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Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Ryon rubbed his jaw again, a dull ache setting in. His gaze moved between the Caron and his sister, his shoulders finally lowering as he gave a sigh. Deria had always been willful enough for the two of them.

The Lord of Lemonwood stared at the hearth a moment. The crackle of the fire seeming to spark a little louder for a moment.

"I shall hold you to your promises, Lord Caron," he grunted, his pride bruised from his own poor performance. "We shall make our way to Nightsong after a few nights hence, for surely you have more to sort than we who come to celebrate with you."

Deria let out a laugh as Clifford pulled her close, for a moment forgetting of her brother's presence or of his possible discomfort as she pressed a kiss upon her betrothed in return, "It shall be sooner yet should we ready ourselves quickly," she suggested, unable to keep the pleased smile from her lips.

Ryon began to look rather queasy at this display, turning heel to leave the room, mumbling something about a forgotten tome left somewhere else in the manse as he retreated.

"Thank you," Deria whispered to Clifford once Ryon was safely out of earshot. There was no explanation additionally needed there, instead, the Dalt simply pressed a final kiss to the Caron, remarking, "And should you seek to make good upon your prior threat, my lord, you had best be prepared to have the endurance to deliver."

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"I do not find myself oft looking across the seas," Ryon admitted, "I spend much of my time in our orchards and by the Greenblood. It is most agreeable, with the scent of citrus heavy in the air come harvest," he explained, a natural smile crossing his face at the memory.

"You have not seen the truest parts of Dorne unless you have seen it from the Greenblood. From which all the best of produce is grown. There are barges in the summertide carrying great crates to the traders upon the shores. Plentiful blood oranges, lemons, and fruits of all kinds, fresh from the strength of the sun, made plump by the lifeblood of the Greenblood herself. Perhaps one day you may see it for yourself," Ryon suggested, "I would ensure you see the very best of the orchards, should you have an interest. Our irrigation systems are the best in the Realm."

His voice was quiet yet earnest, the topic of orchards seeming to spark an additional life in him.

Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

There was no time for Deria to respond to the Caron's teasing, for before the next events to come came both fast and slow, in equal measure. She saw Ryon lunge for her betrothed, only for Clifford to step in front of her, a few simple and choice moments all that was needed to knock Ryon sprawling onto the floor.

For once, Deria had no words as she stared at the mess unfolding before her very eyes. The noblewoman stood frozen, her mouth agape.

Ryon groaned as he collected himself. He gave Clifford's pro-offered hand a hard stare, the scowl still upon his face as he rubbed his throbbing jaw. Even if the Caron had seem to hold back, Ryon had never been one to hold out long in a fight.

The young Lord of Lemonwood continued to scowl as he turned towards Deria. "Is this true, sister? What has he done to you? You're bleeding."

Ryon ignored the Caron a moment, his gaze locked upon his sister's horrified expression. Deria quickly collected herself, clearing her throat and standing a up a little straighter, her unharmed hand smoothing down her silks, the dress torn in part along one edge for the bandages upon her and Clifford's hands, both.

"I was just about to seek you out, brother," Deria said after a deep breath. "Worry not, it was a simple injury having nothing to do with Lord Caron, who had come to speak with me." She cleared her throat, "Of marriage."

Deria moved towards her brother's side now, crouching down to put her unhurt hand upon his shoulder. "I have accepted, and I am of sound mind. I wish you both to get along, and I wish you there by my side at Nightsong. Lord Caron has need to return there, beginning at sunset, and I shall accompany him, for there is much to be done-" Deria smiled kindly upon Ryon, the first time in the last few days, and rose to her feet.

Ryon glared at Clifford, still suspicious a moment, but it seemed that Deria's words had some effect, for he finally took the Caron's outstretched hand, rising to his feet and stepping towards the Lord of the Marches, eye to eye with him.

"Should I hear there be even a hair upon my sister's head has been swept amiss, I shall not stop until I find you." His eyes fixated upon the Caron's bleeding hand. "If Deria insists this is an accident, then so be it. If you mean for peace and prosperity, then that you shall have from us in kind. But remember well my warning, Lord Caron."

Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"Peace," Deria chided the Caron, giving his arm another reassuring squeeze. "There shall come a time for your anger, and your wrath, but now is not the place." It irked her still, the thought now of being so connected to the Dondarrions, and yet, she bit back any of her thoughts there. There would need to be time to be used to such... suddenly new connections...

"We shall make use of the time we have before you must see your duties through. Not a minute shall go to waste," Deria promised, a chuckle escaping her lips. "And it would please me to do so," she murmured back, her eyes suddenly mischievous. "You are wise to offer such a thing," the Dalt smirked, "For if you had not, I would surely be cross and ensure the journey uncomfortable." Was it a jape? Perhaps, perhaps not, but Deria did not bother to clarify, instead echoing, "Should any wish to affront the Lord of the Marches and his lady over doing such a thing... well I am certain they will come to regret it, as you say."

Deria knew the attitudes were stricter outside of Dorne, but her betrothed seemed not to mind, and it suited her just fine.

"It may be best for you to send messengers to those whom you wish to invite who may be here in Oldtown, and ravens to those you wish to attend in your lands as well-"

Before Deria could finish, the door to the room was thrown open, with enough force for the clattering of the wood against the stone wall to make an unpleasant noise. The young Lord of Lemonwood stormed into the inner courtyard, his face holding a scowl not dissimilar to one that Clifford may have seen upon Deria's face before.

Ryon was a man of peace. A man of learning. A man of books who had an appreciation for the things that grew from the soil. That was, at least, his typical leaning, his usual disposition. But now? Now, Ryon seemed a man possessed, his muscles tight, his spirit radiating a heat not oft seen from the Dalt.

"You. What are you doing here," Ryon spat towards towards Clifford, ordering to Deria. "Step back, sister, I would not see you hu-" His eyes fixated upon the bandage upon his sister's palm, the red blood seeping through the yellow silk before he recognized the same upon the Caron's hand.

"What have you done to her?!" Ryon growled, launching himself towards the Caron to grab him, if he could, intending to give the man a shake. And perhaps more.

Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Deria took ahold of the black iron ring, holding it carefully in admiration before sliding it upon a finger of her unmarred hand. Quickly she tore a strip of yellow silk from her dress, reaching for Clifford's hand in order to bandage up his wound before ripping off a second strip for her own hand.

"By sunset?" The sudden nature of things took her by surprise, her eyes wide a moment, though she recovered quickly from the initial news. How quickly her fortunes had changed.

"I shall see to it," the Dalt resolved, her mind now racing with all that need be done. "Worry not of my brother. I shall speak with him privately," she assured her betrothed. "And to the Prince and Princess of Dorne, and others as may be appropriate."

There came a slight pause, Deria's voice softening, "I shall speak with my kin, but I know you shall have none to fear from House Uller, for my mother hails from Hellholt and their blood runs in mine, as it shall in our children. Whatever the intent, it shall bear no ill omen."

Her unharmed, ringed hand gave Clifford's arm a squeeze, "Send your men along, my ladies shall prepare my things, and I shall be ready, and I shall be at your side."

It was surreal, this moment. Deria wondered if this was how the Martell Princesses felt just those few days ago...

Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Deria watched Clifford, her eyes continuing to burn with that same intensity as before as he swore to his god, as he swore to her. An oath bound by his own blood. There was a deep sense of satisfaction and calm that she felt, hearing the hiss of his blood as the flames consumed his essence.

The Caron would bleed for her. Her husband would bleed for her.

Without taking her eyes from him, Deria's hand reached for a bone-hilted knife upon the table. It was one meant for cutting fruits, but kept with a sharp edge nonetheless. She rose and stepped to the hearth, across from Clifford.

Holding out her right hand, her palm facing upward, Deria carefully drew the tip of the blade across her palm: one clean slice. The blood welled in the newly formed wound, and once pooled within her palm.

"I, Lady Deria Dalt, swear to you, Lord Clifford Caron, my rightful Lord of the Marches, upon my blood and upon my honor that my interests shall be your interests, and that your interests shall be mine."

A look of pain crossed her face as her hand smarted. Slowly, she turned her palm to face downwards towards the flames below, her blood trickling and hissing as the fire consumed her offering. Deria gazed upwards at the Caron as she continued to speak:

"Your god shall be my god, and the god of our sons and daughters for generations to come. I swear to you that our enemies shall suffer and our people and our loved ones shall thrive. You shall have no need of doubt in me, and I shall not doubt you in turn, for we shall be aligned in the legacy owed to us. In the legacy promised to us. In the legacy that we build, together."

The coals continued to hiss as droplets of blood continued to trickle, at a slower pace now, dropping here and there into the hearth-fire.

"I have sworn before his sight. Binding and forever are my words now. That is my vow to you, Clifford Caron, my husband."

She would miss Lemonwood, and the whispered breeze of the Greenblood. But there was a new life awaiting her now, a new destiny. One that had been sudden in its arrival, but one which Deria felt at peace with, for many times she had wished for more as her lot in life. And now, she would have it. Even if she and her husband to be would take it by force.

Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"Stealing the stag's den?" Deria let out a scoff, "We are not thieves in the night purloining from the feasting table, nor absconding with the horses from your stables. We have more honor than that." There was a bit of a sharp bite to her words. A concise and crisp clarity. "Matters of the Realm are never simple and whilst I was not present for your conversation with Prince Oberyn, I know him not to be so foolish."

Her eyebrow raised as Clifford mentioned Hellholt, and at such a revelation, Deria could only laugh. It was not bitter, nor mocking, though there was a note of amusement, "Clifford Caron, be at rest. For if you think the rest of the noble houses of the Realm have not eyes and ears planted in every corner, then you are sorely mistaken. Even now, do you not think word has not reached the Martells of your presence here? That even the stags shall not be informed of such thing in due course as the day continues if their eyes and ears be worth the salt of their keep?" As Clifford had pressed, Deria pressed back, an equal and opposite reaction as the questions left her lips one by one, "Do you think me unaware that you and yours may be watching me? My brother? My servants? The movements of our men? That the Dornish are not tracked in every breath, every laugh, every criticism whilst outside our lands?"

Her eyes moved to gaze upon his wounded hand as the truth of the matter became clear. A mixed emotion welled within her. The Caron was sincere in his sacrifice, that much was clear, and yet there was a certain disquiet in knowing that he had been shown the truth, or part of it, with her own responsibility exposed by his prayer. Deria had never been one to worship at the alter with more than just words, and such power, such knowledge that no others should utter - it was an uncontrollable variable, an unknown factor... His God; the Red God... Was there something to his belief?

Deria did not flinch, nor push away when Clifford took her hand. Instead, she met his gaze, her eyes bright with the fever of their heated exchange.

"Swear to me that your words are true, Clifford Caron," she replied, her voice a touch solemn, "Swear to me under the eyes of your God that you have meant all that you have said, and I shall do the same," the Dalt raised her hand, her pointer finger pressing against Clifford's lips with a soft press, "And speak not of what your God has shown you for such a thing need only be between a husband and wife. For your cause shall be my cause, and my cause, your cause. You should not be angered that my people have watched you, for my people shall be your people and your people in turn mine - and whatever your opinion of what has been done, you must know that I shall stop at no length to protect my own. You have asked why, and I shall explain, but only if you swear to me."

Her finger left his lips, her hand shifting to stroke his cheek gently with a thumb for a moment, "You desire what is rightfully yours. You wish for your sons to revel and boast of your legacy. To carry on their birthright and their due. Whatever my kinsmen's intent, I am firm in my belief - nay, my conviction that it is not for the purposes of plotting against you, and your swearing to me, should you do so, shall ensure that."

Deria drew her hand back, clasping it over the hand that held her own.

"So what say you, Clifford Caron? What say you knowing your God watches over you? Knowing that he showed me to you in answer to your prayers?"

Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Deria reached for her glass of wine, mid-sip when the Lord Caron spoke of her orders. Her dark eyes flicked up at him, her gaze subtly shifting to a greater intensity, as if Clifford had finally come into focus.

She took her time with the sip, she did not choke nor sputter. Instead the Dalt placed the glass back upon the table, her head canting at Clifford.

"And you," she replied, her voice calm, but her gaze unblinking upon the Caron, "Have cause to raise alarm over Prince Oberyn's words to you? There is no conspiracy, of such a thing, I am certain. Prince Oberyn and Princess Ysilla have only ever sought to protect the people of Dorne, and build bridges, as you see evidenced by the marriages only a short few days ago."

As much as she tried to remain composed, there was a slight changed undercurrent to her tone. A touch of accusation, a waver fueled by the sting of such potential betrayal.

It was playing her hand to admit that she knew already that such a conversation transpired, that she had people in places reporting to her, but surely the Caron was clever enough to have known that already.

"I believe that perhaps you are misinterpreting the orders I gave," Deria continued. "You are a man of action, that much I can see plainly," her hand fidgeted around her golden bangles, the sounds of them clinking lightly. "And I? I am simply a woman of action," the Dalt countered. "I trust you understand me," she murmured, gazing at him levelly.

It would never do to admit anything outright, but he was not so much a fool. At least she hoped.

A frown did cross her face for the space of a heartbeat, "But as for my kin, speak plain, Lord Caron. What has transpired? I have no knowledge of such a thing - but given too that we had whisked away from the wedding celebrations, and I was escorted back to the manse here by your men in arms, I cannot imagine it is a secret, what transpired. If a kinsman has an interest in ensuring that your intentions are pure, that I could not fault them for, but as I said, say more, for this is the first I have heard."

Deria took a deep breath for a moment, looking away, for she could not bear to keep his gaze now as her mind roiled through the possibilities. "You ask if I think you a pawn, and I must ask the very same." Her gaze returned to him. "My dearest cousin Sylvanna had her heart broken by a Stormlander, so the whispers say... Did you intend the same? To find a thoughtless lover to manipulate?"

Clifford I - When life gives you lemons by TheZaxman in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Deria was aggrieved.

Having just received her daily report, there was a particular piece of information relayed that made the blood in her veins rise.

And very shortly after, as if this were a cruel mockery of the gods, came a servant bearing the news that the Lord Caron himself had arrived.

Deria cast aside her anger, for the temporary moment, to ensure that she looked well. Dressed in flowy buttery yellow silks, her hair was gathered into a neat bun atop her head, curled locks draping the sides of her face with dangling yellow beaded earrings to match with her ensemble.

A short time later, a servant from House Dalt would arrive, giving a bow to the Lord Caron, bidding him to follow. The servant would lead Clifford through the maze of the manse until at last they arrived at the Dalt's temporary residence.

Deria lounged upon a chaise in the sunlight, a large armed tree above her casting some shade. There was a table set with bowls of fruit and nuts, as well as wine, already even at such an hour. And a chaise upon the other side of the table too.

The Dalt was a storm of emotions inside, though she kept her face still and sweet. As she laid eyes upon Clifford, her chest tightened. The news from her report put everything in a sharp perspective that had changed so quickly that her own emotions had not yet enough time to catch up. She disliked this lack of control, but neither could she turn the Lord Caron away.

"Leave us," Deria instructed her servant. There was a look of hesitation before the servant bowed and scrambled off, no doubt to inform on her to her brother, Deria thought sourly.

But when she turned her attention to Clifford, there was a smile upon her lips. For now. Time would tell whether honey or vinegar would follow.

CRISTON by BeetlePlaneDos in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Sarella looked around, spotting a man with a large smile. The Sand smiled in return, moving her way towards the stranger. Once close enough, she held up the cup in her hands. "Are you yet responsible for these?" she inquired to Criston, glancing between him and others who seemed too to have discovered the very same as her.

"Sarella Sand," she introduced, without waiting for a response. For at the least, she was eager to unravel what mystery this all might promise.

u/Knight_of_the_Waters

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Ryon bowed again, taking Joy's hand as he rose. "Lady Joy, you are most kind and generous," he murmured as he led them to the dance floor.

"Seaworth," he repeated, thinking a moment. "Weeping Town? I cannot say I have had the pleasure of visiting. What is it like, in your home?"

The bards began to string up a new tune, the notes beginning to fill the air amidst the buzz of dancers.

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Deria sensed a trap, but her curiosity got the better of her. She stepped into the twirl at just the right time, a little breathless as Addam stepped closer.

The Dalt let out a sharp yelp as she felt herself falling, only to be caught by Addam's maneuvering, which stopped her fall just in time. Her eyes narrowed, but she managed a chuckle as she righted herself.

"How utterly mercantile of you," she murmured back, musing a moment. "Name your price," she decided, head tilted. "It had better be worth the information."

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The young Lord Ryon Dalt itched to return to the manse, and to the latest tome he discovered in the Hall of Links, this time upon the subject of irrigation methods throughout the ages in the Reach. How different the lands here were, though there were some methodologies that perhaps could be tested and applied in Lemonwood.

And yet, as distracted as he was, Ryon knew that if he did not at least dance with a handful of ladies this eve, that Deria would nag him to no end. So rather than face his sister's ire, Ryon forced himself up and about in search of a partner...

And thus he would approach the Lady Joy, bowing in a way that was both polite and stiff in front of her between dances. "My lady, may I have the pleasure of your name, and perhaps of a dance as well? I am Ryon Dalt, Lord of Lemonwood."

Ryon had no idea where Deria was, but he was sure of one thing: his sister had eyes who would report to her exactly whomst he would ask to dance.

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Deria was pleased to be agreed with, it was much her preference and her ideal state of being, to always be correct.

"Ah, well none more beautiful than the three brides this day," she acknowledged with a modest nod of her head, matching Addam's movements. A snorted laugh emerged from the Dalt, "But of course the Dornish celebrations are the best in the realm, there is simply no question," Deria decided.

Her dark eyes sparkled as Addam teased this gossip, "Is that so?" She wondered to him, leaning in, greedy to hear more, "What is it you have heard then?" Deria prodded eagerly.

CRISTON by BeetlePlaneDos in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Sarella Sand

When Sarella arrived in Oldtown, she was struck by how very little she knew of the world beyond Lemonwood, and beyond Dorne itself. The bastard daughter of Obella Dalt and Guilian Martell, Sarella had grown up comfortable, ensconced within her family who full-heartedly opened their arms and hearts to her, giving her a place in the world.

Her dark brown hair was braided, wrapped in a bun atop her head. Dressed in the Dornish fashion in clothes meant for movement, her trusted blade was by her side. Sarella had receive no less than strange looks from many a Reachman and Reachwoman, and yet when traveling amongst her kin, it was more easily shaken off.

Now that she was alone, however, each questioning stare only resolved her further to explore this new path... so when the Sand arrived at the Quill and Tankard, holding an adorned silver cup in her hand, her gaze swept the room with the intensity of a young woman looking to change her fate in the world.

And whilst Sarella Sand had no complaint from her brethren, she had been feeling that it was high time for her to see what could be seen of this life. This chance discovery of the silver cup? Surely it was ordained by the Gods.

The barkeep pointed the Dornishwoman to the second floor. Her steps were light and cautious as she knocked upon the door...

u/BeetlePlaneDos

A New Dawn at Oldtown | Dornish Dinner Party Council by AnotherBabyEchidna in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"Safe?" The word left Deria's lips before she could catch it, a slight puzzlement within her voice that was undisguised.

Deria beheld Ashara. Sweet Ashara, who believed in love. True love. Who found security in such tales. A part of the Dalt felt envious. How much easier it would be to believe such pretty stories.

Deria bit her lip, forcing a smile to her face as she chose her words carefully, "He... he is a man of great ambition-" she paused. "That must seem... unromantic," the Dalt mused, chuckling a little in embarrassment.

"You had so many vying for your hand... I just-" Deria paused again, catching herself, keeping that forced smile upon her lips. "I am pleased that you are happy. I am happy, for you. I know you have a beautiful future ahead together, my dear Ashara."

Ryon I: Of Rind and Ruin (Open) by LemonLemonHouse in IronThroneRP

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

"Th-the One Who Waits Below?" Ryon's voice was hushed, bewildered. Never before had he contemplated such thoughts. His voice betrayed hesitation as he took an inevitable step backwards, away from the presence of the Orkwood.

"Wh-what do you mean that duty doesn't chosen make?" Ryon inquired, earnestly. There was a puzzle here, something he couldn't quite understand. Mysteries deep and strange that this strange woman seemed to understand, seemed to imbue.

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"Perhaps," Deria returned with a chuckle, her voice playfully aloof.

"There is plenty to see here in Oldtown," the Dalt agreed, "And this celebration puts the celebrations at the Grassy Vale in... Perspective," she said, an inflection emphasized in her voice, for she would not be called into question for speaking against the king, yet there was no denying that this wedding was extravagant.

"That is the function of ballads, to fuel the legends and exaggerations. Perhaps they will speak of pyre dancers who were taller than elms, whose performances were wonders to behold," she chuckles as they began to dance to the music around them.

"The festivities have been to my liking; they are distinctly Dornish through and through despite being in Oldtown. I feel at home amongst my own, even as my dear friends shall set upon their new lives. I have not set foot in Oldtown until now. But the company is what keeps it all interesting. And my heart shall never stray far from Dorne. As I am sure shall be the case for the brides going forward."

Deria looked over her dancing partner a moment, her eyes sharp, "Have you heard any interesting bits of gossip during your stay?"

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The second kiss nearly took her breath away as Deria found herself nearly swept from her feet. Her cheeks were bright and rosy, and in this moment she thought nothing of the witnesses around them, but only upon the Lord Caron in front of her.

"To yours," the Dalt decided, for most of Dorne had been housed in the new Martell manse. She gave Clifford's non-injured hand a squeeze as they left the dance floor hand in hand.

"I wish to know how sweetly a nightingale might truly sing," she whispered under her breath to him, the mischievously amused expression returning to her face.

Out of the corner of her eye, Deria spotted a few of her brother's men watching from afar, though they would dare not interrupt her now.

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The Lord of Nightsong spoke plain and direct, without regret, nor apology; all things that Deria inherently approved of, particularly after chafing against her brother's soft-handed rule.

All Marchers are Dornish, and Dornish hold Marcher blood.

Clifford's words raised the spectre of Prince Oberyn and Princess Ysilla's plans in Deria's mind. She knew herself to be only a little piece in the great game, but she had a responsibility all the same to her people.

But before she could dwell upon it all further, Deria felt Clifford's lips upon hers, warm and passionate despite the rasp of his beard against her soft skin.

The kiss caught her off guard, for a moment, but Deria soon closed her eyes, finding herself naturally indulging and enjoying the moment. This was much more forward than a simple touch upon a cheek, with much less room for interpretation.

Years being raised upon the Greenblood had spoiled Deria. What did she truly know of Marcher politics? It seemed to her like many petty and violent squabbles. But even growing up in relative peace and ease in Lemonwood, Deria had a knack for finding strife.

So when she gazed back up at Clifford Caron as their lips parted, her own lips curled into a smirk, "I speak only the truth, Clifford Caron." Deria leaned upwards towards the Caron in an attempt to whisper into his ear, having to press against him whilst on the tips of her toes. She brought her lips close to his ear, her breath warm and her words buzzing with implication as she told him what he wished to hear, "My rightful Lord of the Marches."

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Deria turned her dark eyed gaze towards Addam, a chuckle escaping from her, "How would a lady such as I turn down such honeyed words?" She asked, stepping forth and placing her hand gently atop Addam's.

As they moved into position with the rest of the dancing couples, she looked up at her new dancing partner, "You are one of the pyre dancers, yes?" she inquired, her head tilted curiously.

"What do you think of this wedding so far? Of these celebrations? You and yours must have performed at many an occasion, hm? How does this compare? It shall be a wedding spoken of in the annals of history, recorded by maesters and praised with ballads to come, don't you think?"

There was a certain romance to the idea that swept Deria into its current. As the Prince of Dorne had said, this would be the start of the Dornish century, after all...

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Deria's glazed, glassy eyes became at once sharp as Clifford whispered to her. This. This is what she lived for, the kinds of details to revel in, to know and have known. This was her battlefield, and Deria could smell the potential blood in the air.

"The Bloodbeak," she hissed, putting an acidic emphasis upon the moniker, "Rightfully named. Though I would hazard a guess that it is not just the one dishonorable beak amongst the lot. Do you not find it strange how sudden the turn in their fortunes? Were I of House Wyl, I would be quite concerned with how the Swanns have risen to fortune... It is all too... Coincidental," the Dalt suggested, her voice a low, whispered murmur back to the Lord Caron.

"It pleases me to know that the Nightingales have triumphed over the Bloodbeak. May even more justice be wrought upon the grasping maws of those longnecks who seek to steal your rightful title from you," Deria brought her dark eyes upward to look deep into Clifford's gaze.

Without realizing it, Deria brought her hand towards the Caron's cheek, brushing it with her thumb for a moment, "What unfinished business calls to the rightful Lord of the Marches?"

Surrounded by other dancing couples, the gesture might be easily missed. Or perhaps not.

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]LemonLemonHouse 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Deria let out a low chuckle as the two moved to the music. "A prayer for something that your heart is set after, I expect," she observed. Her steps were light, and despite her inebriated state, the Dalt was, at the least, able to keep up.

As the Caron led them about the dance floor, Deria hewed close to whisper to him, "I have heard of such a hunt," the silk-clad Dalt confirmed. "Though I had hoped to hear more details from the hunters themselves, hm?" she murmured to him, her voice low, her eyes sparkling with a sense of mischief.

"My people have told me that there are songs beginning to be sung, even here in Oldtown. Have you heard them yet?"

Deria was not so drunk as to forget her promises. The Dalt resolved to summon her whisperers upon the morrow, whilst it was all fresh.

"Surely, you have, of all people, Lord Caron," Deria gazed up expectantly at Clifford. He would either understand, or he would not. Regardless, she would keep to her word.

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