ravellaarryns

[ravellaarryns]

♟

her gaze remained motionless and unforgivable, entirely stoic; unnatural and uncomfortable as the words that came from the mouth of the mistress of whispers were words that caused her to almost forget to inhale a breath. made her even forget that she needed to blink. such innately humane instincts were no longer innate and human in this regard, and it showed; and yet, the reminder to blink kicked in something ancestral deep within her. her first instinct was something that came from years of rivalry, tension and hate; her first instinct was to scoff.

for whilst she had no doubt that was his hand writing, and his mark at the bottom of the parchment, it still sounded far too sophisticated for anything he could come up with.

which only meant one thing. there as a warped continuous image in her brain, the figure of the falcon king with his westerland queen of choice: looking entirely angelic upon the mountains of the moon. only, it was apparent they were holding onto a dear secret; and there was no guessing that he would have told her. which meant she knew, and she had known all along. which meant, the bastard of the west was no real threat to her ascendence to the throne, nor the legitimacy of her children's rule.

there was triumph in the rotten depth of her heart; a sense of victory, taking this as a clear sign. how ravella would happily, with no questions asked, destroy her mother's reputation in death if it meant she would be able to clear the mist and the clouds for herself. the court already deemed her a strong leader, according to what was reported back to her; and still she would stand, even in the face of such disgust.

"with great pride, his grace uttered." ravella mused, more to herself than to him: each syllable of her words dripping in a scathing loathing. it was with great pride he chase his foolish vision of unification, and ended up forcing his own people to sit with their own attackers. because she had been right all along. she had always thought rowan was not enough like them. how her gut, like a hunter, had been right all along. her expression stiffened, looking toward mariela egen.

how this only validated, in the spiralling madness of her mind, that she had been correct all along. that the gods, both old and ancient, had awaited for this moment. how the falcon queen would use such filth to her advantage, how she would have it proclaimed in all corners of the ream to only strengthen her own claim to the throne. the lion cub was not worth getting her hands bloodier for, not when this would come out for itself. she almost laughed at the idea of the little cub hearing of his true paternity as he rose; because she would ensure it reached all damned corners of this continent.

"the gods have bestowed you with an opportunity to cleanse this land, just as our valiant men do upon the sisters this moment." she uttered, particular emphasis being played upon the word cleanse. this was a matter of blood, and purity. "all you need do is bring such matters to proclamation when the times comes, and you shall remain the most favoured of all servants, lady egen."

her gut feeling regarding avalon must be correct too.

the queen's icy gaze was uncomfortable, to put it simply, but in a strange way it only made mariela admire the woman more. to be able to cause one to take pause with a simple look was not something that could be taught, not something they would practice with their septa's, it was a gift, perhaps one that came with being born to such a rich bloodline. the lady of moonhill's hands gently unfolded the letter that she held, they were steady, despite the fast pace of her heart, which surprised her, though the circumstances were perhaps the most dire she had ever encountered.

in all of her years at the court of the eyrie, this was not something mariela egen ever thought she would encounter, only having spent little time as the mistress of whispers herself. still, even before then she had access to information, and never had something of this magnitude crossed her. yet, here it was. first, her own husband's betrayal, not only of the court, but of her, their sons, their house. now, the discovery of a false king. there were superstition that things came in three's, and she hoped it were not true.

read it. her majesty's command came firmly and there was only a simple beat of silence before the mistress of whispers fixated her gaze upon the parchment.

"jovor, son of jovor," the name felt bitter in her mouth, how she recalled the clansman's empty-headed gaze, the odd way he spoke, how out of place he looked upon the great table. "it is with great pride i invite you to sit at my table. i would like for you to join my court as we travel to dorne, so we may further cement our alliance and make it known. i never had the privilege of knowing my true heritage, but it is my hope that once we have come to an agreement regarding current matters, that my own son will rule over a vale, that is united, as he will be able to openly, and whole-heartedly represent the unity of the court of the eyrie, and the mountains of the moon."

she lowered the letter slightly, reading it over again as if she wondered if she may have missed anything, anything that would make this entirely false. mariela turned the paper to face the queen, gesturing to the bottom. "it contains his mark, here."

#c: mariela #mariela 001

[ravellaarryns]

♟

the words that came from the mouth of lady of witch isle were words that provided no sense of reassurance or comfort in a traditional sense; they were words that only caused more questions. despite her belief in the ancient other side of the veil that was life, ravella herself was not accustomed to such matters and being able to process them - in the labyrinth that was her mind, it were as though the torches that kept those fated passages lit were extinguished one by one with each word that came from the mouth of her lady.

"the extraordinary." she muttered and repeated to herself, slipping back into their ancient tongue rather than discussing in the common. ravea was not extraordinary- she was what the standard should and always have been. "also bare a great responsibility and an honour."

in being masters, as much as serving. the societal structure had been made this way for a reason. the andals ruled over the first men, for a reason. yuna upcliff's words provided comfort and reassurance, in the realisation that ravella arryn knew entirely what it was she had to do; what it was she was willing, and happy, to do.

bloodline was and always would be a pivotal matter in their corner of the world; majestic, honourable, and damned. it was her divine rights that had been appointed to her the moment the falcon crown rested upon her brow that bestowed her the right to do such a thing. there was nothing more important than the stability of the line of succession, the realm, and the vale of arryn. the arryns needed to maintain themselves as higher than the rest, higher than even honour, to ensure the vale would remain their own.

if that meant extinguishing an already flickering flame, then it would be done.

she rose from her seat, a deafening silence filling the room; there was something off about the way which she rose, almost as though she had floated. "send forward word to the nursery that the heir is to be seen." there were no words of a mother visiting her own. the falcon queen had something to fix; there would be no plastering over the cracks, but instead she would rip it out - room and stem.

end of thread.

the lady of witch isle knew the story of the four children of the vale, as all the courtiers in the eyrie did. yuna upcliff had spent the reign of rowan arryn sequestered on witch isle, the island of her girlhood, but all knew of the king's decisions, especially in the last stages of his life. the eldest arryn made mistake after mistake, and paid for it in his own blood. the other two siblings left the nest, replacing the vale's mountains for unknown terrain. their queen was the last one left. and now she was joined by a daughter. yuna doubted the little princess would stay an heir. but the stars spoke a different tale. the babe's fate wasn't to be powerful, her queen said. but avalon arryn would not live life as a harmless bystander. the lady of witch isle wondered if her queen would grow to accept that fact.

the upcliff's dark eyes kept their focus on the monarch. how did a woman change, once she became a mother? did something fundamentally alter in ravella arryn, did a shift occur once the babe drew her first breath? because she was now a mother, and most women believed that to be the most important role of all. yuna knew it was her destiny as well, to sire heirs for axell. but yuna was not a queen, responsible for an entire kingdom. she doubted a child would come first, in the eyes of ravella arryn. and especially not a girl. the role of queen would overshadow the role of mother. where her brother let his wishes and whims take precedent over reason, ravella was pure logic, cold and detached. like the chill of the mountain air, always keeping one on the edge.

it pleased the lady of witch isle, that her queen had chosen to listen to her words. the teachings of house upcliff, the ancient yitish knowledge they used, were at first glance different from the traditions of the land of the vale. but to yuna, the core of it all was the same. using whatever in one's power to understand their current states, and to try and take a glimpse of the future that awaited them. the men in powerful places tried to change the future every day. why should this be any different?

but her queen posed a powerful question, one about the possibility of tricking faith. and later, in the company of solitude, yuna would try and remember if the air in the royal chambers shifted. her answer would determine the future, just as the stars aligned on the night avalon arryn first opened her eyes to the cruel world she was brought into.

"in a way, your grace." yuna answered, for she was the most certain. the stars wrote prophecies, but the people were the one challenging what was to come. the queen spoke in honesty, and an equal answer was necessary.

"fate cannot be changed, but it could be challenged. even if what was written in the stars remains the same, we still possess the ability to influence our lives, change certain aspects of it. men challenge destiny every day. the extraordinary succeed where the rest fail."

#c: yuna #yuna 002

[ravellaarryns]

♟

the tragedy of the arryns of the eyrie would no doubt be some ballad to some playmasters and bards within the rolling fields of the reach in the coming years, and yet, as her icy orbs settled upon another living, breathing arryn whose blood continued to run warm, she found herself knowing deep within her gut that it had been this way for a reason. that she was to be the example, the saviour, the truest representation of a daughter of the vale; not weak in the sex the gods had chosen for her, and still not pretending as though she were a man. she simply was, and simply needed to be.

"it changes everything." came her words, the olive branch she had extended to him remained entirely covered in thorns: regardless of what way the thorn was grasped, one would bleed. she bled even as she offered it to him. naivety, was not for the queen of the mountains of the moon; gone were such days of abysmal innocence, if they ever truly existed at all. she still remembered feeling the rush of adrenaline, the flush to her cheeks at the sound of the apple-seller being sliced down, all the while she only looked within the vibrant red of the fruit.

"you are a son of the line arryn, and i am a daughter, with only a daughter." her mind did not even like to address the infant that remained within the nursery, and somewhere in the winding alleys of her mind, she wondered whether rhys would be able to tell. he could always tell, surely he would too feel the inherent sense of disgust when looking down at the royal crib. there came not a sense of defeat in her words, but rather the blunt understanding of reality - for even ravella knew, and believed, his claim was stronger than her own and her daughter's put together.

she would need to claim him her heir, to appease the traditional lords of the vale. and she would, over her own daughter.

in the distance age of innocence, there too came the crunch of a human skull beneath the boot of a chivalrous soldier. ravella had gone from living the reality that her power was in the veins that ran through her blood, rather than a seat at the table, to find herself satisfied by the ways in which power sat upon her shoulders. pleasured by it, even. it was not something she would now be willing to allow to slip from her suffocating grasp, not when it was already limp in her hand; for whilst many spoke of the strength of the vale under her rule, there was no denying the fact that all colour had seemingly been seeped from it.

how she wanted to tell him that nothing was the same. how she found it caught within the very back of her throat; for the first time, ravella arryn found herself wanting to pierce through the wall of reality. it were as though she would stare at the mirror. she wanted to tell him that it was her hands who were bloodied with the innocence of their niece, the little princess whose father now too laid within their family tomb. was this why she only had a daughter? she did not.

"tell me. do you want it?" she asked. the throne.

none would call the falcon prince a fool. he were far more calculated than he let on, and if others did not know he was previously spymaster by now, they would at least be aware of the fact that he still had many eyes and ears in places one may not think of. it were how he kept up to speed with matters in westeros during his recovery, and even thereafter. of course, there were letters, too, but much of the information written to him, if not personal, he was already aware of.

so for a man who was as deliberate as he was - except for the rare moments where his emotions got the best of him, the young prince of the eyrie realized for the first time he had no clue what his intentions were beyond delivering the news that had come to him in braavos. rhys knew coming here was a risk, one he believed worth taking, however, could he truly stay? would it be better to feign illness again? were the mountains of the vale too close to the heavens for his current state of health? he always thought ahead, thought of the things that would cross the minds of others before they actually did.

this time, however, perhaps he let the pull to his sister bring him back, above any sort of logical choice.

was it some astral pull? something in his very person that thought she needed him? did she need him? he look upon her, the queen of the vale, regal and proud, the very epitome of what an arryn of the eyrie she look as, and rule as so he heard, and he felt entirely foolish to think she needed him at all. he were more of a liability, yet, he struggled to admit that outright.

rhys yearned to stand high atop the very mountains of his home, despite what may be thought of him: weak, sickling, coward. he had little cared for what others thought of him, than he did the opinions of his family, a long lineage that had now been reduced to a branch. "you will find no objection from me. whatever i need do to ensure the court understands my presence will not change anything, i will."

a faint grin came over his features, though there was little moments where his sister outwardly showed her love and affections, these things coming in the form of defending him against their father, their brother, anyone who would speak poorly of the prince. he thought, perhaps once again foolishly, this were one of those moments. an olive branch had been extended, a chance to claim his place as it was before, not as king, not as the falon that flew high and mighty over the mountains, but as the prince who would see to it that his sister's queendom was secured.

#c: rhys #rhys 006 #i love it and i hate it at the same time: you and i drink the poison from the same vine hiding our sins from the daylight (ravella&rhys) #and i'll never be their chosen one ; still i'll never wear your broken crown - in this twilight how dare you speak of grace? (rhys&ravella)

[ravellaarryns]

♟

"i ask for your council, lord commander." men like percival templeton held great sway and influence within the vale of arryn; the man who remained before the troops. the one who could influence and persuade them. she needed him on side, and able to see her for what she wanted him to see. not what was truly lingering beneath the surface. percival was not like the others; not tainted in the same way. only prideful, in that way all knights of her home were prideful - as was their right to be. there was a visible level of cohesion between the knights of the vale, one of strict uniformity and brotherhood that extended to their ruling monarch in a way that went beyond kinship, and shared experience.

they were not the same, nor had they experienced the same trials in life: but her purpose was to remain that figure that remained above it all, and above the rest. as high as honour, where only an arryn would find the dizzying heights of the giant's lance a comfort. "do you believe our cause to be a justifiable, noble one?" how many times she had looked over the white peaks of the mountains of the moon, in those rare moments where the mist lifted; and how the call of the void had made her want to see how long something took to smash to the bottom.

"bankers believe themselves impenetrable, my lord." she muttered, quietly transforming her tongue to their native one: one which seemed to carry the weight of the mountains within it, that held the freezing cold of the peaks of the mountains of the moon, and the ancient. even their new remained ancient, and their land was one as riddled with the mysteries of the first men as the north. "one only need remember my own kin, lord commander." there came a dripping sense of disgust in her words, in reference to the coup her own cousin isembard had organised.

the merchant class of arryns within gulltown, who had fled across the narrow sea and were hunted, one by one. "we both know having the coin does not mean one has the blood."

that same urge filled her now, one religious folk would claim was temptation from the devils to resort to such levels of terror and violence. she would claim it was the gods that whispered to her, and reminded her of what was needed in such circumstances; a part of her wished to castrate the lyseni ambassador within the vale, though she knew such a thing would be considered shocking. unacceptable. and she needed to fit in, to be acceptable; and mask the atrocious as tradition. as strength. the sapphires upon the diadem that crowned her raven curls reflected in the sun, and yet her orbs of ice did not reflect or twinkle beneath the sunlight.

"the braavosi ambassador will be made aware that the vale of arryn will support any move the bank makes against the rogares." her words came swift, like the final swing of an executioner's axe. they could not lure the lyseni to come against them on the field, though they would support their financial lynching in any way they could.

The Knight of Ninestars stood behind his queen, mere paces away from her, as her meeting with the Essosi woman took place in the private tent. He spoke not a single word, merely listening, merely observing. He escorted the Queen of the Vale after it, their shared silence and whooshing of her skirts and his cloak the only sounds passing between them until Ravella spoke.

“Yes, my queen,” the Commander of the Queensguard replied with a quick nod. Still, in her composed and stoic demeanor, Percival could read the queen's icy fury. A part of him was undeniably proud of that silent rage, silently eager to see where the queen's ire would lead. An affront such as the one their realm faced with the attempt against King Graham's life should only be met with the harshest form of retribution. It was only right. It was only just.

Percival shared a belief that his queen no doubt had, a belief that needed not even be stated. Lys was a land so far beneath them in every possible way, and yet those squabbling lords ruling it —for Lys didn't even have a king or a queen— felt bold enough to cross the path of the falcons of the Vale.

“It is. Which begs the question of why they would overstep in such a way,” the Knight of Ninestars said in return. The Lyseni were from the other side of the Narrow Sea, lesser in nobility, lesser in power. They were glorified pirates and merchants, really, who wished to play at being real monarchs, it seemed. At sea there wasn't much the Vale could do, for their strength never lay in ships or maritime warfare. The Valemen excelled on the field of battle with their knights, with their strategy, and outside of it with their intricate politicking. “With respect, my queen, what is the ambassador to do about this? That Rogare filth of man cares not for diplomacy, for the order of things, and he is safely and cowardly moving his strings from across the Narrow Sea,” Percival added, feeling some skepticism about involving the ambassador. He was thinking of something else. An eye for an eye. The Rogares had broken the rules and they could respond in kind. They could respond in a worse manner.

#c: percival #percival 001 #i highkey love their vibe

[ravellaarryns]

♟

lady mariela egen was just that: a lady, one who had never come into any close association with the lady of the eyrie, and one who had come into lesser association with the princess of the eyrie. there came no personal feelings behind the matterr, only the understanding of the way the world worked: the andal overlord, to her subject of first men origin. the shadows whispered of ravella, first of her name, being made of ice; being made of stone, and yet that was what a reigning queen was supposed to be in a land as ancient as their own.

steadfast, unmoving, lacking in any of the weakness that was the sex the gods had forced upon her. that did not mean to behave as a man; and that did not mean to behave as a woman. it meant, she was simply needing to be. to be unsexed, and to be - stone, ice, mountain simply was.

there was no motherly inch in her body, no flow of milk or honey, nothing that emphasised warmth: and the room remained cold as the two women stood. an overlord, and her subject. in the words of description that came from the words of lady mariela egen, ravella was all too aware of how unbecoming it was for her to be seen with her own spy master - creating too much of a risk, for the woman's identity to be revealed. a part of her wondered whether this was anything to do with the lyseni, or the return of her brother and the eventual whispers of his rightful claim to the throne.

and yet, the mention of the painted dogs caused something of a sinister flicker to alight within orbs of ice. like a cold spark, flames of blue; she remembered the feeling of her chest being tight with lack of air, how the material of her dress was caught on snags. how she ran in the dark of the night, in the pitch black, through the thicketed forest; what happened when an arryn touched the eyrie. they were supposed to be high above it all. there may as well have been hounds chasing after her, for the painted dogs were just that.

that time in her life, was one she remembered: and remembered often. to ignore trauma was to be weak, but to look it dead in the face, and know what never need be repeated, was strength. her return from braavos to be sat amongst the grand table, clansmen walking the ancient halls of the eyrie; and though there was not yet a war in the physical, there was a war in her mind. she remained silent as the words continued to come from the lips of the mistress of whispers, and when the news broke, there came only the distant sound of alyssa's tears thundering down to earth in the distance.

"read it."

there came the sound of falcons, and as much as she stared at the face of mariela egen, she also stared directly by it. the differences, not only in physical appearance, but in manner. she had always sworn there was something distinctly different about rowan, something that made him weaker - weaker even than their cripple of a sister. her mind only thought of the fact that her brother had been forced to serve a bastard upon the throne of artys arryn, the legitimate heir to the vale of arryn - the one true prince. once upon a time.

there came a sense of burning shame within her, to know that her own mother had lowered herself to such standards. to lay with a clansmen, to produce such a thing; and in her twisted, hierarchal viewpoint, there came no self-awareness from the queen of the vale. there came no thought of the similarities. all she thought of, was the fact his twice dead, cold, rotted body remained entombed within the arryn family crypt. beside the greatest of her house, and her name. beside those whose blood was pure, and clean. and he was unworthy of life, even in death.

the mistress of whispers enjoyed the challenge of a puzzle, logic ones, really. she found them fascinating to piece together, to discover the key to unlocking them. it were somewhat of a gift of hers - to see the things that may surpass the gaze of another. at least, mariela egen believed such a thing until her own husband who coexisted with for so many years had turned into someone she did not recognize, or believe he could be. perhaps the first sign was his opposition to the woman who sat across the table from her, who’s icy gaze could practically pierce into one’s flesh.

though mariela found the queen to be a colder natured woman, that did not strike her something so terrible. there was a certain advantage to being able to make decisions based on fact, logic, even. even in her younger years she did not really know the woman who rose to sit highest above the falcon court, but she did not see the woman as some puzzle to solve - she saw her as her queen and ruler, and above all else she would respect and obey her for such titles alone.

so when the lady regent of moonhill made a discovery that could crumple dynasties, she truly felt a small bout of nerves in delivering the news to such a person whom she respected - and even feared. though it was certainly the queen who absolved her of any involvement in her husband’s dealings with the sisters, she could’ve easy shifted the blame upon the lady’s shoulders, despite the fealty she had proven, and continued to. once the last of the council had shuffled out of the room, and the queen said her piece, mariela began. “i thank you for your time your grace.” the words were formal, casual in their delivery even, but they were not devoid of true meaning. “it is valuable and so i shall not waste it.”

normally a public setting was preferred, it was less conspicuous, after all. normally, the mistress of whispers did not really speak so directly to the monarch. normally. there was nothing normal with what words she were about to utter. “upon our return from the crownlands i discovered in my solar belongings that i had not seen before, ones that belonged to the leader of the painted hounds clan-“ it was difficult to not make the slightest scrunch of her nose at the name alone. “the one invited to stay within these walls by the late king.” she reached into her bag now, revealing a letter. “it is in the former kings’ scribe, your grace.” she inhaled, preparing for the heaviest of news she would bring to date.

“he details his connection with the clan, a personal connection, through his father.” mariela’s eyes shifted from the queen to the letter, lips pursing slightly. “your grace, i believe this letter is evidence that rowan arryn was not an arryn at all, but a bastard.”

#c: mariela #mariela 001 #uh ohhhh #OOF

[ravellaarryns]

♟

something within the distorted mind of the first of her name seemed to recall a previous memory, in the steps the falcon prince took toward her in the darkness of the dimly lit room: the sounds of celebration and the music that seemed never-ending in the far distance. the sound of his footsteps as he turned and left the great hall of the eyrie, shortly following their brother's widow announcing him the king: and praying for the gods to save him. the knights of the vale followed suit with the actions of the falcon prince, lowering their heads in a bow.

that should have been the final transition, the final chapter in the constant struggle that was the line of succession within the eyrie - that should have been the final part of the story, and yet, it were as though somewhere deep within rhys arryn, he knew all too well what lingered, festered and swarmed within his oldest sister.

there was a beat of silence in the room, a tension so noticeable it could be cut through as a knight of the vale cut down all, in all forms of weather. it came not from a place of hate, but rather from a knowledge of what it was this choice had done - the seeds that had been sewn the moment his steps emerged from the vessel, within the dragon's playground. a quiet, creeping paranoia sat twisted upon the shoulders of the falcon queen; paired with the attack upon the king's life and ultimately, his position…

"arise, son of the mountain." she uttered, stepping forward once more.

the sudden presence of a legitimate male claim to the throne was enough to make her need to swallow back every animalistic urge that came within her. ravella arryn had never sought political power during the reign of her brothers, never sought for positions upon the council: her power was her blood, and the might of her backbone. and yet, now she had it, she would not simply allow it to slip through her fingers - as much as she believed it was a man that should sit the throne.

"prince of house arryn."

it were as though a candle had extinguished, and something about the way he looked at her made something deep within her gut twist; because he looked at her as though he was looking for something, only she could not work out what. or who. or he looked at her as though he knew something, and what was there for him to know? what was there for him to not know? was it not her, domeric stone and axell royce that had stirred up enough tensions with the clans folk that their eldest brother ended up a corpse, head cracking against the stone beneath their feet.

who had started this process? whose actions had truly paved the way of who it was they had become? she turned toward the guards, and extended a hand wordlessly toward the door. it was understood what it meant, at this point in her reign. the men bowed once again, before marching out of the room: in perfect alignment and timing. and she walked forward again, as though closing the distance between them would give her the answers she was not sure she would ever entirely believe.

"an arryn belongs within the range of the mountains of the moon. not across the narrow sea." she uttered, looking at the cane. her fascination with perfectionism was twisted, and she found herself thinking of the blight on the family tree that was her infant babe. "but your position need be forfeited, if you are to take your place."

the falcon prince thought it almost humorous that his sister had jumped straight to matters of state and alliances, but it were not entirely surprising. his venture here was likely suspicious, though in truth he meant well, at least he believed he did. rhys arryn could not exactly be called a selfless person who looked to commit acts of service for the poor and needy. he could pay someone else to do that. the prince, however, held a specially selective affection for his eldest sister, who he had always felt especially close to - or rather, as close as a member of the arryn family could be said to be to one another.

and so in that he knew his presence here were not the most welcoming, perhaps not necessarily by her, but by the court of the mountains that would no doubt speak in whispers that would always flutter back to him, regarding the state of his health and the state of...well...the court itself. he were prepared to remove all doubt, as best as he could, and rhys was all too aware that he would have those who both did not believe him, and those who thought him a coward. he chose to not let either kind of person occupy space in his mind. it were only now, in this moment, with the image of his sister gazing at him with icy blue hues, he suddenly felt the pang of regret in ever having left, despite truly believing that was the best choice at the time.

what had he done? did his departure pave the way for her, or did it seal her fate?

thoughts swirled in his mind as he put on the mask he had worn all his life, a mask that few saw past, one being the queen before him. for the sake of the knights at her sides, however, he maintained his persona. the smirk that lingered on his features, almost as if it were permanently painted upon his face, continued to do so as the prince made his way to stand. it were not entirely stable, but he did not look like the feeble man who had left the eyrie all that time ago. and he had not been that man for some time.

the tap of his cane on the floor seemed to reverberate about the room that was entirely too silent for a few moments, before the prince bent in a bow. "my queen." he stated, and whether or not the knights around her believed it, they would see how he addressed his sister, formally.

rhys longed to speak to his sister, his sister, as she was, and not as his queen. there would be time for that, if she wanted that time still. it were in this moment even he realized he did not know how she felt towards him, was there lingering resentment? had he broken the bond they once had? surely he would soon know the answer.

#c: rhys #rhys 006 #i love it and i hate it at the same time: you and i drink the poison from the same vine hiding our sins from the daylight (ravella&rhys) #and i'll never be their chosen one ; still i'll never wear your broken crown - in this twilight how dare you speak of grace? (rhys&ravella)

[ravellaarryns]

♟

a voice of justice and fairness fell upon ears that had long since turned numb, and then deaf, to the reports of the world that surrounded her; not from a place of pain as a result of this mortal realm, but rather, because she believed this was not the world for her. her world was the one in which she sat upon a throne carved within the mountain, and subdued those with the dominion over the world the gods had granted her; it was hers to do with as she pleased. such was the blessing that came with being the shoulders that bore the crown.

turning in his direction, it was clear for him to see the changing expression on her face; even if it were in the dwindling light of the candles and t he flames. "documented?" her voice repeated after his own, though there was a void lack of actual sarcasm or ire within it - repeating, as though to clarify what it was she had overheard. this was why the vale of arryn was slower than others in the grand building of the realm, their obsession in coaming through matters such as archives and judges - as though the sole wording of the ruler should not be enough.

"what is there left to make notes of? we know how the tale ends." she spoke, her tone inherently scathing; snapping at what she did not care to understand the true purpose of. "as will the rest of the realm, should we move quicker." ravella thought it pivotal for them to send a message to their enemies across the narrow sea; those twisting bankers who seemed to forget the fact their wealth serves them no true value when their blood accounted to nothing. less than nothing. her porcelain hands raised to unclip her dark raven curls from her hair, moving from her position by the window ; there was a chill in the air, a noticeable one.

"skycells or not. he is a mouth." she spoke, and the rare anxiety that plagued her voice was instead tainted with paranoia. because tristan hunter could easily become the spark to more dissent, especially in the aftermath of her brother's return from braavos: something she did not entirely grow to warm to. "for all those who still think and swear by him." her voice turned into a slight hiss at her last word, and it was clear who she spoke of: darling big brother, who had been killed twice. once by her. once by him. "we will be stretched thin dealing with the sisters and dissent too. the lords must maintain their oath of fealty, to their sole sovereign."

♟

tristan hunter being loyal to a dead man did not surprise the eldest son of house royce. nor was he surprised by the fact he would want to kill him - considering all that had happened. the walking hypocrite graham seemed to be. he was, however, surprised to find that he would reach out to the free city of lys of all places for his support. graham spent a substantial amount of time looking for answers in the few scrolls that were provided to the vale faction.

the late lord of hunter was not a genius nor was he a fool, he was nestled comfortably in the middle. easy to miss. one could not recall how he used his position and one imagined he maintained a place for so long out of tradition and staying quiet.

it was expected there would be some who would not entirely accept her right. graham recalled the many times tristan would say things that made him raise his eyebrows; acting the tiresome old man, too beyond life to engage in politics. how wrong they had been. truthfully, he thought the man would kill domeric in a formal dual for all the animosity that had built between the two. who else plotted against them? who else always thought they knew better? graham did not wish to wear the crown, it was thrust upon him - karma.

and yet, it fits. graham did not kill the last King because he desired something greater, he thought runestone was greater as it was his. his duty, his responsibility, and his home.

there would come others; and they had not secured their position. they had a daughter but a daughter did not secure the line of succession, ravella was the exception and not the rule. while they would not say it because the queen was content being a queen, they thought it. they worried about it. and with the return of her brother, now he worried about it. "we'll carry it out once everything is completed and documented." it was important to ensure it was done by the letter of the law. he would meet his end threw the moon door before the eyes of court. eyes he would watch.

"his office is being turned over, documents searched and we are awaiting the return of his ravens. there is belief he may have warned them, i doubt it. we kept him close until the arrest - more than enough space within the sky cells."

#c: graham #graham 007

[ravellaarryns]

who: @rememberences when and where: the night following the attack upon king graham of house royce, following an emergency council meeting where the vale officially declares war with the free city of lys.

it was late. how late, was another matter entirely; though the moon cast the reflections of a silver, pale light through stained glass windows that reminded her of her own chambers; kings landing had proved to be a danger, and it came not from the dragons, but rather the snakes they had invited to sit beside them at their court. nocturnal she had become by nature, less like an owl, but more like some strange form of an eagle. adorned in her white nightgown, she remained by the window, staring down at the passers by with no real thought in mind - the hearth had long since extinguished, and the room she was stood in remained in dwindling light.

for she was considering how the first war of her reign would be recorded in the history books: all whispered of her strength. and this, this was the ultimate test.

almost on queue, there came the noise of another entering her chambers: there was only one person who did not need permission to enter her chambers, and that was the man she had chosen to take as her king. it was poignant that she did not refer to him as the king consort, not even within her own mind; for ravella saw her position not as a blessing, not as a way to change the system, but rather what happens when the system fails. remaining stood beside the windows with her back to him for a moment, she remained utterly still: briefly wondering whether this would be another night where they attempted to conceive a son.

she was wholly aware of the fact she needed a son, to wipe away the stain that was the abomination she had ripped from herself. her arms remained on either side of her body as he turned to look at him, remaining fixed on one spot. there was no real discussion to be had when it emerged that it were the lyseni who had organised such an attack, no debate to be had; only a command, and a declaration to make. the first war of their rule; she was no fool to pretend she was able to wield a blade. her dead gaze set upon him as he closed the door behind him.

the first war of her rule, accompanied by her first traitorous lord. one that had reportedly done so, as a result of loyalty toward a dead man. a man she had killed. a man her husband had also killed. she was worthy. she was greater than him, even in legacy, even in death which tended to glorify all. he remained a miserable failure. "he will feed the crows once he is thrown from the moon door." she had not a care for tristan hunter. and she would show it.

#honey im home #c: graham #graham 007 #the devil's on your shoulder for a lifetime ; but tonight you're a stranger; some silhouette (the queen & the king)

[ravellaarryns]

who: @falcxnprince setting : the evening after there is an attempt on the life of the king of the vale, a somewhat unlikely figure emerges from a sea away. what: the prince of the vale of arryn returns from braavos across the narrow sea, to land upon westerosi soil for the first time in years. he brings forth a message regarding unfolding treachery within the falcon court, rooted in a loyalty to the previous king - rowan of house arryn, first of his name.

in the dimly lit halls of the red keep, a figure moves quietly through out, weaving through the halls with the confidence and ease of a noble who knows their way, despite the passing of time having made memory fade of a brief period lingering these halls. a heavy weight of legacy and history can be felt by them, for some time they had forgotten the feeling of it upon their shoulders. the shadow moves swiftly, hardly a step could be heard despite the quiet of the night, few lords and ladies still lingering.

there was little time for formalities, little time for grand entrances, neither of these things seemed to suit the man, anyways. they had just arrived, and it seemed too late for certain plots had already played out, though thankfully unsuccessful. still, the information they brought would seal the fate of a certain lord who was too ambitious for their own good.

the shadow was led to a seating room, one open for any of the nobles to retreat to for the many meetings and deals being struck during the coronation of the green dragon king, a reality that made the figure chuckle at the thought. cane tapped on the floor, not impatiently, but almost counting down the seconds under the image of the queen off the mountains of the moon appeared before him. he did not give her time for a reaction, or to speak, before a character's smirk crossed over rhys arryn's features.

"hello, sister."

the presence of the knights of the vale quietly making word that the prince had come to see her had only resulted in a lack of clarification clearly sweeping over her marble features, quickly replaced by ire and irritation at the ambiguity of such a statement. in their world today, how many princes were there in how many kingdoms and realms? and yet still, her stomach twisted at the thought of receiving a sudden visitor in the aftermath of such quaking fury that had silently settled within her ancient bones. one could only tell by the brashness of her body movements, the way in which her footsteps echoed more than ever before: as though she sought to deal with this matter with urgency, before another matter sprouted up.

the door opened into the apartments she was being led into, walking through a variety of rooms and being led to a certain room: and for some reason, she felt as though her stomach only twisted further. as this some prince from across the narrow sea? the prince, was what the guards had said to her: it would be obvious to ask the guards who escorted her, though she did not seek to socialise or speak with any in this moment. she stepped through the arch to see a figure sitting in a chair, though it remained dark due to the night sky taking reign over the sky - and so, she needed to step closer into the light. her gaze swept behind her for a moment, wondering if this was some sick trick: she felt on higher alert than ever, but then again, the guards were with her. and the guards would not betray her, unless…unless they had found out that she were responsible for so much that had befallen their apparently curse throne.

then he spoke, and she felt herself suddenly cease in her thoughts and her worries. he spoke, and it was a voice she recognised as though it were from a dream: over a year she had spent not seeing him, from the moment he had sailed across the narrow sea. and truthfully, it appeared as though he would remain in braavos - as though there was an unspoken truth between them. that he needed to remain across the narrow sea; for the crown now weighed heavy upon her own head. and now, the prince of the mountains of the moon had returned: and it felt as though she were once again seeing some apparition.

"what are you doing?" she asked, her voice harsh as she looked toward the smirk that toyed on his features. here. what are you doing here.

the arryns were a complicated family, and that was putting it lightly; the vale was not the most loving of environments, and then the clear divisons between siblings made everything all too apparent. he had always been her exception. was he still her exception? she remained frozen in her spot, fighting every urge to reach forward and embrace him. was that not what good humans with mortal souls done when they saw one they cared for? there was a time where ravella was more than happy to linger within the shadows. she rejected her brother's calls to sit on the small council.

and now it had been forced upon her, as a result of her brother being less of a man and more of a stain, she would need to preserve it. the court of the eyrie would take to the claim of an arryn prince, over an arryn princess: it was easier to disprove the lion's infant, but this? how could she reach forward to embrace her little brother when so much had changed, and had remained permanently changed? she noted the cane that remained in his hands: a wasting illness that had nearly taken him. she was under the impression he was on the verge of perishing, and yet, he was in good enough strengths to cross the narrow sea. "is this about the lyseni?"

#c: rhys #rhys 006 #i love it and i hate it at the same time: you and i drink the poison from the same vine hiding our sins from the daylight (ravella&rhys) #and i'll never be their chosen one ; still i'll never wear your broken crown - in this twilight how dare you speak of grace? (rhys&ravella) #MY BABES

[ravellaarryns]

@domericstone | @rememberences

i’d rot with you too, if i could

tumblr post by @girlhorror​ / revenge by xxxtentacion / the lovers of valdaro / lazarus rises (amongst other things) by @icaruspendragon​ / mahmoud darwish / gravestone of james robert irwin and millie michaels irwin / wuthering heights by emily brontë

#me: a whole year later here we are #c: domeric #c: graham #my ghost where'd you go? what happened to the soul that you used to be? (dom&rav) #it can creep up inside you and consume you your mind's in disturbia ; am i scaring you tonight? (domeric&ravella) #the devil's on your shoulder for a lifetime ; but tonight you're a stranger; some silhouette (the queen & the king consort) #and you could have all my empire of lies ; why are you someone else when i am still right here? (graham&ravella) #messy messy messy #all the tags

[ravellaarryns]

who: @mountainvroyce when and where: shortly following her conversation with king jaehaerys targaryen, in which the dragon king bars the high commander of the vale from remaining without his court to further investigate the security threat to king graham royce, ravella arryns remains silent some moments after her encounter with merei rogare. the tent is still full with individuals, whilst the others go to inform the king; it was in this moment ravella found a moment to speak to a certain brother of runestone, who she had some questions for. what; ravella arryn asks axell royce why is it jaehaerys targaryen is so against axell remaining alone in his kingdom.

"our guest moreo is apparently a steward of syleros rogare. the grand magister of lys." ravella commented as she remained beside the towering figure of the high commander of the vale, her arms folded behind her corset as her back remained upright, watching the scenes unfold before them. "and that foreign imbecile you were drinking in is his niece." the targaryen guards sought to inform the dragon king that there had been an update as to the identity of the attacker, and yet that only dug a deeper hole for the vale of arryn to investigate: though, she focused on her own small little hole of secrets she ought to dig in.

"the dragon king will be order him to be moved to the blacks cells." she commented, her words knowing; because there was no use in denying him the right to unleash his brutish strength upon the man of lyseni origin. and when they fell upon flesh and bone, they would fall like a thunder of boulders - which he no doubt had done in this time. "we need him to be able to speak, high commander. if you are to wish to speak with him alone, ensure it is done as quickly as you can have it be so."

her words had multiple messages within it: most prominently, that being any damage he inflicted upon the man in question needed to be done during questioning - and that it could not be to the detriment of the man being conscious and responsive. it had been revealed that the free city of lys had orchestrated an attack upon the kingdom of the vale: not by merely targeting a minor lord, but the king who had always remained steadfast in the favour of braavos, the sea lord, and the iron bank. there was a sense of familiarity as the two stood beside one another, no doubt a result of the entanglement they had found themselves within: neither of them took the time to fully comprehend how it was they managed to end up in this current situation.

one moment they sought to remove a stain within their court, and the next it was the falcon king being slaughtered whilst ravella remained in her bath - refusing to associate with such peacekeeping dinners. still, as she addressed the other lords within the tent with the intention of departing the scene in question, she watched as the third piece of their plot left the tent at the same time. still, she walked beside the high commander of the vale - who had benefited greatly from the change in power, in title and authority. whose accomplice was now their queen, and equally guilt. such was the manacles that bound together the pair; all too real, not ghostly.

her voice lowered as she continued to stand beside him, though turning her body to look toward him slightly; ensuring to meet his gaze. "why is it the dragon king refuses to have you in his court to wrap up investigations alone?" ravella asked, her question sudden and brash; though it were not painted with irritation or ire. it meant percival templeton would need to remain in kings landing to wrap up the investigation with the targaryens before returning home, and that in itself was quite the turn of events. "he would have lord templeton beneath the same roof as his wife rather than have you as sole representative of the vale." she continued, referring to the gossip that spread regarding percival and the queen of the crownlands.

"we know why - what his grace said to me. do we know why?"

#c: axell #axell 006 #OOOOP #fucked

[ravellaarryns]

♟

ravella found herself silently wondering how much of the stereotype did jack grafton fit in regards to the characteristics of sailors: known to be a loud mouthed, rambunctious man who seemed dedicated to reworking the legacy of house grafton himself - in more ways than one. "and there is never any doubt you shall be heard, my lord." the ruling lord of gulltown seemed to stand against the stereotypical notion of what it was to be a man of the vale: the same stern chivalry found in the likes of the king of the knight of ninestars, or the sinister intimidation - no, jack grafton was a strange blend of both whilst inhibiting no good qualities of a knight whatsoever.

she had only heard what sailors were like when they spent months on the sea entirely with their own crew, starved of all the many things a man wished to claim for himself. what he wished to take. and it was for that reason, she knew jack grafton understood her. understood her plainly, and understood her obviously. men would be men when it came to the fields of oppression and battle, and it was not her place to interfere in such matters.

"you are a loyal subject, lord grafton." ravella spoke, her tone filled with a sense of majestic praise; the way that courtiers sought to hear such consolidation of their position. "you always have been."

to inflict such a thing upon people under her domain was something she could imagine hearing her brother and her mother speak of, preaching carefulness and care - all of which were merely words for doing nothing. too much, too soon, for ultimately nothing; the sisters needed to be perfect for when she made her final offer to them. and to another. perfection was cruel - perfection was not easy to obtain. she thought of the way in which the tips of her toes would be bruised and bloodied to perfect her stance, ignoring the pain until the pain no longer had any reaction; maintaining the inches of her waist to maintain that level of balance.

her entire life was one of maintaining a balance, between being a strong monarch and not blurring the traditional gender roles she too believed it staunchly.

she thought of the money they needed to pay the iron bank on behalf of the north, as a result of the what the smugglers of the three sisters had done. despite their strong association with the iron bank, they had maintained the same neutrality they did in matters of westeros. a stance which had once been reflected by the vale of arryn: and now, she was beginning to realise their historic neutral stance could be threatened by the emergence of other financial powers. would they pulled into conflict for supporting the iron bank's reliability?

"how does my lord feel about playing host?" ravella asked, a taunting sense of amusement clear in her voice as she stepped toward her master of ships. no doubt her question would have thrown him. "garland hightower has discarded of the sea lord's niece like dirty rags. it is believed a daughter remains within the reach, whilst mother is across in braavos. consider it one way to remain in the good favour of the sea lord." it was an offer; a poignant one, considering gulltown was closest to braavos. and jack grafton loved money as much as he loved drink and whores spread out for him. "unless you wish for another to do a favour for the sea lord. it is rare any gets the opportunity."

If he didn't respect her so much Jack Archibald Grafton would say that standing here before a vengeful queen made his cock hard. He would not say that for it was rude to the queen and her glorious house and her husband who all respected. Yes, yes, he was a kingslayer but the previous man wasn't much of a King and their new Queen was all Arryn and that mattered. And with Royce blood she'd had strong sons, and perhaps daughters just as strong and just as aware of who they are. It was a good time to be a man of the Vale. War or peace their Queen was strong and once they cleaned up the mess of the last monarch her reign would be remembered well.

"I will tell them. I'll have it shouted from every square and corner, aye. Any who don't heed the message will know what happens to those who betray the crown and it's wearer." Betrayal of the crown, the queen or her king would result in death. It was treason. And Jack knew his men would do as told, he wouldn't have to list out orders they would just need to know it was the policy, the burning field. The dragons left the earth scorched when Aegon came so would Jack Archibald Grafton when he was unleashed on the Sisters. Let them mourn what the Northmen did to them, by the time they were done they would miss their treatment by the northmen.

"And we'll make sure not a hair on his head is harmed. Well...no hairs that get him close to death." They'd get him there even if he was just a cunt's hair away from death he would draw that last breath on the rope. The fun natured Lord of Grafton, Master of Gulltown was just as well known for his ruthless nature. The desire of Grafton men to conqueror the seas and drown their enemies in those same unforgiving waters. He would miss these conflicts once the war was over, the seas would call his name again and he'd be force to answer as always.

"What else would you like to see done, your most glorious majesty?" The sailor smiled at her. She knew truth with him just like she knew it with his cousin, Jack Grafton liked the feel of blood on his weight as much as he enjoyed the burn of spiced rum and warmth of eager maidens.

#c: jack #jack 001 #they make me giggle

[ravellaarryns]

who: @moonhillsunsets when and where: following the assassination attempt on king graham royce by syleros rogare, the majority of the falcon court return to the eyrie through the bloody gate, in which the small council meet to further cement their stance in support of the iron bank of braavos, as well as issue a formal declaration of war with the free city of lys. ravella remains unaware that two members of the council have had a conversation following a certain revelation, however only knows that mariela egen requested to speak with the queen alone following the end of the council meeting. at this point, prince rhys arryn has also arrived to the falcon court - following spending time within the sea lord's palace.

the mood of the falcon queen was increasingly foul these past weeks, considering she hardly spoke a word the entirety of their journey back through the treacherous mountains of the moon; an uneasy silence seemed to come over and the people surrounding her, wherever she went. it felt as though her feet were leading her, rather than her mind; as though she had disassociated from the very body she had been born into. there was a danger that came in crossing the pride of ravella arryn, as there had always been; the distant memory of the sound of broken flesh and cries as she bit smugly into an apple, with a shade that matched the hues of her red lips.

the council meeting had been longer than it usual took, considering the severity of the case; she barely had it in her to raise her gaze to look upon the seat that was now filled with another, she truthfully did not think she would see on this side of the narrow sea once again.

ravella did not notice the brief glance exchanged between the hand of the queen and the mistress of whispers as the king brought an end to the matters of today; rather, ravella merely continued to look upon the free city of lys on the map before her. the mistress of whispers had put in a request to have a private audience with her following the council meeting, though ravella decided their current location was more than fine - beneath the vast hues of navy, silver, purple and white stained glass. she heard the distant sound of others uttering their departing messages, looking up briefly at the eyes of the new master of coin to allude to seeing him after this matter was over. she made no reference into looking in the direction of the brothers of house royce speaking with one another, no doubt amount further fortifying the gates of the moon: or the way in which lord stone left the room as silently as he always did.

and then there was none but mariela egen. truthfully, she knew little to nothing about the woman before her; she wondered briefly what it was she wished to speak to her of. perhaps marriage, considering her lord husband who had since began to crumble to dust had left her a growing issue to deal with: perfecting house egen once again. the woman remained young, and was able to be wedded once again - despite the fact she was lady regent of moonhill. how many children did the woman have? ravella did not know, but knew there was at least one son; who would soon be nearing the age of being sent into the rigorous process that shaped young boys into knights of the vale. she would deal with it. there are no exceptions.

"lady egen." ravella was not sure how she felt about having a woman on the council; they were the weaker of the sexes, more easily persuaded and too emotive to think rationally. she had been approved of by graham nonetheless, and despite the history that continued to separate the pair of them, she trusted him. his judgement, perhaps more than any others. "the steward of my household has allocated at least a quarter of an hour to this conversation. what is it the crown may do for you?" she asked. despite believing her to be naturally weaker, ravella held a respect for another woman born and bred of the vale. they were still stronger than others.

#c: mariela #mariela 001

[ravellaarryns]

♟

it was painfully obvious that ravella had made an immediate, swift judgement of the woman that stood before her: clad in silks stemming from across the narrow sea, with a scent that made it all too clear and apparent she was not westerosi - and even in that regard, there were levels in which ravella arryn ranked those who were not her own. the braavosi were the most tolerable in terms of all foreigners from across the narrow sea; however the likes of the lyseni, known for their hedonistic lifestyle and their indulgence. rumoured parties filled with fornication in brazen public, with goddesses relating to promiscuity or fanatical worship of black cats…they were considered some of the most filthy to the eyes the falcon queen.

"do not repeat after me, girl. we are both not lacking in hearing." ravella snapped, with a tone that remained scathing and full of disdain: not directly relating to the current issue, but even beyond that. directed at who merei was, despite knowing nothing of her personality and her being: the westerosi were losing touch with their natural superiority the more the independent kingdoms associated with the likes of such people. they were a lost with no understanding of limits or boundaries, lacking in refinement and sophistication, and it showed in the casual confidence this lyseni seemed to have in her face.

directly after informing her that it was the lyseni who were responsible for attempting to take the life of the king of the vale.

and the woman spoke of wanting to have a moment to speak with the queen of the vale; and ravella was comfortable in making assumptions of what it was she wished to speak of. all knew of the growing tensions between the iron bank of braavos and the lysene spring, headed by the growing new power that was house rogare - if she was correct, probably some magister of lys. "summon the hand." she spoke to the lord of ninestars, knowing he ought to be present to hear the details being issued by this lyseni woman. "he may speak to her soon."

for all knew of the close association the vale of arryn held with the iron bank of braavos - one rooted in generations of working with one another, considering her own brother remained within braavos and she had been within the halls of the sea lord's palace a year and a half earlier, before the curse of the mountain throne had taken her brother. ravella did not even contemplate the responsibility she had in stirring the currents that resulted in the butchery of rowan arryn. the queen of the vale continued to speak to the people around her, not responding to the words of merei rogare - for she could wait.

"you are not lacking in vision either, are you?" ravella finally asked, her tone now cruel. dismissive. "this is not the time to make your sell, banker."

the political intrigue of the west was not so different from that of lys - pleasant conversation and plastered smiles on the face of every nobles engaged in conversation that she observed. it was interesting, if not more dangerous than she had envisioned, for the lady of house rogare was far more used to the great influence of coin and votes over titles. some of the tongues spoken in the air around her were foreign to her ears, either by her own stubbornness, or simply because there were so many guests who traveled from all across the continent and beyond to attention such an event, and bear witness to the next targaryen king in the long lineage of rulers.

slender figure had been within the crowd, observing a jousting tournament in which it seemed a king from the vale had made himself a participant against an unknown knight, brows furrowing in vague recognition of something about the other man. there was not time for the lady to gather her thoughts before suddenly the king practically took flight, a blow that was intended to be deadly and dodged at the last moment. she supposed the west was not so different, after all.

the gasp of the crowd, elicited an expression of concern in her features, not quite understanding the weight of such actions until guards seized the other man. the king, luckily, found his feet, and demeanor stood as if the whole ordeal was simply a hazard of his role, which merei supposed in a way, it was. she understood this far too well. gaze shifted from the king down to the knight forced to his knees, helmet removed, and suddenly, suddenly, she found herself truly surprised.

merei approached one of the guards after the man had been taken to the tent to alert him that she was certain she knew who he was. image stood tall as she was lead into the tent, led to two men to explain how she knew the man, and was immediately met with yelling and berating in her ancient tongue from the would-be knight on his knees some paces away. it took much for her not to mock the man, though perhaps he did not intend for her to know him, or speak up, she simply watched him continue to lose a grip on himself. dark hues lifted to see the queen of the vale approaching her now.

the lady of house rogare maintained a pleasant composure, though she did not offer introductions, but simply observed the woman. icy demeanor and tone was interesting, but unbothersome to the lady. "it has certainly been beneficial to you in this instance, your grace." merei stated, eyes flickering to the man who still knelt nearby. "his name is moreo, he is a steward of my uncle, syleros rogare."

the lady shifted slightly in her stance, giving pause for a response for a brief moment. "i shall have no purse, your grace, perhaps your time, instead, as that, too, is valuable." the opportunity to have the queen of the vale's ear was something merei could not pass up.

#c: merei #merei 001 #me: the beginning of it all

[ravellaarryns]

♟

the andal influence within the queen of the mountains of the moon meant that she did not seek a deeper knowledge or understanding of the practices of which the lady of upcliff took to; and yet, the fact that she were even sat within a darkly lit chamber made the walking hypocrisy that was ravella arryn so painfully obvious. she would look in judgement toward the women who made such a thing their main source of living, believing them to be stains in society as the clansmen; untrustworthy, and yet, she believed in the ancient roots of their ways deeper than any faith she held in the seven who are one.

the practices of the ancient took no moral stance, did not offer them guidance, lessons and rules to follow in their everyday lives - as opposed to seven stone statues, who had long since turned their gaze away from their creation if they were ever truly living.

she could make her way into the nursery with ease, and order to be left alone - with as much ease. it would not take long, and it would be over with within a matter of mere moments. she could count on one hand, whilst the other forced the pillow down upon the abhorrent mistake of nature. "my father too sired four children of house arryn." she uttered, wondering again what it was with the number four that seemed to seep it's way into her life through this abomination. rosalyn in the north, rhys in braavos, and rowan nowhere - as he belonged.

and it showed, in the way the queen remained silent as her high lady spoke; her hand gripping onto the pillow that lay beside her, feeling as though she were soon to rip into the velvet itself. ravella arryn cared not for yiti. she cared not for the beliefs from across the narrow sea, or another other realm; for westeros was the centre of her realm, and at it's heart was the lands her ancestors had come to take. the risk in burning the kingdom down, in wiping everything out: they did not wipe it all away, though their trees were uprooted. but the words of the woman sat before her resonated deeply within her, a sense of slow, steady realisation coming across her; it felt as though the clouds had moved from the rays of the sun, and now the rays of the sun were scalding.

babies died in their cots. infants passed suddenly in their sleep, with no inclination as to an issue. would she be able to present as a person who had just found the her own child dead? she thought of the ways in which mothers had been reported to scream and cry over their lost sons in the war. it was not the same. she knew none who had lost a baby - there was nothing to mimic. "it is not for her to be powerful. she is not to be the heir for the rest of her life." however short it was. for ravella arryn was determined to provide sons for the realm. strong princes, the image of a knight of the vale. of unwavering strength.

for all of the sternness of graham royce, he was not like her; and any that were sired by him would have some remains, some semblance of their father beyond that of physical looks: there was a guttural rejection that came deep within the queen of the mountains of the moon in the presence of the infant. as though she had not come from her own womb, but still; there came the seeping, quiet understanding over her that it was all too possible the princess avalon of the kingdom of the vale had not been sired by the ancient lineage that was house royce - but by another. whose blood was stained, whose origins she did not know of until it was already too late.

and suddenly, she found herself reeling; everything in her reality seemed to swirl, and seek to not only reject, but remove the runt. the mistake. the same way the instinct of animals was to protect their survival, and remove what would not prove credit to them. "is there anything that can be done?" ravella asked, a final question - of which the answer would prove to have consequences. the human instinct was something ravella had always trusted, and believed, more than the words of her septon. she would not stop now.

the lady of witch isle watched the arryn queen as she sat still, her marble face giving nothing away. the darkness of the chambers did not engulf ravella arryn, as it would do to most. it was as if the woman was part of the darkness, embracing the abyss ready to swallow her whole. she fascinated yuna, this monarch who seemed to want for nothing, feel nothing. like a current of the seas, she simply existed to maintain order, and to destroy at will. yuna remembered her ancestors, the scholars and the mages of the ancient province of xing. the men and women who dabbled in the strange and the unexplained. what would they say about the falcon queen with a glass heart?

she listened to the queen name her as the high lady. it was more a statement than a command, but yuna felt the importance of the words immediately. the place was one of significant importance, and it put her in a higher position than the rest of the ladies. she wondered how little it would take for her to start exercising her privileges, for she could now control the people who resented her the most. yuna had little love for the women she spent her time with. strange little jeyne waynwood was the exception, yuna could feel the restless spirits gather around the melancholic soul. but with others, she could see their disdain, their hatred of her strangeness. they would like it if they were all the same, made out of the same boring mould. living the same boring life, and hating others for not conforming to averageness.

she could now control the people who resented her the most. what a tempting proposition. "as you wish, your grace," she answered and smiled a little smile. and then the queen spoke of what she needed to do if the women spoke ill of the little princess. yuna kept her expression neutral, but in her mind she could not help but be curious. did ravella speak like that because she cared about avalon? yuna doubted that. she saw mothers who cared, and their queen did not fit the description. maybe it was because avalon was an arryn, and the name meant more that the person holding it.

"of course." she responded, her hands on her lap. in a matter of moments she gained more power. fate was fickle, and strange. "their names will not shield them from proper punishment, your grace."

if she were truthful, yuna would admit that the child princess had an peculiar aura. it was as if the babe did not belong to the world she came to, as if she were fighting her leaving the realm between life and death. but there was no logical explanation to the feeling of yuna royce. it was instinct, a feeling deep in her gut. and she would keep it to herself. the princess was not of her blood. she would not speak ill of the child to anyone, but yuna was determined to keep her distance.

the queen had made a request some time ago, right after the birth. yuna was to make a birthchart. the affair was kept private, yuna did not need any more rumours of her being a witch, poisoning the eyrie from within. she knew it was not witchcraft, but an ancient art, a skill one ought to be proud of. so she worked the chart dilligently. and the results were like nothing she had ever scene before.

"the princess has a powerful energy surrounding her. a powerful aura, but it is not necessarily a good thing," her voiced was quiet, even if she knew no one would dare to eavesdrop. she wondered if the truth would set the mother and the babe further apart, but yuna believed ravella deserved the truth. "during her time of birth, the planets gathered around in groups of four. there is an old yitish belief around the number four." she paused for a moment, looking at her queen. "four means death. whose is unknown"

#c: yuna #yuna 002 #truly i am loving this thread

[ravellaarryns]

who: @northernglorie when and where: the eyrie; a semi-flashback thread in which the princess of the north, lady glorie bolton, visits the eyrie to enquire as to how the eyrie intends on paying back the north. this is in the aftermath of smugglers on the three sisters looting and sinking a manderly vessel travelling to braavos, with the intention of paying back some of the northern loans taken from the iron bank of braavos. domerix, axell, percival and jack have begun their operations upon the sisters at this point for a number of weeks, and the falcon court welcomes the princess of the north by meeting her at the gates of the moon to aid in her traveling up the length of the giant's lance.

it had been a day since the princess consort of the north had been welcomed to the court of the eyrie; and truthfully, her presence was a bad sign in the eyes of the falcon queen. the princess had a position upon the council of her good brother, and worked to secure the position of her lineage, saving it from ruin at the hands of her slippery brothers - one of whom had slithered his way into the darkest of woods in her own realm. and she had opened the door for him, despite the resounding silence he had been met with with the revelation of the status of his birth. of his legitimacy.

and as much as the newest princess of house stark was here to serve her purpose, ravella arryn thought of the greater one. for her own sister, of arryn blood, was the queen in the north; and she had taken the time to personally write to her sister and inform her of all that had happened. what the next steps were. the reassurance of the queen of winter had not provided enough clarity for the king of winter: and that, was where ravella's main issue lay.

he felt the need to send his good sister to survey what was going on, rather than trust the word of his queen. if there were anything that set off warning bells within the mind of the sovereign, it was that; even as she awaited for the princess to join her in the small eating room high atop the world. there were only clouds beyond the windows, and the sounds of the waterfall that was alyssa's tears that was constant background noise to all that took place within the eyrie: and ravella sat, waiting for their guest to join her for them to discuss what it was the woman had taken the trip for.

as the doors opened and the announcement of the princesses name rung through the small, private hall, ravella remained sat within her seat as she looked upon the approaching figure of the woman. she extended her hand for it to be kissed, as was customary for tradition within the vale of arryn: upon which her porcelain hand remained the white diamond and sapphire ring of house arryn, encrusted into the symbol of a falcon.

"princess glorie." ravella spoke, her tone as typical as it could ever be: with the cold civility that came with the mountains of the moon and their position so high above the rest. so many believed themselves in such a position; and only a few truly were. "i trust your lodgings were suitable for the night. the journey up the giant's lance is a treacherous one."

#c: glorie #glorie 001

[ravellaarryns]

@falcxnprince

♦ MERLIN ♦ ↳ THE GATES OF AVALON (1.07)

#replace arthur with rhys and bingo! #c: rhys #i love it and i hate it at the same time: you and i drink the poison from the same vine hiding our sins from the daylight (ravella&rhys) #and i'll never be their chosen one ; still i'll never wear your broken crown - in this twilight how dare you speak of grace? (rhys&ravella)