She had hoped he would look upon her with some softness, some happiness. Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she watched him stalk away from her, slightly perplexed as to what she did wrong. She met Rhaelle’s gaze with question, hoping to find clarity in the strange blue gaze of the woman. Nearly one and the same, the two women with unique eyes. When her father took her hand, she looked to him and studied his face, looking for any sign of disappointment or concern. She wasn’t to blame for this, she did as he wanted, as he desired. She was the epitome of proper grace, and gentle demeanor, and the King did not bother to see her for anything other than her looks. Her father merely snatched her hand and tugged her along in order to keep up with the King and his fellows, leaving her Ladies and servants to unload the carriages and wagons. She looked over her shoulder longingly at one of her dearest Ladies, Caera, but she couldn’t beckon her quick enough to follow. She and her father had no time to speak however, for everyone was focused on the bellowing voice of the King, pacing upon the dais, his eyes wildly looking about as his lips moved with fast words. She looked upon him with her head tilted, her mind milling with thoughts. What is he talking about? Keep me? I am already his, the betrothal is set. Does he think me some beast? she thought to herself, before hearing Rhaelle’s words. Maiden Vault? She looked up to her father, though she knew he would not lift a finger to aid her concern or confusion. She watched as Alexander approached, and when his large strong hand snatched hers, her knuckles grinded together in his grip, drawing a wince to her face, pain from his tight hold. He guided their path towards a door, and she looked up at the heavy wood, before lifting her gaze to his. He nearly dragged her beside him, as he turned on his heel, pacing. She sensed the urgency and fear in his voice, the paranoia. He was emotionally distraught, that much she could see. Her white hair was swaying as she tried to keep up with him, skirts swirling, ankles peeking out. Lifting his hand with hers, she gently placed her free hand over his, her soft thumb gently caressing his knuckles, before she rounded to his front, lifting his knuckles to her own lips, her eyes closed for a moment before she lifted her gaze to his once more, concern and worry for his well being in her face, not fear. “My King, what can I do?” she asked softly, her voice quiet and gentle, drowning out the sounds of the Great Hall, of whispers and footsteps. Her soft hands encompassed by his larger ones.

Biird: His daughter snatched from his possession struck him harder than he had anticipated. Aethon was unaware of the extent of his enjoyment of control until his little ploy was ripped from him without so much as acknowledgement of his giving of the gift. Lord Valeryon curled his hand into a fist, flexed and relaxed trying to keep his cool. He was keenly aware of the King's affliction and on other occasions the thing had been used to his advantage though he should have known just the mere presence of that haunting woman would lessen his importance in the moment. Their relationship was one he had yet to figure out or figure out how to drive a wedge between them. It was almost as if the king craved her approval and she kept him baited by never giving him. This he could understand as the Lord did the same in his own household, but there was something more and he could kill that woman for getting his way. Regardless of his true feelings, in the absence of his daughter, he moved closer to the Beast. "Our king seems pleased." Rhaelle stood with her arms folded under her hidden bust-line. She did not turn to attend the words of the Lord of Driftmark. It tickled her that her ignoring him got so deeply under his skin, but more importantly she didn't really care for his existence and disliked to pretend otherwise. It just seemed like a hassle. Instead she kept her eyes on her cousin and his interaction with the girl he'd practically purchased from her father. This too was not a trait that would endear one to Rhaelle's heart or even gather her attention. Across the room, Alexander's wild eyes fluttered over the features of his new prized possession. The light of his soul flickered to life and dimmed endlessly as he stared down at her, watching her hold onto his hand and bring it to her lips. The feel of supple flesh willingly upon his hand made him recoil but for the briefest of moments appreciation flickered across his sharp features. He withdrew his hand from her own, wiping it down the front of his cloak as if she had slime on her skin and regarded her with heavy suspicion before once again thrusting his gaze into her own, searching those tender eyes. In a rush of motion the king flew away from the girl and seemed to appear behind the shoulder of his cousin. "IT'S A TRICK. That girl. That girl there she wants to devour me. You saw it. Did you not, cousin?! You saw her try to drag me down to the depths of darkness with her tender voice and caresses." Rhaelle moved to the side, so she was no longer blocking Alexander from the room, her gaze falling on Portia before finding Valinea, but her words were for Alexander. "Is that what they say?" "IT IS." "They lie." "You lie!" "When have I ever?" "But I want to keep her!" Alexander whined no longer speaking to his cousin. He began to edge closer to Valinea then, a steadiness returning to his gaze. Though he stopped short of her by a distance longer than the reach of his arm, he is was much stronger when he questioned her. "What is your name?"

Olena: The dowager remained still at the base of the steps, her chest slowly rising and falling in a controlled effort to catch her breath. The recent years of contending with her son’s fits of madness paired with the void brought on by the absence of her younger offspring had robbed her of her joy. What was once a proud and vibrant queen now stood before them as but a mere shadow of a woman, wrought by tragedy and unimaginable terrors inflicted upon her person. The pallor of her skin revealed traces of blue and purple veins just beneath the surface, and her once onyx hair was now streaked with silver—she was exhausted. What remained of her was fully devoted to securing the realm and maintaining some form of stability, for her children’s sake. Both of them. She had hopes that the proposal of marriage between Alexander and the beautiful young girl standing before them now would perhaps break through the wall that clouded his mind so, but the same had been attempted in the past and it had cost her niece her very life. The girl’s father, Lord Aethon Velaryon, was one in which she had never placed a tremendous amount of trust nor general liking. His persistence to see such an innocent and heavenly creature torn to shreds by the monster that was her own son spoke volumes to his character. His growing influence at court was something Rux would never have allowed, and she had fought against it herself during her brief tenure as regent; however, the king had attained his majority and was free to listen to whomever he wanted and do as he pleased. His cousin, now with them, was one of the few he allowed such proximity, and perhaps the only one who could breach the fog if only for a moment’s time. Without their combined efforts and the distraction of the Summer witch Westeros would be in anarchy. Her small frame grew visibly taught with the elevation of her son’s voice, expressing what she interpreted as his own personal interest in conflict with whatever demon that tormented him so, but she did not recoil in fear. In truth, she was numb to it by now. “She will not harm you, my love. She is here to be of comfort to Your Majesty.”

DibelIa: Valinea knew of the King’s madness through rumor only, and whisper from her father, that he engaged in activities that were not deemed respectable in a Noble house. She didn’t believe them, these rumors were fictitious, and pouring from the lips of people who desired to be in the position of the King. But she knew she was strong enough to handle it. Her own father groomed her to be sold like a broodmare, took her from her sisters. Only as Queen, would she finally be in control. She would laugh and watch the fear in Aethon’s face when she told him that her sisters would be coming to court, and no longer in his grasp. She would leave him alone and sad, high in his tower at Driftmark, while her family lived in happiness. And to accomplish that? She would put that smile upon her face, and hold Alexander’s hand, without a second glance at his insane mutterings. And when she had bore his children, she would ensure some oil was spilt upon the stair, and that the funeral was generous and believable. She had learned much from her mother; in order to appear the all forgiving loving wife, she must be all forgiving and loving. And when the time came, justice would be served, the Gods would see to it that the fate was delivered. She turned her gaze to Alexander when he spoke to her, her amethyst gaze bright and shining, before she sank into a deep curtsy, her gaze upon his. She heard the kind words of the dowager, of her future mother in law, and made mental note to thank her for her support later. Her attention turned back to Alexander, for he had asked her what her name was. “Valinea, your Majesty. I offer no harm to you, no harsh word, nor touch. It is my duty to serve you with honor and respect, but to also love and cherish, support you, and stand by your side as devoted wife,” she said clearly, her soft voice echoing throughout the Hall. That voice, that gentling voice.

Biird: Alexander looked over Valinea's head to his mother when she spoke. In his mind, in his view, she was still the shining vision of the Queen everyone had admired during the reign of his father. He was beautiful but he hated her. He hated all of them. All of them for loving the other one more. Her words pushed him away from the girl. Comfort, comfort all the way to his grave. His thoughts were echoed in his head in a million different voices. The same voices that exploited his every weakness and insecurity. Then the other one wouldn't stop. She just kept going and going. All the words past the girl's name shook the steady gaze of the king, unraveling him until he couldn't take it anymore. "Why are you still speaking!" A groan of frustration rolled through the length of his expansive body. This was quickly unraveling and all his plans to stay close to the throne would be dashed if that child didn't keep her mouth shut! Aethon swayed, trying to take a subtle step to the side and snag the line of sight of his daughter. There would be hell to pay if she ruined this for him. Instead of offering him words of wisdom, Rhaelle moved to the side of the King. She didn't make eye contact and instead kept her gaze on the Valeryon girl. She needed to keep Alexander interested in the girl but only so much to keep that loathsome creature that was the head of house Valeryon out of her hair. "Leave her. You will hear none of this prattle from the Maiden Vault and she will be coached to better tastes." Alexander's eyes darkened with a wicked gleam, ideas of breaking her dancing in his mind. It seemed that in order to keep his madness contained, leeching toward darker exploits was the way to go. Rhaelle gathered this from his interactions with the Summer Witch. It was a slippery slope to play on without the witch to quell his interest to disfigured criminals for the purpose of "experiments". At the moment, he simply needed to accept the girl enough to not be startled by her presence in the coming days. Alexander had paused to dart his dark gaze between the three women in his presence. A dark smirk curled his lips as he was filled with a sudden urge for his mother's company. He started to move toward her but a shoe clashed with the toe of his. Rhaelle couldn't reach out and grab him in public but neither could she allow those darker tastes to explode in this room either.

Olena: Valinea’s voice was as lovely as her countenance, a gentle sigh like that of a dove, but her words were too many. Portia felt the wave of anxiety creeping up through her veins to the point she thought she would vomit, but her blank expression revealed nothing. The girl would have to learn that the showing of emotion while in the presence of Alexander was potentially hazardous to one’s health. She herself, his own mother, knew to keep things short and sweet lest he erupt and shame them all. There were secrets that haunted the royal circle that could not stray from its borders. The Queen Mother and her niece kept a watchful eye on his interactions with others, limiting them as best as they could. The rumors had spread across the kingdoms like wildfire, but they were well-enough contained and labeled as hearsay that none had yet threatened to rise up against them. There was only one way to save them. Only one escape from the hell that was Alexander, and it broke her heart. If it were not for the memory of his face, his sweet and blameless face, stolen away from her in the dead of night, she could not go on. Though she tried, she could scarcely picture her oldest child as the once pure babe she had held cradled to her breast so many years ago. As a mother, her love was unshaken, but the creature now approaching her petite and brittle form, with only the most vile and wretched intent, was the very thing that terrified her most. With each passing day the blade pierced deeper and deeper into her heart, and those she loved most were the driving force behind it. Rhaelle’s silent intervention would only buy them so much time, so she quickly turned to Lord Velaryon, “That will be all, Lord Aethon. You have you have delivered on your promise, and so shall we return the favor. Our secretaries will contact your own if we have further need of your input on the matter. You may go. Guards, escort the lady to the Maidenvault. She may arrange her personal belongings to her liking, but she is not to exit.”

DibelIa: Valinea closed her eyes, hearing the words of Alexander, the anger, the hatred. Yet it was instability; and instability was not as frightening as a father knowingly harming his own daughter, and using her for his benefit. Selling her like she was a glorified prostitute with expensive maidenhead. She remained in the curtsy, but opened her eyes upon hearing the words of both Alexander and Rhaelle, then Portia. She hung her head, feeling the baleful glare of her father. When Portia spoke, she rose from her curtsy, but kept her gaze fixated upon the ground. She would see her father to suffer for this. She lifted her gaze to watch as her father was dismissed, her eyes bearing hate within their depths for the first time since she had lost her beloved aunt. She would survive this. She would make this happen. She had learned much from observing the ladies at court in her own home at Driftmark. Now it was time to learn from Portia and Rhaelle, both women with courage as fierce as any man, and wisdom beyond that. Valinea remained silent as her father departed, but turned her amethyst eyes upwards to look towards Portia. “Thank you, Your Majesty for your generosity and privilege.” She said with a single nod, before she walked towards the door, pausing for a moment beside Rhaelle. Without looking at the blue eyed warrior woman, she spoke, her head held high. “You are the only woman I’ve known to strike fear into the heart of my father. For that, I owe you much. For taking me away from him, I owe you even more,” she said, her words quiet, but her voice steely and unwavering.

Biird: Dismissed. Dismissed like a commoner, like a fucking no body! If she hadn't been the Queen Mother, Aethon might have had a mind to wring her scrawny little neck. If she thought she had any idea the depth of the contract he brokered with the king for his daughter, she did not. Instead he let out a breath and was thankful it came from her and not the Beast. At least the Queen Mother had been gifted a soft and soothing little voice. Bowing out of the room, he didn't dare leave without shooting his daughter a threatening glance. She was to be held in the Maiden Vault and that worried him. Worse yet, Portia had ordered her not to leave. How was he supposed to entice the king when his daughter was locked away from his eyes. This must have been her doing, after all the Maiden Vault had been the answer to his question. Damn you. Unable to linger past a point of disrespect the man of Old Valyria left his daughter in the hands of the Baratheon regime. The travel to his guest quarters and the coming morning would give him time to plan interactions between his king and his daughter. Within the Hall, Alexander had lost interest in the girl and knew better than to try and pursue his mother not that Lord Valeryon was gone. With a hard flick of his long robe, her turned and stomped out of the room through a side door no doubt bound for his Summer Witch. Gracious and poise, clearly inexplicably trained, the promised Valeyron girl took her leave. She made a point of stopping beside Rhaelle with some words that further cemented the Storm Cat's resolve to protect the innocent. The poor girl had no idea the manner of monster her own monstrous father had sold her too. Without moving her head, those unusual eyes slid to the side to regard the young woman then returned to the forefront without comment.

Dibella: The evening was warm, breezes swirling around the tower of the Maidenvault, rising up from the seas just beyond the harbor of King’s Landing. The stench of the city only reached the balcony and windows of the Maidenvault, before the pleasant smells of flowers pushed the odor away. The Maidenvault was recently restored with furnishings, tapestries and flowers, currently occupied by the Lady Valinea Velaryon, fiancée to the King, and ward of the Red Keep. She sat upon a windowsill, her amethyst gaze scanning across the horizon of the sea, nostrils flaring as she picked up on the salty scent of the ocean. Her platinum hair was tied in a thick loose braid over one shoulder, wisps drifting along her high cheekbones and heart-shaped face, as she remained silent, listening to the goings on of the city. Her ladies, Corea and Mara, were playing a game of cards, and fanning themselves from the heat of the city. Valinea sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, wearing a sheer silk gown, with side scoops exposing her sides and hips, a silver band clasped around her belly to hold the gown in place, though the silhouette of her figure could be seen when she moved. Corea leaned in, and whispered to Mara, “We might be allowed to attend the coming Feast, even if she’s locked away here in this awful tower. We need only get favor from Rhaelle or the Queen Mother,” she said to Mara, turning a frustrated gaze to Valinea, as if the white haired Lady had any control over the fact she was now locked away within the Maidenvault. “I don’t want to be within reach of Alexander, though. The man is a deranged lunatic, I only pity the girl for being forced onto the altar and into his marital bed,” Mara replied, glancing to Valinea with a softness to her brown gaze. Valinea sighed softly, and began combing her fingers through the ends of her braid, her long hair picking up a shine from the sunset in the distance.

Biird: In the days following the arrival of Lord Aethon's prized giveaway, the girl had not been mentioned by Alexander save for his suspicious on the movement in Maidenvault. That particular housing in the keep had remained still for so long each time the king caught sight of people moving within or without he flew into a fit and each time Lord Aethon attempted to remind him of his daughter within the walls, Rhaelle gently steered her mad cousin onto matters that made him "happy". Today was like any other day, by the time the noon day sun had arisen Alexander had grown bored with what little political matters his advisors could keep him focused on. So down into the bowels of the keep he went to find the one thing that stilled his madness for hours on end. A few hours more would pass before his cousin and mother had tied up the last of his duties and set for the Maidenvault to see his newest prisoner. In the halls, Rhaelle was joined by her small gaggle of ladies, the head of which held in her arms a small bundle with a tuft of blonde hair like the down feathers of swan. Rhaelle took her child from Xara Xaq, a Summer Isles Princes and once of her closest friends. Rhaegar cooed. He wasn't awake yet, but he would be soon and he would be hungry. Since Rhaelle had no wet nurse, the timing was perfect. They arrived at the doors of the girl's chamber, a page sent ahead to warn of the arrival of unsung Hand and Queen Mother.

Olena: Keeping her son’s attentions directed elsewhere had become the trial of her life, and she was exceptionally thankful for whatever Rhaelle had concocted for him within the lower levels of the fortress. Since he was king by right of birth, and held said authority in the age of majority, there was little they could do to truly combat whatever actions and decrees the council persuaded him to undertake. His intelligence was never the question. Alexander was many things, but one could never deny that he was one of if not THE most well educated man in the realm. The only conflict came when said acumen paired with the aberration that was his mental state. Inflicting terror and instilling hatred were an art in which he excelled. The crown was almost completely estranged from the nobility, at least all those with any intentions for the kingdom’s betterment. All chances of hope lay tucked behind castle walls, forced into isolation. One of which, the queen mother had set out to visit that very day. The daughter of House Velaryon now resided under her roof within the confines of the Maidenvault. Portia had issued strict orders that the girl’s every comfort was to be seen to, and that visits from the outside world were to be kept at the bare minimum. That which existed within the royal circle was to remain within it. The queen mother was escorted by two white cloaks and a single lady-in-waiting, in addition to her niece and company. She nodded to one of the whites, and he stepped forward to open the rooms and permit their passage. The page previously sent to inform of their future arrival now announced it, “I present Her Majesty, The Queen Mother and The Lady Rhaelle Baratheon of Storm’s End.”

Dibella: Valinea heard footsteps approaching down the hall, and immediately slid from the windowsill, her bare feet padding along the stone steps of the short stair with a graceful stride, legs moving quickly, her dress flowing around her calves as she moved. She stood just beyond the door, before turning her head over her shoulder and clearing her throat with a subtle sound, like a bird’s chirp. /Ever since we’ve arrived, they’ve been nothing but lazy. Even if we are held within a tower, they should behave with nobility and honor/ she thought to herself. Her amethyst eyes lifted to the doorway, her hands clasped before her waist, head held high. The white cloak entered, his armor glinting in the daylight from the windows, and she offered a respectful nod, before meeting his gaze. The Queen Mother had come to pay visit, as well as Hand of the King, Rhaelle Baratheon. Her ladies quickly rose to their feet, Corea dropping her cards quickly, before both sank into deep (and somewhat clumsy) curtsies. Valinea sank into a deep curtsy, her thin dress pooling around her feet, as she lowered her gaze, remaining in her curtsy. “Your Majesty, Lady Baratheon,” she spoke with that clear and soft voice, her full lips parting and eyes shining as she gazed at the stone flooring, paying her respects to their titles first before saw the blonde haired bundle in Rhaelle’s arms. Her full lips dimpled immediately, a warm smile upon her face. “And the young stag, I see.” She returned her gaze to the floor. She had not yet grown to be friends with the cousin of the King, nor the Queen Mother, but she would offer kindness to the women who had keenly looked out for her interests it seemed. The boy was a bastard, but in Valinea’s eyes, bastards were just as deserving of love as any other child. She held her own bastard brother dear to her heart.

Biird: Rhaelle made a conscious effort to control her stride so she wouldn't arrive ahead of the Queen Mother and instead behind her as they entered the room. They were greeted by a half naked girl and her ladies to which they received a nod from the Lady Stag before she moved off to the nearest chair. It  was a flutter of a second after the doors opened that Rhaegar yawned and stretched, his hungry cry bubbling in his throat. Xara stepped immediately behind Rhaelle and unpinned the shawl at her lady's shoulder. The daughter of the Stormlands wore leather pants, sturdy heeled boots, and a corset over a loose top that cinched at her bust-line in an effort to contain her swollen chest. She was by no means busty even after the birth of her child had filled her to capacity with milk, but they were more than she was used too and had to be nearly out in order to be available for his feeding. Xara had taken fabric to the hips of her masculine outfits and wrapped the woman in a toga-like fashion which served two purposes. The first was to keep her cousin from complaining he took her for this man or that and the second was so that the child could be cradled in the extra fabric and cover her chest when he fed. The child took to the nipple immediately, his mother crossing her legs as she sat down. Until that moment her attention had been completely on Rhaegar and it wasn't until he was settled that those haunting ice blue eyes found the Valeryon girl. "What have you been doing in here, girl?"

Olena: Her eyes were greeted by the half-dressed body of her potential daughter-in-law, and that of the woman’s seemingly unprepared ladies-in-waiting. The page had been sent well enough in advance for them to have been so. Did they think themselves fit to serve a queen? They would be replaced. “Rise, Lady Valinea—only Lady Valinea.” The sound of Rhaelle’s babe nursing caused her to cringe internally, forever haunted by the sweet face of the boy swept away in the night, so she refrained from acknowledging his presence. She bore the bastard boy no ill-will, it was beyond her nature to do so. Conflict only lead to conflict, and whatever kept her only help in the world happy was welcome within The Red Keep. “We have come to see to your well-being with our own eyes. You do not want for anything, do you?” She’d not be denied much, so long as it was within the confines of these walls and could be materialistically handed to her. The girl was beautiful, beyond words, and would make for a queen without comparison in the Baratheon line; however, she could not bare to see such beauty defiled at the hands of Alexander. He would tear her to pieces without second thought. No, she’d be saved for something else….someone else.

Dibella: Valinea’s gaze lifted once she heard the proud voice of Portia, the Queen Mother, and she stood, hiding the smirk upon her lips as Portia denied permission to rise for the two Ladies whom her father saw fit to outfit her with. More or less spies for Aethon, worth very little to her, and without the proper manners for their positions. She offered a kind smile to the Queen Mother, and lowered her gaze with a nod, though she had heard Rhaelle’s words, she would respond to Portia first. “Your Majesty is generous beyond deserving, I want for nothing here. The flowers here bring joy to the tower. Apologies for my state of appearance, I was prepared for bed. I enjoy watching the sunset over the sea at night. It reminds me of home.” She said with a smile quirking the corners of her lips, before tucking her loose strands of hair behind her ear. She then turned her gaze to the blue eyes of Rhaelle, for a moment finding herself lost in those haunting hues, before she spoke. “I occupy my time with music, tending the flowers, and my paintings. People watching has become a pastime of mine here. It proves more entertaining than the repetitive whining and cards,” she said, her lips set in a firm line, eyebrow arching slightly as she noticed the shaking legs of the ladies on either side of her, still holding their curtsies, but also flushing pink with embarrassment. She had hoped she could be rid of them; she was more than capable of tending to herself alone in this tower. “Might I offer refreshments, or treat? I did bring a gift with me from Driftmark, for your boy, Lady Rhaelle. If I may?” she asked. She had crafted a rattle of seashells from the shore beside her balcony, and kept it safely tucked inside satin scarves in her trunk.

Biird: While Valinea engaged with the delicate Queen Portia, Rhaelle regarded the useless servants. It wouldn't have surprised Rhaelle if their intention had been to embarrass Alexander's would be toy and ended up just so themselves. Portia may have been frail but she was keen and quick and more than suited for the task of queen. In the years of her rule, the kingdom had prospered. She and Eirlys shared the daunting task of reigning in raging Baratheon Stags, boisterous and hearty nearly to a fault. Now she was tasked with attempting to reign in a mad stag who sought to piece apart her soul and resolve as the monsters in his head sought to destroy his mind. The woman was rightly revered and loved. It didn't pass Rhaelle that Aethon had seen fit to give his daughter only two ladies. It would suit her purposes to have them replaces with stronger links to the chains she'd diligently crafted about the keep to suit her interests to the realm. When Valinea turned her words to the Storm Cat, Rhaelle watched her face, her own blank. She'd asked the question and didn't quite care for the answer. It was invalid by no means, but Rhaelle had a habit of attempting small talk and very soon remembering how much she hated it. So the rumors of Rhaegar's parentage had spread all the way to Driftmark. A tall tale of Rhaelle's wide-eyed love for some Reachman taken from life too soon and leaving behind a bastard, despite plans of marriage spread by her mother, Lady Eirlys. The Stag's features, tribally marked with red paint around the black kohl shaping her eyes, remained unmoved when Valinea made mention of the gift. For a moment she watched the maidens forced to remained curtsied, adjusting the boy in her arms, then a nod of approval was given to the Velayron girl. The child would remain feasting until the gift was presented.

Olena : Renovations were one of few pastimes that took her away from the current flow of misery that carried her through life. She had always had an eye for the aesthetic, a daughter of House Baelish, and it had been her personal mission as queen consort to take the base that was the Red Keep and create something beyond splendid that would timelessly capture the magnificence that was The Seven Kingdoms and reflect the glory of House Baratheon for ages to come. Her personal favorite commission had been that of the throne room, which now remained bathed in light so long as a single ray of the sun or beam from the moon graced the sky.  The glittering ceiling and polished stone walls and floors held no equal in all the known world. The lowest peasant could sit upon the iron throne covered in grime and the grandeur surrounding him alone would make him look the superior of any below. Thankfully, the same worked for Alexander, and few chose to question the beast when he sat in state before the masses, so long as the encounters were kept brief and he didn’t fling the crown across the room. How she longed to see another climb the dais and mount the throne of swords, one more deserving, innocent, and pure. Her sweet boy. Nothing in the world would please her more, and he would be kind to his brother, however undeserving he might be. Furthermore, this girl…this lovely and angelic girl, would sit upon the throne beside him and make him happy. He could once more be surrounded by those who loved him, and not simply cast away to some near-deserted isle in the middle of the narrow sea and left to die. “You are most welcome and deserving, my dear. Do not apologize for the mistakes of others. Rest assured they will be rectified within the night.” The remark concerning the flowers and her efforts in regards to the rooms brought a momentary smile to the dowager’s lips, “I am glad they please you. There are plans for your future that will require you feeling most at home here.” The glint of hope shining within her eyes was unmistakable for any who knew its true cause.

Dibella: Valinea smiled when Rhaelle gave her nod of approval, before turning to cross the floor towards a great oak trunk, lifting the lid and bending at the hip to reach into the depths of the trunk. Various gowns and scarves, sheets of fabric from Essos were folded neatly inside. She withdrew a single bundle however, a scarf of pearly satin, embroidered with aquamarine threads, and within the scarf lay a rattle crafted by Valinea’s design. The hilt of the rattle was crafted of coral, but grinded into a soft smooth surface, with seashells upon the end, and a series of beads strung inside, to provide for the enchanting sound that so many infants enjoyed hearing. There were pearls upon the other end, that Valinea had picked from a collection. Valinea also bore gifts for the Queen Mother, but was instructed to wait until the wedding to gift them, as a traditional gift to the mother in law. The white haired woman turned from the trunk, carrying the bundle of silk and rattle to Rhaelle, before gently extending it in offering, placing it in Rhaelle’s grasp before she turned towards Portia once more. “I already view this palace as my home, even if I am housed here in the vault. I look upon the city as my people, and find the sea to be a comfort, a reminder of Driftmark. My only wish is to please Your Majesty, and your family, and to bring comfort to the King. I must say, Your Majesty, that my father tries like a weed, to grow between the cracks in stone. He is unhappy with my placement here in the vault, but not for the paternal fatherly reasons. I do not mean to sound… disrespectful, of my father. But I would prefer he be denied access to my chambers here. Perhaps communication through the Maester would be more suitable,” she said quietly, glancing at the ladies beside her. At this rate, Valinea did not care what they reported back to their Lord Aethon. She grew tired of his ever-tightening hold around her neck, even as she was pulled away from him by the Baratheon family she was to marry into. She knew she had no place to order him away, as she was not yet Queen; but she had hoped that Portia or Rhaelle might help to shorten his lead.

Biird: Rhaelle turned her head to look at the Queen when she spoke of plans for the girl's future. A sigh passed her lips but the suckling of her infant easily rendered the sound null. Taking the rattle and the cloth from Valinea, Rhaelle hardly inspected it before handing it off to Xara, who thoroughly inspected it. Rhaelle would give nothing to Rhaegar that hadn't been cleansed by the Summer Isles Princess. Xara found the hand crafted treasure quite beautiful and couldn't wait to clean and present it to the Little Lordling. His wide, intelligent eyes would no doubt brighten at the sight and he would quickly discover the soft tingling sound it would make. "Men are not allowed in the Vault." Rhaelle said abruptly. "My cousin quite likes the rule passed down from Baelor I Targaryen. So you needn't worry about your father arriving in your quarters." She lifted the babe from her breast, covering herself with the shawl and the child as she brought him to her shoulder and gently patted his back. It was easy to understand Valinea wanting, even cherishing, the freedom she would find here in the Maidenvault, away from her father. Of course, Rhaelle still had her reservations about the girl. It remained to be seen if her request was simply a ploy to move suspicion from her person or if her need were indeed genuine. Though, either motive was of little consequence to the woman with the child as her own plans had already been set in motion. There was only one person that could find himself in her quarters unwanted, but so far he'd forgotten she'd even existed. The Valeryon couldn't know how lucky she was to be out of the king's favor, with all her sentiments to being a good wife and companion. Poor naive or calculating girl. The glint in weary Portia's eye suggested of her thoughts and Rhaelle couldn't argue that the girl standing before them would make a wonderful queen, no doubt, but a queen tied to Aethon Valeryon was dangerous.

Olena: The gracious smile remained on her lips as the wheels turned within her mind. The girl was perfect. Nothing could stand in their way. “It pleases me that you feel so.” She watched the exchange with polite interest, admiring the rattle in a glimpse before it was handed off to the Summer Isles girl. Then, a dull and throbbing pain rose up inside her head, starting from the base of her neck and working its way up and across the center-way of her skull. She bit her frail thin lips together for a moment and shut her eyes as she inhaled deeply, waiting for the pain to subside. Portia scarcely ate anymore, just enough to get by, but her appetite was long gone. The years had taken their toll on her body in ways one could scarcely imagine. If she dared intake too much it would only be wretched out of her after…he took her. The thought was too much to bear, the room started to spin for a moment and her arm quickly shot out to grasp onto Rhaelle’s. She took a deep breath to regain her composure once more. She thought of his face. That sweet face. It was all she could hold onto, for she had missed Rhaelle’s arm and collapsed downwards to the floor. “My son,” she gasped as darkness surrounded her vision. “Save him.”

DibelIa: Valinea nodded, hearing Rhaelle’s words. “Yes, men aren’t allowed. But I hear my father arguing with the guards, offering bribes, just to speak to me through the door. I must say your men are rather secure and loyal, whether its for money, honor, or fear,” she said, at the last part, her eyes lifting to meet Rhaelle’s, a steeliness and resolve there that was not seen before. She knew where the true power lay within the keep. A guard who couldn’t be bribed, even by Velaryon riches, was a man held by his collar. And what she had spoken about Aethon was true, the man was desperate to sink his hooks into Valinea again. She then turned her head to see Portia smile, words parting her lips, though her eyes widened when she saw Portia’s lips draw into a line, her face twisting out of pain it seemed, eyes closing. She tried to prevent her fall, but missed Rhaelle’s arm and collapsed onto the floor. She barely heared Portia’s words, over her own – “Get the Maester!” she shouted to one of the guards, immediately stepping into Portia’s personal space, kneeling beside her figure, and rolling the woman to her back, cradling her head and neck, before lowering her face to Portia’s. “Your Majesty! Can you hear me?” she asked, lowering her ear to listen for breathing, her fingers deftly moving to the woman’s carotid artery to feel for a pulse. Valinea knew some tricks, due to her upbringing being locked away indoors, her father's Maester tended to instruct her on everything he could, when she grew past a noble's education, and seemed bored.

Biird: The moment Rhaelle felt Portia's fingertips brush her arm, she was up and out of her chair, the child passed into the arms of his only other caretaker while she was in the Keep. The shawl around her body kept her from being exposed, though it mattered little in the face of what she suspected was happening in that moment. It was only a matter of time. They day had long since been overdue. Everyone suspected the poor woman was only holding out for the moment she could lay eyes upon her second son again. As Valinea tended to the dying Queen Mother, Rhaelle took a moment to fasten her dress before lowering to the floor and lifting the woman into her arms. She was even lighter than one would expect, even her hair was frail, though Rhaelle remembered well when it was thick and luxurious like her mother's. Turning then, Rhaelle handed the queen to the White Cloak that been in their company. "Take her to her chambers. She will be more comfortable there. I will inform the king." He nodded, dipped slightly and left the room, the other man at his back along with Portia's lady. The Queen's words had not gone unheard and her wishes would not go unfulfilled either. Arms folded under her swollen chest, The Beast of Storm's end turned to finally address Valinea's concerns. "You father will not come here any longer. You have my word." Her gaze then fell on the ladies who's only reprieve from curtsying had been the Queen's demise. "You two, get out. Xara, find Lady Valinea more suitable company." The Summer Isles girl nodded, ushering the other two ladies out of the room with one hand. True to her fashion and lack of attention to protocol, Rhaelle turned from the Velaryon girl, gathered her son and left the room, shutting the doors behind her.


The news of his mother's death did not sit well with the king. Incapable of showing remorse or sorrow, Alexander immediately flew into a rage and stormed out of his offices and into her room. His mother lay neatly tucked under her thick blankets, her thin, pale hands delicately folded on top. Her hair was perfectly groomed, eyes shut, thin lips resting in a soft line, a far cry from the tension her jaw carried in life. Her doors flung open to allow the rush that was the king into the stillness. "How dare you! How dare you leave me!" He raged, climbing the small steps of the raised dais her bed was propped upon. Grabbing the bed post in both his hands, Alexander shook it with all his might. "HOOOOOOOOOOOOW DARE YOU." He howled, before dropping onto the sheets face first. He pounded his fist into the fluffed sheets and growled before grabbing her cold hand. "You think you can leave me! You think that the gods will take you to your son! THEY WILL NOT. You cannot abandon me! You cannot forsake me for him! COME BACK HERE YOU WHORE." The tyrant king sucked in a breath, his body beginning to tremble then as he pushed back his robes and climbed the bed, straddling the dead body of his mother. She was at peace now and he hated her for it. Jealously soared through his body as he pounded the bed on either side of her. "Come back! Come back! Come back!" Then the tears broke. Sobbing, Alexander fell onto her corpse. "Don't leave me, mother."

Judge: The Red Keep was much bigger than Dragonstone. There were probably passages all over the place that would have taken him where he needed to be much faster, but since Dante didn't know any of them, he took to the main roads which gave him way too fucking time to think. By the time he hit the levels of Maegor's Holdfast he was moving on autopilot. Had he been in Dragonstone, stripping in his room would have been followed by wandering down to the bowels of the keep for a bath in the hotspring... by himself. Instead a bath was waiting for him, that in and of itself was creepy as shit, but right now creepy was welcomed. What wasn't were the people lingering around to help him in and out, scrub and change. They were dismissed and he stayed in the bath until the water ran cold. He laid nearly at the bottom of the basin, made possible by his legs hanging out of the tub and watched the distorted world around him. When he was clean and didn't smell like smoke and idiots anymore, Dante pulled on pants, boots and a shirt, all in black with gold trimming. He wasn't sure where all these clothes were coming from either. The Red Keep, its automatic flow to everything freaked him out. The night was half way over, the moon about as high as it was gonna get, when Dante entered Odessa's antechamber. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with his wife and pass out but his brain was going a mile a minute and if she was already sleeping he didn't want to bother her.

Olena: Word traveled at an alarming rate through the keep, especially when actions were undertaken openly on the grounds and in the sight of the hundreds of eyes swarming about. The network of communication perhaps surpassed even Highgarden and possessed a far broader range. In truth, it could be a little overwhelming at times. While Odessa was being made ready for bed, directly following her bath, a servant reported having spotted the king carrying a woman bare-backed with her corset cut open across the courtyard from the small council room to the Maidenvault. The female had been identified as "the Velaryon girl," but no further explanation was provided beyond the fact that she apparently 'lived there.' Unsure what to make of the situation, the Queen dismissed all her ladies from the chamber, save for Arylsse, who was to plait her hair. The two remained in silence as the task was completed, and Odessa chose to remain seated before the vanity observing her reflection for a time. "You may go, thank you," and the reply of "Yes, Madame" were the only words exchanged. Before long, the sound of the door opening alerted her to the entry of her husband. The place where she sat was obscured from sight by a divider, "Husband, I waited up for you."

Judge: Odessa's voice cracked through the silence of the rooms causing him to stop dead in his tracks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow of a woman cross out of the antechamber and disappear. As much as he remembered loving his mother, he fucking hated these rooms. His rooms were no better. Rubbing the back of his neck, Dante shoved all that aside and went into Odessa's bedroom but he wasn't immediately able to find her so he crossed in front of the bed and went to the balcony. Wise had left him when he went to bathe, being on the balcony would allow the bird to find him again and it was only a few seconds before the bird appeared on the banister. "You didn't have to do that." Dante said, petting his bird absently. "I hope you've eaten today."

Olena: As she was facing the looking glass she caught sight of his tall form passing before the bed behind her and exiting onto the terrace, so she rose and followed suit. "Oh, but I did, and I have. Constantly. My appetite is insatiable now that I am not being tossed to and fro in a carriage or boat," her tone was devoid of any emotion, atypical from the usual sing-song melody that flowed from her lips. She stepped behind, crossing over to the cushioned couch and sitting so that her feet would be tucked behind her. "And what of yourself? You seem to have had quite the day. Did you stop to appease your appetite?"

Judge: The sound of her voice had him bracing. He knew that tone. Never married before but even whores felt slighted sometimes. Turning away from Wise, Dante kept his hands on the banister as he leaned back and looked at his wife on the seat, the very same one from last night where he'd looked her in the face and told her he'd faithful for the rest of their days. "Daegon's half sister fainted when she found out I was king, but to answer your real question, I don't fuck unconscious girls. I don't cut them out of their clothes either. Pretty good at preserving expensive fabric but you know that."

Olena: It was a relief to hear him say so, but it didn't excuse the fact that he had done so in the first place when they lived in a palace full of able-bodied men at his beck and call. Deep down she knew the truth of the matter and had all along, "Yes, Dante, I do. I understand the man standing before me AND what drives him; however, the rest of his kingdom is still working on their first impression. All they've seen so far is a man who charges out into the battle's fray without so much as a strategy or real understanding of what caused it, and another who is a married man carrying a young and beautiful female half-exposed across the courtyard of the very center of his kingdom. Do you think they will stop to ask why? Let me assure you now, they will not. You risk first your own life, and now your reputation." Her tone was had risen from the barren wasteland that it had been before to one of incredulousness, not mockery.

Judge: His eyes hadn't moved from her and for a long moment he didn't respond. There was enough shit going on all of which he thought was far more important than what people thought of his actions and his motives. It didn't really bother him that people had run to tell his wife that he'd cheated a split second after risking his life as if he were known for a good post battle fuck like his father. If they wanted to compare to his father, from what he remember that post battle fuck had always been with his wife. Maybe a few extra bodies were present and naked but Portia had been there as well, always. Pain shot across his forehead following a very vivid picture of his mother and father sharing looks he didn't understand at the time. His palm slammed into his eye, the sudden shock twisting his face away from her. "Sonofbitch." After a moment it subsided and his attention returned to her. "I don't care." He said flatly. "I really don't give a fuck about what people think of me or what I do. What I care about is what you think of me and what I do. Am I really supposed to believe you understand me when the first thing I get when I come back is an accusation about infidelity? Don't tell me you didn't believe it. I saw it in your face and I heard it in your voice. I made a mistake rushing to the square. I did. This isn't Dragonstone and at some point those instincts will be replaced with better ones. It's been two fucking days. Gimme a break."

Olena: Seeing him press his palm to his eye in the expression of physical pain sent a chill of fear down her spine, spreading across her entire body. With near-inhuman speed like a bolt of lightning she had traversed from where she was sitting to where he stood, grabbing onto his sides. "Dante! What's wrong?" Soon enough, his attention was returned to their discussion, and within less than a minute he had blessed her out, sought her approval, and shown how little he trusted her. "Do not presume to tell me what I do and do not think or know, and no I was not thrilled to hear that my husband had carried another woman from one end of the keep to the other for all to see. I'm angry with myself that I did have doubts, for I knew in my heart that you would not betray me. I am only mortal. Give ME a break. You do not care what others think, but I DO because I know what the opinions of others can do to a man--to a king. Your brother didn't give a damn what anyone thought, and look at him! His own family rose up against him and brought the rest of the nation with them. I will NOT see the same thing happen to you because of a few careless mistakes, Dante." Her eyes threatened tears, but she refused to let them flow. She was no longer a child. She was a woman grown, married and with child, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. "A single day in the life of a king is the equal of a thousand as a commoner. I want to protect you, but it's hard. Unimaginably so. You must care."

Judge: His eyebrow rose when she appeared in front of him, screaming his name like he didn't know it or ... like he was about to die. He felt her hands on his hips through the thin material of his shirt but instead of putting his arms around her like he wanted to, he just gripped the banister harder. He hadn't expected her to rush to him like that and just gone into a rant which quickly turned into her own rant. Were they fighting or arguing the same point form different perspectives? He hoped for the latter. From what he remembered of his brother, Alexander was actually the complete opposite of what most people thought. He cared a great deal what people thought of him and when he didn't get shining approval he lashed out. So he lashed out a lot. It was a moot point though. Pointing that out to Odessa wouldn't make any bit of difference. With a sigh, his hand came off the banister and lifted her to his lips. "I'm sorry." He whispered against her mouth. "I want peace between us always. I want to know that no matter what happens or who whispers in your ear you trust me. With that, I will do anything. If you promise to try that, I promise to try to care what people think."

Olena: The excitement caused the little knot within her belly to tighten and bear down for a brief moment before releasing, and she drew in a short breath and bit at the back of her lip until it subsided. When he lifted her off the ground and to his face she braced herself by wrapping one arm about his neck, leaving the other to rest on his chest. Meanwhile, her slippered feet dangled freely above the marble stone floor. Her golden eyes peered into his blue, pupil to pupil. "I do trust you, husband, and I will, you have my word," she whispered back against his lips. "I apologize too. It is not my intention to belittle the things you do. My concern is for your safety and well-being. The thought of losing you, in any sense of the word....it horrifies me. I...I could not bear it. All I have said and done has been in efforts to benefit you, not me." Her lips pecked lightly against his own and then withdrew to ask one more question, "Do you trust me?"

Judge: Her words uncoiled all the knots that had started in his shoulders from the chaos of the day. Odessa was his first line of defense against nobles and it was in his best interest to take everything she said when it came to them very seriously. Had he been in her presence when the square was shot to hell things would have gone very differently and if hadn't been for her quick thinking where he failed to think at all, he probably wouldn't be standing here with her now, staring into eyes the color of his first brush with death. Those colors had been calming and peaceful then as they were now. "I love you, Odessa. I trust you. I really do, I've just never been this close to someone that I didn't understand. I want to understand you and your world so I can protect you." His lips found hers again, kissing her while he lowered her to the floor before her feet went numb. His hand came to rest on her stomach. "We only have a few months to make this place livable."

Olena: Her eyes closed and she returned the kiss, feeling herself descend and the soles of her slippers regain contact with the ground. She soon came to the same realization that they were both fighting to achieve the same goals, but their ways of communicating were worlds apart. Where one lacked in complexity the other made up for it ten-fold, and the same could be said where simplicity was concerned. Opposites had not only attracted, but were now bound to one another in sacred matrimony in the eyes of the gods and men alike. With effort, their differences could make them an unstoppable force to be reckoned with. Without, it would be their downfall. "And I love you. It all happened so quickly, and I shan't pretend I understand how it came to be with such magnitude so soon. Share my world, for it is now yours." Her hand came to rest atop his own over her belly, "I will show you, and perhaps you will show me how to lighten up some."

Judge: Dante started to lower to his knees in front of his wife and Wise hopped onto his shoulder, stretching that long neck to get her attention. Both his hands were now on her stomach, "Don't worry, it won't be a mess when you get here." He was still listening and straightened slightly to look at her, almost her height on his knees. "If you get any lighter I'll tell the cobbler to make your shoes with lead soles." He remained on his knees, caressing her stomach as he thought for a while. "Do I need to know anything about the Seven for the funeral?"

Olena: During their brief conflict, she hadn't noticed Wise at all; however, he was now craning out his head for her to take notice. While one of her hands rested on Dante's free shoulder, the other rose to caress the side of the little bird's face and tummy. She lifted an eyebrow at concept of her getting any lighter, which she actually had during the first few weeks of pregnancy, what with vomiting so frequently; however, now as she had mentioned before her appetite was growing stronger with each passing day. "Somehow I don't think that's likely to be the case if our little prince or princess compares to their father in any way. I'm likely to burst," she laughed. "Not particularly. Just recite the prayers after the High Septon with your head bowed in reverence. If you wish to speak, you may or you don't have to at all. We will be conveyed there myself by litter and you on horse, as I told Rhaelle pregnant women, particularly queens are not allowed on horseback. You and I will enter the sept alone, and then your family will follow, Baratheon followed by Baelish. Then the rest will enter, my family first and the other Great Houses followed by the Lesser. Leaving, you and I will exit first, followed by Baratheon and Tyrell, then Baelish followed by the rest."

Judge: Wise was most pleased to get the attention he wanted. There was barely a moment after he got it before he flapped away to the table and began to hop around looking for left overs. Meanwhile, Dante picked up Odessa's hand off his shoulder and kissed her palm. "Well that's good, but it brings up another question. Daegon's sister, Valinea mentioned being betrothed to Alexander and being locked in the vault. I didn't see anything in the paperwork I have about a marriage contract. We got married pretty quickly, but what if we hadn't?" He wasn't sure what he was asking, because as far as he could remember, contract or no Alexander was dead and she wasn't widow. Standing up, Dante rubbed the back of his neck. "I need to talk to talk to Rhaelle about it, I think. She's been here the whole time. The Chamberlain said she locked her in the vault and didn't allow any men though. I guess we can't leave her up there isolated though."