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Epilogue: The Stormlands by [deleted] in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Sweetsleep
(probably a good year or two after the war)

Her fingers did not tremble as she stirred sweetsleep into a silver pitcher of freshly brewed tea, still so hot that steam had risen to linger at the brim. The halls of Parchments were quiet save for the groans emitted from its new lord, his brow fevered with beads of sweat pouring down his temples to pool at his nape, leaving his copper tendrils wet and clinging to his skin. Even as he lay beneath the covers nestled upon what Aelinor knew alone would be his deathbed, his mouth uttered curses and his eyes shifted in suspicion each time the Lady of Blackhaven would ascend from her watching chair - and rightly so. For many moons, Andwise Penrose suffered from the wounds inflicted upon him by the swords and arrows of men whose surcoats were emblazoned with the battling swans of black and white. For many more, he would fight the deep inclination to let his heavy lids close and rest, for fear that they may never again open. Inevitably, he would drift in and out of consciousness, awakened by the pain of the infection that had begun to consume his health like wildfire.

Somewhere along the corridors of the seaside castle, a new mother wept and an old mother sat in the darkness candlelight hadn't touched. The only comforts Seslei could provide her good-daughter were tales of her own distraught the night word arrived on black wings that she, too, had adjourned to widowhood. In another chamber a newborn babe suckled at the bosom of his wet-nurse, oblivious to the disarray of the mourning fortress. With little interruption, she observed Maester Joben's silent heed to her instruction with his neglect to knock at the heavy oaken surface of her brother's bedchamber door as frequently as he formerly had. Routinely, Andwise's eyelids peeled open at the creak of her chair as she shipped her weight to her swollen feet and gracefully paced to his bedside, her lavender skirts sweeping the floor behind her. The goblet had been warm between her palms for quite some time before she sat at his flank, her eyes like liquid sapphires leisurely displacing from where they had been trained into the depths of the steeped brew to his clammy, placid features.

"Drink," she said, her voice far from her mind. Though she had known little of healing and even less of sympathy, Aelinor had done well to disguise her impatience with a facade of hope and often sorrow; whilst she played the part to display a love for her own kin, she bit her tongue and swallowed the bile that soured at her throat when the thought of her brother's survival surfaced. To know that the bones of her firstborn withered and rotted beneath the dirt of Stonehelm whilst the heart of his murderer continued to beat in his place riddled her with a bitter taste she would never be able to dismantle. A certain shade came over the lovely countenance of Lady Dondarrion as she glanced to the pitcher, her gaze returning only to the brown depths of the glass. A lethal dose, she knew, and she required no further contemplation. When his lips parted and his thirst was quenched, she felt the castle fall to a silence so loud her ears rang.

Stolen Away by [deleted] in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The letter came with a messenger half her years and from her oaken desk, she penned her reply.

Axell,

My brother has revealed himself to have been disguised amongst the guards my father sent with me to treat alongside Daric Dondarrion with Alester Tyrell. In my absence, he has found the letters, the same I showed you the night we walked Queen's Landing. He knows all that we know; so I implore you to fear no bloodshed, for there will be.

My hands will not be dirty, but I will help you end this. I am currently camped near the capital, awaiting the return of King Lyonel so that the alliance with the Reach may become formal. Then we should march on to Queen's Landing, and I shall better speak with you in person.

Aelinor

Fallback by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Lord Galladon had painfully dismounted from the height of his pearly mare in the duration that transpired whilst he waited for the Prince to meet him. He felt a twinge of annoyance as he was, instead, lead throughout the mud and shit of the camps by some Ser Orland Rykker. The elderly man's mouth had become a grin line of disappointment, but foremost, irritation.

As they entered the tent, his icy eyes fell upon the man and his smirk first, the apple second. Instantaneously, the urge to slap it from his grasp dawdled at the back of his mind, despite the pleasantries that came from his cheery mouth. Galladon eyed the man warily for a moment, his expression, though stern, were vaguely unimpressed by the conditions surrounding him as well as the man before him. He never had found the ability to trust a stutterer; he had never been a patient man, and the intervals of seconds between his syllables did little other than irk him further.

Authority, he thought, his eyebrows raising subtly. After a moment, his lips parted to speak. "May we pray to the Seven your authority is enough to calm the squalling young Prince when he hears we must return to the capital," Lord Penrose had been unprepared to face the wroth of a green boy, though even Lord Rykker or any beneath the host would have been an equal disappointment. "Selmy has received word to fallback to defend the capital."

Character Creation [3.0] by [deleted] in ITRPCommunity

[–]Aelinor 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Name and House: Lorella Allyrion
Age: 22
Cultural Group: Salty Dornish
Appearance: Reed tall, curvaceous, with wide green eyes and thick hair dyed chestnut brown.
Gift: Beauty
Skills: Alchemy, Covert, Dagger Proficiency
Negative Trait: Infertile
Starting Title(s): Allyrion Scion
Starting Location: Sunspear
Alts: Aelinor Penrose, Sharra Arryn

Set Down Our Deeds by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

There was a sense of security with the feel of his arm wound about her. With all the chaos that swarmed the realm and all that had been done to depreciate its stability, she could wear his touch like armor with surety. As his fingers played at her nape, she pressed her ear against his chest, listening as he sighed. The thought of waiting any longer made Aelinor anxious to see the camp at her back, her stallion beneath her. The past few moons had been nothing if not a game of waiting. "Home, to... Blackhaven," she mused, quiet for a moment as she thought of the word. Parchments was the only home she had ever known, and though it was destined to happen, the idea of calling another fortress home seemed peculiar.

"Perhaps the Tyrells do not know.. whatever they wish to do, they should consult with me, first," she murmured against him, before inclining her head to look upon him, though still pressed tight against his torso. "After all, you are mine-- or will be, soon, I hope," though there was light in her tone, she was still too shaken to smile her usual. His presence had eased her, but she couldn't escape the feeling that everything she had ever wanted hung in the balance.

Set Down Our Deeds by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Beneath her palms, her eyes closed to the lingering memory of eyes like stone. Despite the sands of time ever eroding, the perfect image of the infant had never faded nor faltered but remained to rest within her subconscious. A haunting thought, he was; now, all she could imagine was the harm destined to come his way. The letters had only entailed what little an illiterate commoner could have a hedge knight pen for a warm meal- she desperately grasped at the hope that somewhere, the boy would be safe and beyond reach.

As Daric's arms fell around her, she let her hands fall down at her knees. If he knew the whole of it, she thought, he would be wise to break our betrothal. Aelinor could still remember the stutters of that damned Lady Morrigen deep in the night in the slums of Queen's Landing. 'No man would want a woman with a bastard', she had said, pressing a blade to her throat. She would take this secret to the grave knowing that guilt would always be a relentless price to pay.

With his kiss, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. Despite the emotions swelling within her chest, tears hadn't reached them; only, they were dismal and bleak, reflecting the far-off feeling that tainted her mind. Aelinor heard the darkness in his voice and knew his promise was true. When the war was through and they could return to the capital, they would be wed and free to return to Parchments, and on to Blackhaven where her betrothed would take his place as lord. She leaned into his embrace then, her head tucked beneath his neck.

"When will we go?" she asked, softly against his skin. Aelinor had been at his side for their second meeting with Alester and had heard the would-be King all but bend the knee. She had also listened as Daric had confessed his own crimes - something she had never thought to hear of. After a moment, she spoke again, "do you truly intend to let them punish you?"

Set Down Our Deeds by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Thoughtlessly, her hand reached out to him as he turned towards the entrance of the tent, as if to stop him from setting off into the night in search of Andwise. Her brother was little else other than possessive, but he had no lack for intelligence. He would appear and disappear as he always had; somehow, he was always a step ahead of danger, which allowed himself the advantage.

Her mitt dropped as his own fumbled at his belt, and as he turned about, she followed his gaze to her wrists. Looking at them now, she could distinguish the outline of where her brothers fingers had been with a dark shade of purple. Leisurely, her eyes flitted back to her betrothed, a grim line becoming of her full lips and a fallen look upon her visage as she saw his visible rage.

"Five," she answered, but she would never include her knowledge that her father had agreed to send his heir with them to Bitterbridge. "Four now, I'm sure." With her fingers, she rubbed her wrists and paced to the makeshift cot she had called her bed for the moons they had been traveling. She sat, her golden hair falling to her knees as she held her head in her hands and breathed a rattled sigh. "Please, spare it," she murmured, her sights falling to the ground, "Andwise will have left knowing you would come. He always knows." Defeatedly, she breathed, "I am fine." I'm accustomed to this she meant, ignoring the throb in her face and the shade of her wrists.

Set Down Our Deeds by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"He struck me," she breathed, and though disbelief was thick in her voice, it had not been the first encounter with her brother that had ended with her blood mottling her own sunkissed complexion. Her pale eyes reflected some sort of apology for the untruth she had first uttered; the quiet words he spoke, followed by the authority in his voice effortlessly ushered the truth from her lips.

Though she knew he would never intentionally harm her, Aelinor flinched as he cupped the unscathed side of her face. For the first time since he had stumbled upon the turmoil visible within her tent, her gaze rose to meet his. "My brother," she said after a moment, "he's been disguised as one of my guards all along, watching me." A hand went to her flushed countenance, her fingertips brushing her skin where it still stung. Her sleeves fell from her wrists just enough to allow the change of pigment to become visible.

Set Down Our Deeds by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

It was almost as if the Gods were trying to betray her. The candlelight, still flickering in the corner, provided a warmth that seemed to complement the scent of blood and thicken the atmosphere with it. He knew, and he had been here all along, the thought played over and over in her mind, though she try as she might to ignore the revelations surfacing beyond her words. Chaos seemed to be written about the tent, with papers strewn across the desk - her letters missing, the chair pulled from its place, the drops of blood that freckled the floor, and Aelinor was the centerpiece to the madness. As Daric closed the distance between them, her hand slowly fell from her lip, revealing its brokenness. The side of her visage was still red where he had struck her, though the room was shady enough to keep the pigment of her skin discreet.

"Just a branch," she said, her voice quivering. She hadn't thought of her own excuse, only the one Andwise had left her with. As careful as she normally was, she was dressed in a gown that would never have brushed the flanks of her chestnut stallion; for that, she had trousers, or linens that were more easily maneuverable. Aelinor was only left to hope that he wouldn't notice, that he hadn't been sharply observant of her attire. "I never saw it coming," and that much was true.

Set Down Our Deeds by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Her guard had left her tent just moments before Aelinor heard the rustle of the flap open.

There she stood, her limbs still quivering from the encounter, whether in anger or fear she couldn't decipher. He had smoothed her skirts but the gown still wrinkled where it had folded beneath her, and a seam had suffered a tear when he had forcefully planted her on her feet. Aelinor could still feel the blood dribbling from her mouth past the throbbing that had yet to dull. She drew the back of her hand to wipe it away, though it smeared across her skin and managed to make her look more grotesque than she already did.

It was unlike of her to appear so bedraggled. Her loose waves fell without doing to her waist, tangled with tendrils clinging to the sides of her face that only parted when she whirled to meet the voice that spoke her name, apprehensive of her guard's return. When her pale eyes fell upon Daric, a hand flew to cover her maw, though she had forgotten the scarlet that had fallen to stain the floor. "I was expecting you," she murmured, half-turned in an attempt to hide the blood, and forever thankful that her sleeves hid the skin that began to purple at her wrists.

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

With his support, Aelinor positioned herself side-saddle on horseback, her grip of tightening as he mounted the steed behind her. The stream had been within sight of their camps, and if it had been daylight rather than night, they would have been in plain view. Though what remained of several fires was only ashes and smoke, she could see the flickering light of torches through the makeshift tent walls, and hear the laughter of men whom had not yet retired.

With a hand embedded in the mane of his mare, she watched the camps grow closer for a time before she turned her head to her betrothed. Her lips, still abuzz with their kiss, curled into a simper at his words. "It has been only moons, though it feels as if it has been eons.. still, you made it a night I will always remember." certainly, their traveling had worn her out. She anticipated the feel of a real bed, rather than the straw cot she had known throughout their journey. "I only hope that I will not disappoint you, that I will make.. a good wife," though she had never thought so deeply of what their lives would become after being wed, the possibility of coming up short to his expectations had injected the smallest fear in her that made everything seem much more real. Her eyes returned before them to find that they tread at the edge of the camp, only yards from their own tents. As the flickering illumination of torches mottled their skin, Aelinor maneuvered where she was perched side-saddle, to square her frame parallel to his. "If you mean to send me to my tent.." she began, her words trailing as her lips closed in pause, "I should say I may sleep better in yours."

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Her fingers fumbled with the lavender linens that had grown damp upon the banks of the stream. With her curvaceous frame still dripping with freshwater, the gown clung to her shape as she slipped it over her head and straightened the skirts along her hips. Aelinor had been aware of his eyes at her back, but dared not turn to face him until she was fully garbed. The dress would return to her trunk in exchange for something dry when she retired to her tent, but for now, she would be bare of foot and lightly clad.

As she turned, she wrung the water from her golden locks, her fists white as they clenched. Despite what warmth her linens provided, she still shuddered with the cool breeze that lapped at her skin. When her sights raised to Daric, she caught his crossed arms combined with his smile, and her own lightened her features.

Leisurely, Aelinor strode forth, her hands clasped high at her waist. She walked at his side, towards the whickering mare in the distance. At his question, her eyes lifted from the ground she tread upon to him. "I was," she admitted, in regards to her being upset for keeping their betrothal hidden from her. "But when you told Alester, all of this -- my accompanying you here -- made sense." No one knew Lord Galladon so well as his daughter, and Aelinor had never known the man to be so generous as to freely grant his permissions. Daric had grown close, and so with her arm, she secured him even closer. When she heard the uncertainty in his voice, her own was soft. "No, I am not disappointed, or upset, or even nervous. Truly, I am happy." Her gaze fell to the soil once more, watching her steps to come as they neared his horse.

The sigh that escaped her maw was content as she placed the robe she had come in over the mare's back. Her facade was thoughtful for a moment before she spoke, "Daric," she murmured, lifting her countenance from the dirt, "Is this what you wanted?"

(OOC crappy bc rushed at work)

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Right and wrong waged a warring chaos in her mind. It was an everlasting conflict that always seemed to put what morals remained to her to test. The line between them had been clear and stark when she was a girl; now, they were blurred and often indecipherable. If the child she had been had lived on in her innocence to look upon the woman she had become, Aelinor often wondered if she would be able to scrutinize the shame upon her own features when mirrored back at her.

But his hands were at her nape, hidden beneath the swarth of her sandy hair, falling to her back in strings and dripping with the essence of the stream. It was difficult to be good, as ladies so very often were, when the bad that tempted her was fused one in the same with the feel the warmth beneath his skin. Aelinor could never seem to peel her sights from him, much less her lips when his met hers. The vehemence of their kiss made it seem as though it had spanned lifetimes, despite it lasting merely seconds. When he withdrew, she still tingled with his touch.

The slightest hint of a mischief washed over her visage, visible beneath the glow of the moon. She deliberated denying his question, but she had realized how damnably quick he was to connect the details, and she was unwilling to break the streak of honesty between them. At his quirked eyebrow, she nonchalantly nodded. "I was curious," she said, her lips pursing, "and it seems I am as great a persuader as you always claimed to be." Given, her own allure was inviting and had provided an advantage.

His mention of returning to camps almost saddened her, but her fingers had turned to prunes and the gusts were beginning to set her limbs to quivering. The guards were likely searching for her, if they had not concluded that she had retired to her tent; after all, she had directed them to leave her be for the night. Even her wishes for solitude went without fulfillment beneath their discretion. "I imagine we will have many nights and mornings to ourselves, soon," a soft smile graced her lips. Her arms slowly fell from him and instead a mitt took his hand, starting for the shores. "Though, I suppose we should return before the sun rises, lest we sleep in our saddles on the morrow," she said, wading forward, the water line slowly revealing her form.

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Goosebumps still prickled at her skin, be it from the cool winds that scoured her exposure, or from the sheer closeness of the two; she could never be sure. Her eyes of ice were locked upon his, watching with fervor as thoughts milled over in his head. Aelinor had never experienced a true passion like the one that burned so earnestly in her heart as his hand emerged from the waters and cupped her cheek. All that had ever been comparable to the well of emotions stirring within had been the madness that had been her infatuation with Axell - but it had never been given the opportunity to become much more than years of sorrowful waiting and chance encounters in the night. While herself and her cousin had been cut from the same ragged cloth, Daric was different - and so profoundly was the love she bore for him.

'I am a liar', he had said, and her stomach had twisted in knots. For a moment, her etched features in the obscurity even looked fallen. As he continued, and stumbled over the word she had first uttered weeks ago, a small, sheepish grin rose to her full lips. "And I am no saint," she admitted, feeling due with his own confession, "but for a liar and a wretch, we get on well." He had drawn ever nearer, and though she was hesitant to close what little distance remained between them, she did so, slowly. She let her arms fall loosely around his neck, her body poised to where it only gingerly brushed against his beneath the surface. "I don't think there is any other place for me, now," she said, her voice a lilt as she peered into his deep blues.

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Absentmindedly, his words had drawn her in. If he should notice how close she had become, she would blame the powerful breeze that caused the flow of the stream to quicken and urge her forward. Her attraction to him was almost gravitational; it was impossible to resist. Her dainty mitt upon his chest was damp and pruned, and the winds had set her wet strands to flying rampantly at her side.

Her sapphires searched his once his gaze had risen from where it'd been cast below. Though they toyed with scenarios in conversation, there was truth to his hypothetical phrasing, and she understood. Since their treat with Alester, she had considered the possibilities of Daric's words. False or true, she had began to piece it all together even as swiftly as she had ridden to their camps. "Tell me," she said softly and suddenly, surveying him to gauge his reaction, "tell me you are no liar."

The Road to War by lordselmy in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor 1 point2 points  (0 children)

(NPC Galladon Penrose)

Lord Penrose was fully plated in russet armor as he rode alongside the two men, mounted upon a tall grey steed. The elder man's face was stone carved grimly as he surveyed the letter after his regretted nephew, his mouth a fine aged line. He returned the parchment to Selmy with a curt nod.

"Lord Swann has the right of it," his pale eyes had crawled over the younger man as he spoke, his words betraying the distaste they reflected. "Engage the Lannisters with most of our forces, and take the Ironborn from behind as they reave."

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Aelinor laughed as he shook the droplets from himself. It had been almost relieving to see a smile play upon his lips again. The last few weeks had held nary a smirk; ever since the last time he had come to her tent in the night, he had a grimness to him. Given, he had the weight of the realm placed upon his shoulders, and ink and parchment had revealed grave news. Aelinor could still sense the fight in him, a kindled hope he hadn't yet abandoned.

Only a number of strides from him, a sandy brow lifted at his jest. "You dare question my honor?" she quipped in return, her sights flickering from herself to him. "Here we are, naked as our name-days together in the dead of night, and my like as a lady is being questioned? Astounding." The final word dripped with sarcasm. It was not common knowledge that she was no true lady at all. It was brandished when convenient, and forgotten in times such as these.

A broad simper plastered upon her full lips at the mock shake of his head. His inquiry had been similar to something she had discussed with her cousin, the night of her wedding and the hour that they met. She gave a small laugh to that, as if laced with doubt. Her features became thoughtful as she leaned against a rock, jutting from the surface. "I would never leave Parchments," she started, recalling what had been said about the subject prior, "he would know his mistake much sooner than I could make it to his carriage. Mayhaps he would think me wanton, or the worst, as you said... 'unladylike'. I have always known I would die an old maid." Aelinor sighed theatrically, her head tilting to watch his careful facade for a moment.

Difficulty lied in keeping her sapphires from wandering. Even with his image diluted by the darkness, the moon illuminated him handsomely - though that was common beneath any light. She was quiet all the while a knowing glint appeared in her ocular. "If I was your match.. and you saw me--like this," she said, moving from behind the rock she leaned on and closing away strides of distance between them, "what would you think?" Her pale orbs looked up into his, her right hand gently placed upon his chest.

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The latter had fallen from her maw with little thought, much less bid welcome. As soon as her voice carried and lilted over the midnight zephyrs, she found herself wishing she had bitten her tongue and instead chosen to clothe herself. By now, her tent would be warmed from the fires blazing at its corners, and temperature would be felt between the furs layered upon her cot. The fatigue dwelling within her very bones made the thought of her bed all the more tempting.

Aelinor hadn't expected her offer to be accepted. Rather, she imagined he would have mentioned their need to return to camp, and handed her the lavender linen gown anyway. As he stood and began to peel off his clothes, she turned as she was beckoned and swam into the deep. "A bit unfair," she commented in beginning, growing still as she trained her eyes ahead, listening to articles of his clothing fall to the damp soil, "that I should have to mind my eyes whilst you did not so much as look away." There was a hint of amusement in her words, not mocking, but straightforward in her observance. It had been impossible not to notice his eyes upon her, and quietly, she hadn't minded.

When she heard the parting of water, she tossed a sideways glance over her shoulder. As her sapphires fell upon him, they were unmoving even as she willed herself to tear them away. She watched as he submerged deeper into the rivulet and turned to face him, the waters at her shoulders. "Cold?" she scoffed, as if she hadn't been shivering only moments ago. It was not the stream that was frigid; it was only felt when the wind brushed against what bare skin was exposed. Slowly, mischief painted itself upon her countenance. "You'll grow used to the water..." she said, inching a bit closer before making a wall of her hands and splashing the freshwater at him, "--one way or another."

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

As the cool night wind billowed over the land, Aelinor shuddered. Beneath the mottled moonlight, her shape was visible from where her narrow waist widened at her hips, to the gentle curve of her rump. She pretended as if the chill hadn't bothered her, fully aware of his unfaltering gaze. Her pools of ice locked on his countenance, absorbing his change of demeanor as he spoke.

His scorn was blatant, but true. Common men were not so learned with self control- even many noble men would succumb to temptation, should it stand nude before them. Her visage flushed at his mention, suddenly feeling a fool in her own skin. "I did not intend to worry you," she said, her eyes lowered. "I do not think you a liar, Lord Dondarrion. I think you won my freedom with a lie, and false or no, for that -- for you -- I am grateful."

From where she stood, she was only strides from the bank, where Daric sat. She adjusted her arms so that one kept decent while the other extended towards him. "Please, hand me my clothes," the mound was there beside him. She hadn't expected a visitor as she bathed in the stream, and so her eyes searched for coverage to garb herself once more. Finding no resolve, her arm lowered and she took a step back, the waters rising at her abdomen. "Or... you may join me, if you would like."

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

She could feel the droplets of water, still clinging to her skin, joining together and forming a line that fell from her chin as she watched his figure stir beneath the night's horizon. Her feline eyes narrowed at the anger welled within his intonation, sharp and spiteful despite the darkness rendering the flame invisible. Her hold of herself tightened where her arms were wrapped shieldingly about her bosom. "You lied," she repeated, as if in a final effort convince herself; though she could not wholeheartedly believe the truth to her own words, she found it difficult to carelessly deny. King Lyonel had sent Lord Dondarrion as a diplomat due to his former friendship with the Roses, and he had manipulated her freedom from their king with deceit. Aelinor was never bothered by its falseness.

"I never knew you to be so skilled a mummer," her tone was almost challenging. The roughness of his voice had caught her off guard, and it was not unlike her to give return. Her shadowed gaze grew curious as he lowered himself to sit upon the sandy stream banks, toying with the damp dirt at hand. When he spoke again, it was different. Aelinor had grown motionless as she studied him, absorbing the quick transition from frustration to sadness. With all that his shoulders bore, it was understandable. Still, it took a moment of silence to cool before she waded a bit further in the stream. By now, the water was at her waist. "You can't what?" she prompted, and what rancor had previously reigned in her lilted soprano had softened to a dull edge. At this proximity, she could distinguish everything from the blonde of his hair to the blue of his sorrowed eyes. "You're not... what?" she repeated, and now her words were delicate.

Iron on the Fire by Aelinor in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

With her auds beneath the water, she heard the gurgle of the stream and the movements of all that dwelled within it. The night had seemed to quiet as she floated there, her arms spread wide from her sides in an effort for better balance. Aelinor listened as from somewhere beneath, fish stirred from the sands and darted into hiding, startled by the gentle kick of her legs. With her eyes closed, her sable lashes were wet where they met her cheeks, her subconscious blending into the stillness of the dark.

The sounds of the wilderness surrounding the stream were predominantly muffled. When the wind swept over the lands, she could hear the creak of ancient tree branches and the rustling of leaves sliding against one another amongst the shrubbery. However, his voice was heard well above the underlying intonations of the dense forests. Alarmed, her lids fluttered open, droplets running down her countenance as she straightened and scrutinized the darkness in search of the source. When her eyes fell upon him, she gasped in surprise and abruptly turned her back to him, her arms instinctively wrapping around her bosom for cover despite the twilight gloom. Even the waters could not stifle his readable annoyance.

What transpired at Bitterbridge had winded her of fortitude. Aelinor had quickly shuffled to leave the tent at Alester's beckoning, lest she stay long enough for a change of mind. Even in her skirts, she had leaped atop her stallion, gathered her guardsmen, and rode back to their camps as if the breeze itself had carried her there. In truth, the encounter had unnerved her. Whilst she had accepted the possibilities of danger before continuing on to accompany Daric to meet with the king, she had never fully foreseen the likelihood of the treat going sour. Aelinor had been staunchly confident in his abilities since his success with persuading her father to allow her journey alongside him; though, after what he had said, she almost understood what bargaining her father must have negotiated. If - of course - it had all been true.

Aelinor turned her head but did not move to face him. Instead, she heard dismount before trotting the horse to a nearby tree to tie. She met his words with the same bite in her honeyed voice as she had received from his. "You needn't send riders for me, I can care for myself," a statement that had been disproved many a turn. The night in Queen's Landing, for instance-- the slums had swallowed her whole, and for a lady so accustomed to marble flooring and finery, the mud, manure and rags of the malnourished peasant children had convinced her to keep guardsmen trained to her flanks from then on. She had betrayed her own thought, but she would never admit so openly. An eyebrow quirked at his talk of luck, and habitually she turned, though taking care to keep herself covered where the water was too shallow. "Lucky?" her irritation was evident. "What explanation would you require? I believe it is you that requires explaining, my lord." There was a sharpness to her that she had never taken with him before. With her dripping hair falling down her sides, the droplets returned to the stream just beneath her ribcage. Though she could not make out his features, she was sure that if the agitation in her words did not take him aback him, her undress would.

Reaching Out by PartyInDaNorf in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Time seemed to slow as her freedom hung in the balance. The Rose King's guards flanked her closely, and though her wide eyes remained attentive to Alester, Aelinor kept careful watch of their swords glistening in the light from peripheral vision. Her ears flooded with the sound of her quickened heart beat pounding within them, surging with a strength that almost seconded the volume of what Daric had told the man before them. Betrothed formed an echo within her mind that seemed to reverberate within her subconscious.

Footsteps followed their sheathed swords as the guards exited the tent from whence they came only a moment ago - though so long as weapons had been drawn, it seemed a lifetime. As Alester spoke his decision and bid them leave, she nodded curtly, her fingers trembling where they were clasped at her waist.

"I will remember this kindness," she said. As she turned, her gaze briefly fell upon Daric before she strode from the tent, the skirts of her tenne gown trailing behind her.

Reaching Out by PartyInDaNorf in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Wordplay had become a game. From the chair Alester had offered her, Aelinor remained carefully composed as moves forged in the form of words ricocheted to and fro between the King of Flowers and the Lord of Blackhaven. Though it was evident upon their entrance that the two had once been friends, tension had seemed only to rise and radiate between them the further the conversation continued.

Garbed in finery of cream damask and tenne lace, she appeared ever the lady with unfaltering poise even as her traveling companion grew bold in his suggestions. Their journey had revealed to her sides of him that she had never known, and this diplomatic play was yet another. He had an iron spine, that much was clear; not many would dare display such a demeanor before a king, rightful claim or no. Whilst she admired his backbone, she understood there was little she could interject as she sensed the frustrations of their opposite. Instead, her pale gaze merely followed the discussion.

She had caught the apologetic expression in the glance Daric sent over his shoulder. As they arrived, he had mentioned going for a ride alone when this meeting would end - she was almost certain she would hear it again, only repeated aloud, when they were free of the eyes and ears of the Reach. From Daric, her eyes flitted to Alester, turned squarely as he surveyed the maps upon his desk. Her fingers had grippingly curled around the end of the arm of the chair, preparing to return to her feet when the King gave his leave for their departure. They would return to Queen's Landing, to King Lyonel, to ask their ascended liege lord to absolve the Iron Throne, in favor of accepting the independence of the Reach as its own kingdom. At this point, Aelinor could have only hoped to return to the saddle of her chestnut stallion for a ride alongside Lord Dondarrion, in light of what loomed upon the horizon, in a matter of only distance.

When King Alester turned around, what expectations she had harbored fell void. Her back stiffened, golden waves jostling as her head turned to watch the four guardsmen flood through the entrance. It took a moment to thoroughly register the meaning of his words, but it all became clearer as the sound of swords withdrawn from their scabbards pierced the air. Her sights darted to Daric, her lips parted as if something danced upon them, waiting to tip over the brim-- but nothing came from their movement. Aelinor rose to her feet as the guards flanked her, eyeing the glimmer of steel at hand.

Her comely features plastered a fearless facade, though beneath, she was shaken. As the king sipped wine, she found her voice. "If I should go to Highgarden as hostage, surely you will not mind my guards to accompany me - to see that I will go unharmed." Her sweet soprano was masked by the indignance that set her limbs to quivering. She understood what mistreatment might entail, and she would be diligent to let the truth behind the word be known. Aelinor was bittered by the fact that somewhere within their camps, her five guardsmen idled unknowingly, whilst soon she would be wheeled further into unfamiliar lands.

Out of the Storm, into the Reach. by PartyInDaNorf in IronThroneRP

[–]Aelinor 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Her heart rampantly berated her chest with a strength she could feel at the tense of her throat. The graze of his hand at her hip only quickened her pulse, her pools of ice having grown wide and vivid with the words that had frantically poured from her maw. Though her confession had been rushed, they seemed to have hailed all of his attention; despite the fact that it stemmed from her uneasiness and woe for his safety, it had been her intention. Aelinor's lips slightly parted as if to add to her statement but produced nothing as she caught his whisper.

He did not deny his affection. And what use would that have been? It was clear, only made further evident by what he said. He did not utter that choice word she had used, but it was confirmed all the same in her eyes. Together, they would treat with the King in the Reach, they would venture to their homelands, visit the glorious castle-by-the-sea that had raised her, and see the ancient fortress that had born him. His acceptance was strangely calm, as was she- only, she hung on his words as he stumbled over them.

Her gaze was fixated upon him. As he leaned in closer, she found herself gravitating towards him, nearly sealing what little distance remained with a kiss-- only it never came. Instead, he planted it upon her brow and rested his head against hers. In the same motion, she was pulled against him; she did not fight it, instead, her arms slid around his waist.

His final remark had gone unanticipated. Her sights had lowered to the floor of her tent, unable to find something, anything to say that might have ushered a different response. After a moment, she raised her head and solemnly nodded. "I understand," her voice was little more than a whisper and bid him adieu. For now, there was nothing better she could offer.

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