amirofmanderlys

[amirofmanderlys]

KEITH POWERS as Terry The Tomorrow War (2021), dir. Chris McKay

#i don't want no more comparisons this is a marathon and i'm aware (lord amir of house manderly: master of the shivering sea) #hall of famer hungrier than all the newcomers (amir of manderly) #to look in the mirror. #its giving escape mission from skagos

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

"yeah…lots of people wanted to read it themselves, try to add their own rhythm to it. different than the vocalist." he continued, and for a moment a part of him wanted to tell her he thought it was awful. that would be a lie however; he thought it refreshing, a change; something was different about it, and now he looked at the person opposite him - he knew what. so instead he kept his comments vague, not giving away his own opinion.

"you mean you're telling me that you are luc's sister?" amir asked, as though he needed it to be confirmed a second time; his gaze looked upon the stranger again, as though he could not for the life of him work just how the two were related. it would have caused him to grin and to laugh, if they were not already wrapped up in the overall irritation of their discussion. the raise of her voice, borderline shrill, only caused him to become increasingly more irritated.

and yet, now he truly did not want to cross any lines to offend her. though, she seemed the type to find offence at anything. perhaps he should have simply walked from the situation, and yet, her ability to double down caused him to look at her as though she had grown another head.

"yeah. don't look at my people like that. i don't know how people speak to attendants where you are from, but keep it to your own." he continued, using words that were similar; and he knew this would only further spark the irritation and argument that was brewing. he should have ended it, dropped the matter. instead, he decided he would respond the very same way.

estermont - the name being one he was not expecting, considering when he thought of the seafaring family of the land of storms, a loud stranger was not the face that sprung to mind. rather, the only estermont he had ever known the entirety of his life was lucerys, whom had always been a force of reason and morals within the wider group. what a group it ended up being, multiple personalities; sometimes he found himself wondering whether he had outgrown his closest companions, whether it were possible to be friends with people whose morals were so different to his own. what did that say about him?

the thoughts lingered in his mind, his tone continuing to remain stubborn and irritable; he wondered if she were being dense intentionally. what did she think she sounded like?

"telling you something you didn't like to hear doesn't mean i was lecturing you, or being patronising…my lady." his formality was obviously sarcastic and scathing - all parts equal stubbornness and equal irritation. what was it she was trying to say? why did she keep repeating herself in referring to where he was from? go on then. where is it you come from? why did the question stump him? why did he not know whether to answer northern? rhoynish? northern rhoynish?

he turned now, noting that some attendants were readying for a wagon to return to the red keep. "there's a wagon approaching returning to the red keep. you getting in, or is that patronising to ask?" he asked, this time a hint of mischief in his words - amusement. as though he wished to see her get more irritated.

"well, you were." in a mood like this one, it would be easier to argue with a brick wall than with minthara estermont. resolutely stubborn, once she had decided something, a stranger like the man before had not a hope in hell of changing her mind. "estermont." she wasn't sure why she told him her name. she supposed he should at least know who he was arguing with.

something shifted in his gaze. it was a look minthara had seen before. she had said something that had cut a little too deep. it wasn't unusual, for her, but this time, she was utterly perplexed - because she could not for the life of her think what she could have said to offend. not when all she was trying to do was get back what was rightfully hers.

"more specific on what?" her brows furrowed. "how patronising you're being? why don't we start with 'don't be looking at my people that way'?" she dropped her voice, mimicking his own tone. what else could he have meant? there'd been little else, beyond demanding her book back. she took it now, with surprising gentleness, making sure it was still in one piece before holding it defensively to her chest.

when he finally revealed what it was that he had taken offence to, it did not do anything to ease her confusion. if anything, it made it more pronounced. "well, if you're surprised that i'm not bullying random serving girls, it doesn't speak much for the women where you come from, does it?" was she missing something, or did he just have issues? "go on then. where is it you come from?"

her nerves were on high alert. she knew he had seen something, but wasn't sure exactly how much. it wasn't that she was opposed to people hearing her work - what she was opposed to was people knowing it was her. but then, she rarely came across people who were even interested in the sort of things she liked to write. the odds of him connecting the dots were low.

but not zero. minthara flushed, clutching her book a little tighter to her chest. unlike his query about the women where he was from. this time, she understood him perfectly. she knew the night he meant, knew where he had heard the words she had etched on to the page. but unlike him, she had not been there to hear it for herself.

minthara raked her eyes over him. her previous anger had evaporated. it was not contempt that she looked at him with now, but suspicion. she was trying to figure out exactly how much she should say, and how much she could trust him to keep to himself.

"i wasn't," she said, eventually. "wanted to be, but... wasn't." she didn't want to tell him that she had been so filled with nerves that she hadn't even been able to go near the place, how much she had wanted people to hear her words, but not had the stomach to face the embarrassment that came with witnessing it. this was the first she was hearing of the feedback her writing had received, and for the first time since she had realised her book was gone, she smiled tentatively. "yeah?" idly, she wondered if he meant in general, or by him. "must have made an impression, if you can recall it from a mere glance."

#c: minthara #minthara 001 #me giggling

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

the master of ships leaned back slightly in his chair, his body posture indicating comfort and ease in the presence of the two men who knew him the most: more than any other, living or dead. there were things amir believed he could only share with his fellow men, including the parts of himself that he would need to put away before the eyes of his family and the rest of his community.

they held high standards of one another, and when he was sat with a drink in his hand, he began to wonder whether those standards were too high. were they ever possible? or were they destined to fail against such heights?

the matter of fact tone of the lord of maidenpool was enough for a table sat close to them to look up upon hearing the matter of discussion, and amir briefly made eye contact with them, simply raising his own goblet and raising it to them. he stayed by his decision of not wishing to involve himself in the matter, though that did not mean he would not sit and hear what was going on. what they would be planning to bring across the rest of the continent.

because as much as amir would argue he were not involved, supplying the xianglao from trade source of yi-ti and from white harbour's docks would bask his hands in whatever happened. "aye, maesters, with their chains or without them, can't be trusted. there's a reason they were kicked from the north." they spun matters how they wished them to be, according to a certain bias. "and the excommunicated ones be even worse. they got nothing left to lose."

because the maester would need to experiment on the substance. to ensure it did not cause a string of sudden deaths that would enough to get ja and lysano charged with something. casimir was a man who believed himself to be guided by morals, as far as he heard and saw; he would most likely have something to say. "it needs testing, monitoring. you man should take the opportunity, but be careful. the last any of us need is a path being mapped out when people die."

@riverscommand

the lord commander nodded at amir's words, understanding the hesitation the man held, amongst all of the other turmoils that had recently occurred in his life. perhaps he were not wanting to bring to his table a business that could put himself at risk, along with his family. and it was in this where the men differed, though not in a way that lysano wanted to be different, but he simply had no ties here in westeros aside from casimir, and the two men at this table, but ultimately ties that would not immediately link all of them into whatever he decided to do with his own life.

he leaned back in his seat, looking to ja. "it's not yet been announced, but, oldstones." he stated, "the king has given me oldstones." of course, it were never an ambition of lysano's to obtain lands in the rivers, except to simply put down his own roots. he would always have them extended to braavos, still connected closely with his brother, but only by the parchment that came and went. he knew he likely could return, now, but the shame that he had felt when he last resided there was daunting. lysano didn't fear much, quite little in fact, but he held a great honor back home, an honor that was tainted with lies and accusations.

lysano looked to amir again, now, and listened to the words he spoke, not quite knowing what thoughts were really within the man's mind, but respecting his opinion all the less. still, he sat at the table, conversing and listening to what they still had to say. perhaps he would want to come around to it, after all, or perhaps he would make them all realize the idea wasn't the best. lysano was not exactly a leader himself, but he did not follow other's blindly, either. he trusted both men to each of his side, and trusted what each of them had to say in this. and still, he believed he would participate all the same.

"xianglao." he murmured in repetition, a hand moving to run over his chin in thought. he did not recall the name, but as amir said, it was new. "what do we know of this product?" he questioned, resting his arms on the table before him now as he waited to hear out ja. "what sorts of people tend to be drawn to this?"

@jalabharmooton

#c: lysano #c: jalabhar

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

"ain't nobody dishing out orders or talking to you like you're a child, lady…." his response was casual, watching as her warm, dark gaze flickered from him to the woman. his voice trailed because he did not know who she was, or where she was from. her comment was not meant in any other way other than what she genuinely said; a flippant comment clearly alluding to the fact they were strangers, but considering the questions regarding identity and belonging that plagued the mind of the younger son of house manderly, there was a defensive streak that immediately lit within dark orbs.

his hand remained on the book; he would not ever think of keeping it for himself. he passed it to her the moment she extended her hand for it back. it was in the sunlight he noted her features, silently noting the fact he did find her attractive: hues of honey, of caramel, of a complexion that immediately made him more comfortable. it was not always the case, but in recent months, it had unconsciously become so.

but perhaps because he was tired of hearing the stereotypes of old way women; hearing of them apparently being overly pious, submissive, he decided to make his next comment. not even entirely meaning it. "yeah, hold on, i'm gonna need you to be more specific on that." he uttered - whilst there was some irritation in his dark warm eyes, there was also the hint of some amusement flickering in them. because whilst he knew what she truly meant, he wanted to see this loudmouthed woman momentarily struggle.

tired of hearing their names in the mouths of young knights and lords who found themselves strangely drawn to them, as though they could never leave well enough alone. or did she mean women of the north, who were often likened to men; as though there were not great, noble women of the north who did all they could? his sisters, the princesses dacey and cassana, would he need to go on?

"what you mean, women where i'm from?" amir asked, his tone tainted with a slight hint of arrogance, an increasing amount of defensiveness, and a slight part of himself simply wanted to see what it was she would have to say back. because if his guess was correct, she would have something to say back. he had another question to ask about what his gaze had briefly looked upon on the page, a genuine mistake that came with bending down to pick up the book: he understood the importance of privacy when it came to creation of art.

what he was shocked about, was recognising the art. the words rang true in his ears from his night in a tavern some nights ago, where experimental poetry was put on a showcase; and whilst he had not noticed if she was there, he recognised the lines. he remembered laughing and hitting the table alongside jalabhar mooton and lysano prestayn, their table being loud that night. he remembered being impressed by the intelligence of the word play, by the delivery.

"i know." amir responded, as though he were trying to insist her that he had not seen anything more than a single line.

there was another question on the tip of his tongue, and instead he fell momentarily quiet. he found himself looking at her, a slight grin coming over his features as he pictured it. her, being behind the work he had heard that night. that had made him think of his own, and how he too wanted to try and explore more linguistic techniques. perhaps even be the one to perform his own work, someday - what place was that for a lord?

for the master of ships upon the council of king owen stark? but her…it must have been her. what other explanation was there? she said it was her work. "i don't know if you were there to see it in person, but it was received well. really well." his words were left ambiguous, though he hoped she knew he was referring to.

"well, not that." her eyes rolled skyward in exasperation. "don't know what the women are like where you're from, but it's a pretty stupid way to pass the time." she tapped her foot, impatiently. they were due to leave soon, and her brothers would be looking for her. ideally, she'd like the book back in her hands before they came to find her, and save herself the mortification of having to explain to them what was in it.

she had made an attempt to calm herself down, to control her temper, but the intervening lord seemed determined to have it explode. she was dangerously close to it, too. "excuse you." minthara's anger, brimming so close to the surface, spilled out of her before she could reign it in. "don't talk to me like i'm a child." it was a pet peeve, being chastised, patronised even. it made her feel small, and there was nothing she despised more than that. "maybe you should make sure your people keep their hands to themselves, since you're so inclined to dishing out orders."

she didn't like the way they conversed in a language that she did not understand, as though she wasn't even there. where they talking about her? trading insults about her, to her face, without her knowing? did they not think she deserved a voice in this conversation?

there was a flush of relief when the book was relinquished, but it was tainted with annoyance that it was not her that the girl decided to hand it to, but him. she opened her mouth to interject, but her words were silenced when the book dropped to the ground. she moved to pick it up; but he was closer, and faster, and before she knew it, it was in his hands, open, his eyes raking the page.

"that's private," her voice was quieter now, more of a mumble. he said nothing, merely looked at her, and she wasn't sure if it was judgement or mockery or something else entirely in his expression, only that in that moment, she did not want his gaze on her, because this was the first time in her life that someone had looked upon something she had written, and known she had written it.

she was half-tempted to tell him where to shove the damn book, but the things she had written were personal to her. it was embarrassing that he had seen even a little of it, but it would be even more embarrassing still if he saw the rest. and so minthara stood her ground, straightening her back and holding her hand out, as though she didn't care that he had read it, as though she wasn't ashamed, despite the deep mauve flush of her cheeks.

"my book?"

#c: minthara #minthara 001 #HEHEHEHEHHE

[amirofmanderlys]

#hall of famer hungrier than all the newcomers (amir of manderly). #musings. #the works. #Youtube

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

the woman before him was someone he did not know the name of, nor was he able to recognise her face: perhaps somewhere briefly many many years ago, nothing of complete substance in the same way noble families crossed paths time and time again. her voice carried over the other sounds of the harbour, that in itself being a feat considering how loud the harbour and the docks of kings landing truly were.

"i don't know what you do in your spare time, i don't know you." he responded, his tone blunter than expected as his dark gaze fixed upon her again. he found himself looking at the servant once again, who began to mutter something in a language only he could understand; explaining how her sister had lost a book of the same description this morning, and it appeared identical.

there was something confused and apologetic in her features, no doubt wondering if she was going about this correctly - but also wondering whether she were going to be punished for vexing a noblewoman in such a way. he was ready to open his mouth to interject when the woman in question continued to speak, and speak, and speak; it felt as though anytime amir would open his mouth to try and say something, she would continue in a voice that was still too loud considering he was stood right beside her, accompanied with a filthy look.

amir felt a sense of irritation come over him then, not appreciating the look that crossed her features as she looked over at the servant of house manderly. "we get it, you need your book back. don't be looking at my people that way though." he uttered, his tone casual as he continued speaking in the tongue of the old way now, his expression neutral and his tone firm, yet there was no inch of consequence or severity in his voice. it was a misunderstanding, and all knew the other's sister was ailing and only had a certain amount of time left.

"she just thought it belonged to another."

perhaps he liked the fact the noble woman in question could not understand him, because he ignored the eyes that were dead-set on him. and then, with slightly trembling hands for fear of consequence, she extended the book back to him; it dropped to the cobbles below their feet. despite the momentarily scramble it was him that knelt down to pick it up, the position of his thumb causing it to flicker open. he did not mean to look at it's contents, and yet in the scramble, his gaze fell upon it as he picked it back up.

the first thing he noted was stanzas. a composition. not what it was supposed to be, though. he merely looked in her direction with the pages open, the book still in his hands.

sometimes it amazed even minthara how, even when she went out of her way to look for trouble, it still seemed to find her. on her final morning in king's landing, she had found herself at the centre of not one, but two situations that could easily have escalated into an argument. the first she had been blissfully rescued from by morgan wylde, and she was grateful for that, but house estermont were busy preparing to sail, and there was nobody around this time to save minthara, or the serving girl she was currently shouting at, from herself.

she had set her book aside for a mere moment to assist her eldest brother, the ruling lord of greenstone, but when she had returned, it had not been where she had left it. a few moments of investigation was all it had taken to spot it in the hands of a serving girl of some northern house she didn't know, and didn't care about, who was stubbornly refusing to hand it over.

"are you actually joking?" minthara was aware that her voice was carrying across the docks, but she didn't care. getting her hands back on her book was far more important than not making a scene. she would hurl herself straight into the bay if anybody actually read what was inside it before she was ready for them too, safe behind a man's alias and the veil of anonymity. "i don't think you understand how much i need you to be joking right now. what do you mean you can't? just give it back."

she made to snatch for the book, but the serving girl was quicker, hugging it to her chest and shaking her head again. minthara opened her mouth to hurl an insult at her, but there a distraction came in the form of a man. he stepped beside her, and she turned, irritably, half expecting it to be one of her brothers come to back her up. when it wasn't an estermont beside her, her face shifted into an expression of utter confusion. he was clearly noble - perhaps one of the northern lords the girl served. she wasn't sure if this was a stroke of luck, or if she may as well kiss her book goodbye.

"well of course it's my book," there was a touch of impatience in her voice, and she shot the serving girl a filthy look. "what, you think i just go around harassing people for their things?" her eyes raked over the man, appraisingly. she didn't know him. his demeanour did not scream northman, but given who surrounded them on the docks, she was willing to bet that he was one.

"look," she sighed, a visible attempt to calm herself down, though her anger still simmered beneath the surface. "i put it down, and for whatever reason she picked it up and won't return it to me. i don't care why she did it. i just really need it back. please." she was no longer addressing the girl, but the lord who had intervened, something akin to pleading in her eyes.

#c: minthara #minthara 001 #im giggling sm

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

truthfully, the second lord of manderly was not expecting the explanation which was offered by the youngest of seagard; it had become almost customary that for every gathering the old way held together, there would always be the same tune playing from her harp or from the piano - accompanied by the same lyrical singing. the opening notes were always enough, and there was no doubt that some of the younger individuals in the room merely glanced in one another's direction, as though to ask if they were truly listening to this again.

still, her response made him pause, a genuine sense of guilt coming over him for mocking her. perhaps because he was not expecting that to be her answer. he merely nodded his head, keeping his gaze on her own as she walked by him; noting nothing about the air of nervousness and insecurity that surrounded her in his presence. if anything, he had always found her obvious confidence amusing - never once thinking it was a facade.

gods knew they lived their lives considering what other people would think, what other people would say; living representations of their older siblings and their parents. "play it then." he responded, and whilst his tone may have seemed short, his tone was still one of slight amusement: as though the answer were simple enough. perhaps it was easier said than done, but on matters such as music, surely their generation could push back slightly upon their elders; their lives were already mapped out by them, they should be able to listen to their own music.

"you've got their songs in our minds for as long as we live - it's fair enough if you want to try something different." amir is sure he'd hear the sounds of her harp on his deathbed, repeating again and again in his head. but then again, the urge to please the people that had essentially moulded them was also strong: he felt it himself as a man, and knew it would only be stronger for women. he thought of his own sisters, how they both had tailored their image on the idea of honour and kindness; always a walking representation of their ancient lineage.

at her next words, he let out a slight laugh, a hand coming to rest on his jaw as he remained leaning against the pillar they were stood beside; a genuine scoff of laughter, rather than anything with silver linings and double meanings. "what now?" he asked, hardly surprised that she had managed to come up with any dramatic, theatrical reason to claim her unhappy with him. it was the first time he had seen her in months, considering they were not close friends or even associates. "there's always something with you, i swear." he found himself wondering how her siblings dealt with her.

.

 the gathering murmured behind them, an echoing chorus of laughter and merriment weaving through the night air along with the crackling of the fire burning the last bits of paper.

emira strolled past amir, her movements a graceful dance of purpose as she pretended to inspect the table, perhaps searching for any lingering traces of any more of his mistakes. her tone bore a deceptive casualness, a facade easily seen through by anyone who knew her when she spoke of her music. "it is always amazing music," she declared, a confident note underscoring her words. "i have more amazing music, but the older ladies and lords, they cling to the familiar. i think they'd be most displeased if i didn't serenade them with their favorites. but i do have other compositions, things i've penned, you know. more things i would like to play." her desire was palpable for just a moment; she yearned for many things in her life. one of them to be recognized not just as someone who could play music hundreds of years old but as a composer of her own pieces only her family so far had gotten to hear.

"good, no one better know. i have a reputation to keep up; can't have you going around and ruining it." her smile held a hint of the playful exchange that defined the contours of most of their interactions. emira was a woman accustomed to a world where confidence was her currency. knowing who she was, and her spot withing a conversation. however she often found herself navigating uncharted waters with amir. an sense of insecurity of what she was doing. he was the exception, not easily swayed by the currents of her charm that others quickly got lost into.other people would roll over for her in a moment. other men let her say whatever she felt like. but not amir. he would throw back his jests right at her. he was not easy. a challenging companion but he was not cruel. never cruel. 

if it had been anyone else, emira might have volleyed back with a reminder of her self-assuredness, a quick retort affirming her confidence. a simple statment like "i always look good" might have been her chosen response. but with amir, the words seemed to elude her for just a second too long, and the usual armor of clever retorts fell away. "oh," she exclaimed, a note of surprise coloring her voice. her hands rose, toying with the curls that framed her face. "i don't know if i did anything different. i... thank you, amir." a note of humility accompanied her words, a departure from the assertive tones she was accustomed to.quickly she snapped back into place, back into who she was. "you're just saying that, however, because i am upset with you.”

#c: emira #emira 001 #they're so funny

[amirofmanderlys]

#hall of famer hungrier than all the newcomers (amir of manderly) #musings.

[amirofmanderlys]

who: @mintharaestermont what, when and where: semi flashback thread to kings landing, during the days of the northern court's preparation to leave the city. amir manderly is at the docks of the city, overlooking the manderly fleet to ensure the vessels are in the condition to sail back to white harbour.

there was only one northman who grew a quiet sense of disdain in the pit of his stomach at the notion of returning to the lands of the shivering sea; the rest were in jovial spirits, as could be heard by the sounds of the manderly crew upon the deck. they laughed as they reported back the conditions to each question amir flung in their direction, hoping there would be some hiccup, some reason for their journey to be prolonged; his entire life he could have sworn that home was a place.

"yedek yelken miktarımızın iki katı olduğundan emin olun." make sure we have double the amount of spare sails, were the words he yelled back from over his shoulder, his boots walking down from the ship's neck and across wooden board to place him once again onto the docks. it was not uncommon to hear the tongue of the old way within the ports of kings landing these days, considering there was a moment where the redwyne crew situated close looked up; the moment was humorous as amir shook his head, pointing toward his own men.

they were his people; something he had noted. never would he forget the way in which the north had branded them different, how they were the other. the rich, powerful, other. there would come a time where it would happen again - either to his children, or his children's children. the intent of finding a reason - placing blame and fault. amir manderly had realised too late that home were the people that remained a permanent, fleeting part of his life. the gates of white harbour and the chime of the bells meant nothing with the absence creeping over the walls of the beautiful city. seeing his twin disappear over the horizon felt like a final nail of loss.

zaida too knew that things would never be the same, and she was able to run from it due to her abilities as a healer. where could amir run? it took every part of him to resist running after his twin, and their separation caused only a sense of heaviness to rest upon his shoulders. it was then he heard the sounds of some discussion, words that sounded more heated than usual; and a voice he did not recognise or know of, over the sounds of his own attending household.

almost reluctantly, he made his way through the bustling crowds toward the sound of the noise: wondering how it was the serving girls of his household were the target of some noble woman's questions. he flickered down to the sight of a serving girl holding onto a leather bound book, a confused expression upon the features of the girl he had known his whole life, before looking back at the fiery lady. "what's happening here?" amir asked, stepping to the side of the mystery woman - he had not seen her before, he was sure of it.

but she was obviously noble. there came something about the book, about who it belonged to. the serving girl insisted it was her own. of course he had stumbled on such a thing. "this your book?" amir asked, indicating toward it; he would not simply accuse his own household of lying either.

#c: minthara #minthara 001

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

historically, amir of house manderly had maintained a healthy distance with the ladies of winterfell; which had come into greater use when they became princesses of the north. there was nothing questionable that they would have heard about him, nothing that was not written in those foolish pamphlets; meaning the king trusted him to speak with the princesses. he still did not maintain a closeness with them however, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised he never had.

"your highness." amir greeted, lowering his head before straightening back to his full height.

it only fed further into the thoughts that swirled in his mind, the thoughts of being the other in the north, the thoughts of not belonging and that they would always be this way. the ones to blamed, for their obvious power and wealth. he found himself wondering what this princess wanted. he did not want to hear talk of more grief, he did not want to talk about manal, or anything else; he did not want to talk about the grief that lingered over both of their houses.

because amir thought owen stark was in the right. because, when people were comfortable, they refused to change. to become better. the callouses on his hands were a sign of his own work ethic: his willingness to make himself uncomfortable. people did not do that unless you forced change upon them. his opinion was very much the minority in the realm though. "his grace remains contemplating, but it will not be as you think."

two sides meeting on a battle field. skagos was officially belonging to the north anyway; it was just about bringing them to heel. he did not want to go back there, but he would. he would rain down fury on all those who made him feel this way. like he did not belong - because he did not. "it will be on their front, rather than our own. you should be safe, princess."

closed starter for @amirofmanderlys

"lord manderly," she wished she could say that it was good to see him, but trepidation clouded her tone, her expression, for a large part of dacey feared that he did not bring with him glad tidings. not that his return was itself full of good news. only tragedy had awaiting amir manderly on his return, and that was not much of a welcome home.

"i am glad to see you returned to us." it was the kindest thing that she could say that still remained the truth. she was glad that he was safe, despite any anxieties she held about what his lengthy absence meant for the north.

there was once a time where she never would have asked the question she was about to voice, simply because she was too afraid to do so. for so long, her way had been to bury her head in the sand and hope that pretence was enough. it had been a long time since that had worked.

"is there to be war?" as blunt as the query was, it was softened by the way she spoke it, no less gentle than when she expressed her joy that he was back. "with skagos?" the signs were there, but she could not help but hope he would tell her otherwise.

#c: dacey #dacey 001

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

there came a sense of relief and gratitude in hearing the smallest, most simple of words in the softest of voices; a repetition of one word he had uttered, and yet, it was enough to part the drizzling clouds that hung cryptically over his head. it meant he would not need to have the answers for anything she wished to know in this moment; and having answers for her was something he considered pivotal, now more than ever before. so much of her life had changed, in a way it appeared they had been cursed rather than any natural flow of events.

he wished to be a rock in her life, as he had always been; and rocks were supposed to be steadfast, strong - little would he know and understand, rocks hurt too. "are you telling me for once, you do not have the answers or a reply?" amir asked, but in reality, admitted. he was holding his hands up in feign admission, as though she had caught him doing something criminal. but his words were gentle, as though he was worried being too loud or passionate would result in some change happening around them. something giving them attention they did not want.

there was no verbal thanks for her understanding, only a silent promise that came in a brief lingering gaze within the courtyard. he could still hear the sounds of the fountain from behind him, the fountain he had been sat at some moments prior, and at her usual jape there was a flicker of something lighter across his face. not a clear smile, but not as miserable or gloomy as he may have first appeared; it felt as though he were trying to get a hand on the changing nature of the world, and figuring out what people had done in the time he had been gone.

"he be here somewhere, no doubt trying to speak to the king." amir uttered, having heard mixed things about the king's behaviour. his outlook these recent days, in a court where the sun of winter no longer served as hand. for years, none came as close to the king as brandon did: and now, it was up for the taking. nasir wanted them to take it. amir would rather choke. "if he has his way, the majority of us will be winterfell more." his issue was not with the king, but rather, with the north as a whole. he did not associate with it, he could not see himself there; despite that being where his roots were grounded. "he'll probably take over from brandon karstark as hand."

why did he feel like a ghost, as though he had died too? had he not survived, all kicking, screaming, blood sweat and tears? his mind was thinking of what he would need to speak to this brother about, only nodding his head in regard to her question. he had completely overseen her comment regarding those of the burning bush; that was, until they were climbing the steps into the northern household, and his mind seemed to think back on words she had uttered casually in passing. his softer gaze turned to look down at her, brows furrowing, as though he was missing the hint.

it was clear that was an expression of concern on his features; concern, and curiosity - the former being far more prevalent. amir knew the marbrand brothers well, considering aslan had once been his closest companion as boys. their distance and walking of seperate paths was rooted to a specific moment, though if he thought on it, there was far more that lead to such a thing. "what do the marbrands want?" amir asked, his tone forward - he cared not if it was deemed improper to ask a ruling lady of her communication with other houses.

the marbrands were not simply another house.

feray believed him when he said it was impossible to contact them. if he had been able to, he would have sent word to his family, to her, to ease their worries. as her head rested against his chest, she got the sense something was slightly off. she could not tell what exactly made her feel that way. it was a feeling of a bright painting slowly losing its colours to the rays of the sun. the way he had looked at her made her feel like something in amir had simply dimmed. she did not know what horrors he had lived through, what he had to endure those long days on the sea. the blood he had seen spill... and the blood he had spilt in return. feray knew war did not only inflict wounds on the outside, the deepest cuts were to the soul and mind. she had seen it in the gaze of the soldiers who had survived, the way they would seem so far away. as she felt his hand roam over her back, she swore to herself and the gods that if he did feel lost then she would do all within her power to help guide him back to the light.

of all the people in the world that she wished to speak with about everything that had transpired, all the pain and suffering they had been forced to endure, then amir was highest on the list. it was different with him. somehow he was the person she could be most honest around and yet the person she feared most would find out her darkest secrets. most of all, she wanted to tell him that bekarys had died fighting with a manderly, a friend, and that she knew that he had done so with all his heart despite knowing the dangers. she wanted to assure him bekarys was safe in heaven with enver and okan. but it was not a conversation meant for now. they would find a peaceful place later to talk. she did not wish to force him to speak before he was ready. she understood more than most that sometimes talking was simply too hard. words could be even heavier than thoughts because words rarely felt like enough to describe the depth of sorrow. "later," she answered quietly as confirmation that she understood.

she felt his hand linger on her back and she wished that he would not remove it. strangely the innocent touch grounded her. perhaps it was because as long as she could feel his hand on her back, she knew that he would not disappear again. it had been truly awful to not know whether he was alive or dead, if he had sailed towards his doom. she walked beside him as they made their way inside. "shouldn't i be the one to ask you that? i only just arrived, remember?" a weak smile finally settled on her features. this sort of conversation with amir came with a sense of normality that she craved. feray gently pushed her shoulder against his, hoping it would remind him of simpler times. "balık beyni." fish brain. it was her favourite affectionate insult reserved only for amir.

feray's hand shook slightly as she linked her arm with his. she had not been able to take a proper dose of poppy milk while travelling. she had deemed it too risky as there was never much time for sleep during a long journey. her plan after arriving in king's landing had been to find whatever bed had been granted to her, make sure her travel companions were taken care of, get out her mat and veil to pray before taking a dose powerful enough to knock her out for the rest of the day and the night too. but if she could spend even an hour with amir, she'd happily delay her desperate need to get lost in the mindless poppy dreams.

there were more people around now and walking with their arms linked was far more appropriate. he just looked like a polite lord escorting a lady while she still got the comfort of being close to him. "i believe i was one of the last to leave the north as i had to wait for the arrival of a letter from the marbrands." she had also found it hard to leave oldcastle while her parents were still so deep in mourning. but the lockes were known for their steadfastness and loyalty. it had quickly been decided that one of them needed to be represented at the coronation beside house manderly, so feray was sent on her way along with the hope that she'd return with a good candidate for a betrothal. "i assume nasir is here? i am too tired to speak with him today but i will have to soon."

#c: feray #feray 002

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

was there any sense of surprise that came over the younger son of house manderly to hear the words of lord mooton before him? no, from the moment amir grasped the location of where it was he would be meeting the others, he understood what this conversation could end up being. perhaps he was naive, or foolish, to hope there could be some instance where they could have met without this being the main pretence; he had only ever been involved in matters above ground.

"honestly...it's not the time on my end, man." amir responded, his words almost trailing off. he was still thinking, but that was his gut answer. a heart on his sleeve, with nothing more complicated and gritty than what would could expect.

he did not mean for that to change now. the holy month was approaching in the aftermath of his sister's return to the gods, and the thought was enough to make him consider much: how it felt as though these days all amir manderly done was think - think of what had past, and what was still to come. what he wanted, and who he wanted to be. he could see jalabhar's gaze lingering on his face, because the man already knew what amir's answer would be. "you gotta consider me out."

he did not consider himself a perfect follower of the gods, or of their guidance, but to bring pain, suffering and destruction for the sake of coin by the exploitation of substances was something amir would not find himself willing to do. it destroyed lives, it destroyed families; he noted the way ja never indulged in what he sold. he had seen men have bad experiences. watch as people developed an addiction to it.

he did not know what path it was he was currently walking on, but he knew this path was one he could not take. he simply couldn't. the manderly was looking, no, pleading for answers of some sort; and that did not mean in the depths of his questions and his anxiety he would take it as an opportunity to not only steer off the path, but crash from it. "xiangliao. it's new. risky."

@riverscommand

the lord of house prestayn was no stranger to mischief, though perhaps the rules of the game were far different in braavos than westeros. the former bravo found himself treading more lightly in the midst of the river court, knowing he was very much an outsider looking in. still, he had found his kinship with jalabhar mooton, and soon thereafter, amir manderly, who looked to be contemplating all the lord of maidenpool had to say, even though he said little at all.

and though he was still garnering the trust of his river comrades, there was much of him that knew he would never fully be accepted. he had been okay with that, despite the somewhat aimless feeling that lurked in the back of his mind. his dedication to casimir could not be denied, and his king had provided him with much for his loyalty, but it were things given to him, though earned, lysano did not entirely feel these things to be his own.

the prospect that seemed to be creeping up within the conversation sparked something in the dark hues of the lord commander, who leaned slightly forward in his seat at the question presented, almost simultaneously to amir’s question in return. a grin crept up upon lysano’s face. “took the words right out of my mouth, eh?” he jested at the northern lord before fixing his gaze back upon the man of summer.

“so, what do you propose?” lysano were not interested in coin, or power, rather he was intrigued by the opportunity to seek matters that were his business and his alone. at the same time, he also trusted greatly the men around him, two he would consider to be his greatest friends. even if he were not necessarily interested, he would have considered it for the sake of the person making the offer, but he was interested.

@jalabharmooton

#c: lysano #c: jalabhar

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

it was not unheard of for the king of the north to find himself within the majestic halls of house manderly's white harbour; considering there had been a time where the man himself was briefly warded with his most powerful of banner houses. there had been another reason, which was to ensure the starks knew and saw the cultural and religious differences between the people of white harbour and the rest of the north - how they once thought that would be enough.

the streets of the city were the same but different to the youngest of the manderly lords, who spoke to none about the swirling nature of the issues that began to fester in his mind.

feeling like a stranger within the streets and amongst the people that respected a name such as manderly, or was he making himself into the stranger? the summons from the king came in the evening, soon after the breaking of his fast and the congregation of evening prayers; he parted ways with his brother on the steps of the snowy sept, all too aware of missing footsteps that would once be directly behind him.

there was just the two of them now, and even the brothers of manderly had such clear differences between them he was sure it would be the result of some issue later down the line. "your grace." amir spoke as he crossed the threshold of the king's chambers, lowering his head as he bowed in a form of respect; the manderly accent was different to the rest of the north. he did not try to hide it.

"successes." he repeated, almost to himself than to the other.

the last they had seen one another was during the funeral of the queen of the north, who had perished on the birthing bed. amir took a moment to sit opposite his king, moving to unclasp the cloak from around his shoulders. successes, his journey was called. a series of successes. he thought of the brothers of locke that perished, he thought of his sister's body going cold when he was still not home. what successes?

"we can. we will face large losses. many will die."

who: @amirofmanderlys summary: during layat-al-ikhlas king owen stark visits white harbour as the starks have always done during this holy holiday. the tradition not strange to owen due to his time in white harbour. though he never takes part. after the breaking of their fast he has a meeting with amir manderly the evening before his departure. context: this is after amir's return from skagos and set after the death of the queen of the north.

Owen wanted to wait until they had their meal before he made the request for Amir to meet with him. Yes, Owen Stark is the King but he learned one thing from his father and it was when you visited the home of another you carried yourself as their guest and not their better. Men did not respect those who came into their keep and started to order them around and Owen wouldn't be the first.

"Thank you for taking this with me, my lord." Owen didn't spend his time here drinking his black beer and eyeing the women. He never crossed those lines with women of the Old Way. There were traditions, rules, and a matter of respect for the people. It wasn't the same as it was when he was elsewhere, no. And Owen Stark would never have disrespect for his people.

The North was an ever changing beast under the rule of Owen Stark and for every change he wanted to make, there were just as many changes that went against his desires. "I keep saying it, but, I am glad to see you returned to know and to know of your successes." The man before him earned a status upon his return, they would call him a legend. The only Northmen to not only go to Skagos in an Age but return a victor. "What are the chances we can take it?"

#c: owen #owen 002

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

the invitation to meet two of his closest companions in recent months was one that usually would not have left a feeling of edge within the depths of the second son of white harbour's stomach, and yet, the location said all he needed to know about the matter. an inn beyond the confines of kings landing, a place that he usually would not find himself within if not for the sake of meeting others - and the way in which the invitation was kept minimal, knew amir manderly needed to do some thinking.

there was much he thought about recently, the foremost being the fact his presence among other northerners were slim to none - if he were not in an audience with the king, or with his own siblings, amir manderly was never seen among northmen. for the north had showed him their true colours, what they thought of him and his people: and the north remembered. only, they had forgotten that amir too, remembered.

such thoughts were only exaggerated by the upcoming of the holy month, and the knowledge that he would be amongst his southern extended family rather than those who truly were his own. he nodded as he approached the table, slipping his navy blue cloak from his shoulders before taking a seat. the drink was already on the way of being decreased, which is why he rejected the offer of a drink with a thankful hand. during the small talk and the catch ups, he was contemplating on the upcoming matter of why. why here. what was coming.

"who else?" amir asked. and there it was. amir's face was an open book as the lord of maidenpool began to speak, for it was known among the men what amir thought of such things. he believed such substances that caused addiction and reliance were the destroyers of lives, they killed those who continued to breathe: never had he experimented with such things, and it came not from a place of not being willing to take risks, but rather knowing what risks were worth it. this was not.

amir manderly only shook his head, a half smile on his face.

@riverscommand

who: @amirofmanderlys & @riverscommand summary: lord jalabhar mooton meets with two of his closest friends, amir manderly of the north and the braavosi lord commander, lysano prestayne to discuss a business venture that has been in his mind since his return from dorne. context: while not a secret that ja runs brothels it is unknown who runs the secret milk houses rumored around the riverlands.

Jalabhar asked for his friends to meet him outside of the packed area's of the dragon king's coronation. At an inn in the village of Brindlewood, just crowded enough for people to assume the three well dressed men were simply lords traveling to the King's events. None would pick up on the three different accents for they were too focused on their stories and drinks to look toward the back. And, any who did see them would see brothers. Friends.

"You've lads heard of the milk houses?" He asked in his usual soft voice, the clover accent some how sounded haughty on his lips, years of practice did not hide the maiden's tongue. The summers patois that often crept in at his moments of truest comfort. But this was business and he wanted there to be no mistakes about the purpose.

"You know who runs them." It was a silent confession, saying it without saying. His venture. His business. And with rumors of something in the North, he wanted to expand. And to expand across the Riverlands he needed someone within Riverrun and to reach the North he needed Amir.

"Do you know of the woes of the milk? The way one will lose themselves with too much. Some will give you every thing they own to keep coming back. You can own lords through their woes."

#c: lysano #c: jalabhar

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

"...i'm not." dead. the sight of her hand extended to him seemed more of metaphorical symbolism than any could truly understand and fathom in that moment: the youngest lord of house manderly included, and yet, the sight of it was enough to make him feel as though there was something to reach for and hold onto. how she would have no idea of how the smallest movement meant so much: or perhaps he was reading into everything, as it seemed he was doing all too much since his legs returned upon the soil of the north. "i know. i'm sorry." he muttered, and his voice sounded different. perhaps even off.

the wrath of the shivering sea felt as though it would one day eat him alive, and to fall asleep to it each night in the endless swirling grey, felt as though he were being rocked to death by the waiting clutches of death itself. only he had managed to escape death, and according to the letter, so had his sister; and that in itself was the flickering light in the endless storm. "it wasn't possible." to write, was what he meant. he did not go into details.

that his mother would not need to bury a child, that both of our sons had fulfilled their duty to her; in protecting, serving and loving their family. and now, the ruling lady of oldcastle stood before him: the thought in itself made him feel a deep, unsettled feeling at the very bottom of his stomach, one which made him all too aware of the fact that it was the death of her brother which had pinned this life upon her. one in which men would try to use her for power. she had forced him to his feet with what looked like all the power she could muster, and if he could, he would have laughed at the very sight of her struggle: and yet still, amir manderly felt as though he were a walking corpse.

everything felt so entirely wrong, and now to stand before her too, felt equally as wrong. the guilt, the guilt made him feel as though he was drowning: that each time he drew breath, the water only filled his lungs more.

"i don't know how to talk about it right now." he continued, his chin resting comfortably upon the top of her head, though his hand moved to gently rub her back in a comforting manner. no doubt, those who did not know the details of their closeness, the way in which their families had been tangled together and the way she had been raised as an extension of his family, would raise an eyebrow. "we'll talk about it." amir manderly did not even consider how their embrace could have looked. he briefly looked down at her, suddenly all too aware of how serious and grim he seemed.

"inshallah. they'll all be waiting for us." god willing, were the words he uttered. that their families would reunite in the seven heavens. he could only hope he would be granted salvation through those pearly gates one day. "come inside." he muttered, pulling away briefly from their embrace, though his hand remained on her back for some moments longer before he dropped it. "who is already here?"

when she had been told that amir's whereabouts were unknown, it had felt like the world had broken apart underneath her feet. somehow her world had seemed to end twice. the first time when nasir told her that her brothers were never going to return, the second when no one could tell if amir would be. since then she had spent countless hours sitting on the shore of the coast outside oldcastle. she was even there when the rain came pouring down. the grief was like a thick smoke inside the walls of the home that had once been filled with such happiness. it was suffocating. in many ways, it felt like a slow death on its own and feray worried that the angel of death would also come for her parents. she could only handle being inside for a few hours at a time. instead of suffocating on grief, she sat by the shore every day in the cold, praying to see manderly ships passing by oldcastle to enter the waters of the white knife. in the end, feray spent so long out there that she caught a cold. she had eventually relented when the maester forced her to stay in her chambers to rest for a few days. but even then, she had sat by the window, waiting, praying, letting her mind wander to happier times. with her brothers, with the manderlys. it was how she survived. she relied on the gods and the past to save her from the nightmare the present had become.

but then one day she had seen them from the window in the distance. the ships of house manderly. and she had known then. amir. from that moment on, she knew deep in her soul that amir was alive. that he was steering one of those ships. the relief felt like being pulled out of the icy sea all over again. it was akin to that first breath of cold air finally filling her lungs once more. feray had run to the shore in her night dress and robe with her heart pounding painfully from the exertion. she knew the ships would pass by to continue the journey to white harbor, that they were too far away to see a woman dressed in white and blue standing on the shore, but still she had to be there when they went past. the maester had chased her the entire way, the old man out of breath and coughing when he finally caught up to her. but she ignored how he scolded her for those ships had brought the only joy she had felt for weeks. she refused to go back inside until she could no longer see the sails. the joy slowly escaped her once more after that, but at least she had been left with the comfort of knowing amir was alive.

that mercy of the gods stayed with her as she embarked upon the long journey to king's landing. feray did not have much to keep the darkness of her grief away, but every day she fought against being completely enveloped by it. and yet she felt as if she was treading water, doing just enough to stay afloat, but never being able to reach the shore. when she finally arrived at her destination and stepped out of the wagon that had transported her across half the realm, she took a deep breath, taking in the sight of a new place ― only to hear the sound of a familiar voice calling her name. feray was convinced she'd hear and recognise his voice in even the busiest of streets. she turned around to look in the direction of the call.

and then she spotted amir sitting on the fountain and the sight of him ignited a spark within her. a part of her awoke from a long slumber. it was all so familiar and yet the conflicting feelings that rushed through her were not. relief, happiness, anger, frustration, sadness. she felt it all at once. without even thinking, she abandoned the carriage and the servants unloading her luggage. she was heading straight for amir, the expression on her face impossible to read. feray was torn between wanting to push him into the fountain and wanting to hug him and never let go again.

when she finally reached him, she looked half a thundercloud, half ecstatic. she silently reached out for his hand only to then grab his wrist and pull him to his feet. for a moment, it might have looked like she wanted to slap him where he stood, but instead feray threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. the mere warmth of him helped soothe the pain of her sorrows. she had once been told in jest that she looked at the manderly captain as if he was the sun. and at that moment, it truly felt like he was the sun returning after a long, harsh winter. "if you ever disappear like that again, i will set sail and hunt you down myself and you will be sorry," she scolded in the language of the old tongue although her voice was soft and slightly muffled. it was war, her father had told her, and it was unavoidable people disappeared for periods of time. but such logic did not matter to her. others could disappear but amir was not allowed to. not even if he disappeared to do something brave. "you scared me, amir, i thought you were-" but she could not even utter the words. feray had spoken more of death, of grief, in the span of a few moons than she had ever hoped to do in an entire lifetime.

but then the reality in which they found themselves came crashing down on her. they were not reuniting in white harbor after she had gone home to oldcastle for a few moons. they stood on foreign soil as the survivors of war. manal was dead, okan, enver and bekarys were dead. her oldest brother had died fighting by amir's side. slowly feray released him from her embrace. she finally drew back to look at his face. there was a long moment of silence as she simply stared into his dark eyes. sorrow was radiating from both of them. she felt her own chest tighten. "i have been praying for manal's soul to be at peace every day." even in her own sorrow, her first thought was of that which amir had lost. it was not that she forgot her own grief, it was as constant as the heartbeat thumping away in her chest ― but she could also never forget his. "the gods will keep her safe until you see her again."

#c: feray #feray 002

[amirofmanderlys]

LAYTAL-AL-IKHLAS (NIGHTS OF DEVOTION)

“in the month before the harvest festival, there is a holy month, called layat-al-ikhlas. it is known the holy month will start upon the sight of the full moon. people of the old way fast from sunrise to sunset for thirty days - this means no food, nor water. during this time one is supposed to focus on grounding themselves, becoming more godly and grateful, further develop self-discipline and giving alms to the poor. drinking is also prohibited at this time. the old, the sick, young children, pregnant women and women on their period are not expected to fast. it is a communal time of year, and giving to charity and the homeless is very important, especially during layat-al-ikhlas. your fast does not count if you are not giving to charity, feeding the poor and meeting your prayers. it is believed the angel that remains on your right shoulder will write more good deeds to present to the gods during this month, than any other time in the year.”

ooc: ramadan kareem! it doesn’t start until wednesday or thursday depending on when we see the moon, but i already know i’m gonna be exhausted/have no energy. 

#the old way.

[amirofmanderlys]

THE OLD WAY AND THE OLD FAITH ; A branch of the Andal Faith of the Seven, except those belonging to ‘the Old Way’ are Rhoynish in ancient origin. They speak the Old Tongue, which is essentially dialects of modern day Turkish and Arabic. 

ooc: below the read more are the notes that can be found on discord.

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#the old way.