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To Tag: Alysanne Blackwood. - Blog Posts
a plotted starter for @foulrests
trouble had never been shy about finding her, about weaving its way into her life through one avenue or another. more often than not, the trouble came from her own doing – a consequence of her own actions, consequence of the brash, reckless behavior that she was known for. perhaps a better mannered lady would not have taken his words as an invitation, would not have considered them part slight – part question, a subtlety of whether she would take the bait. alysanne had never known when to back down from a challenge, even one that . . . was not so readily spoken, one that had come from so high up the ranks of royalty. but royal blood mattered little to her; royalty mattered for politics, for family names. neither of which alysanne would ever find herself bringing to the table.
it had begun simply enough. an unanswered letter, an indignation to check in on the blackwoods of raventree hall by the dragonlord of harrenhal, a supsicious look held in a color of purple aly couldn't find the right name for. pretty would merely have to suffice. but when benji had grown tired of playing little lord, stifled and too hot – she'd not condemned him to staying, had keenly motioned for the maester to take him to the kitchens for a snack whilst she herself had taken daemon to tour the grounds. that was how they had found themselves here, alysanne with her back braced against a sturdy wooden fence, watching with keen archer's eyes as he'd made commentary about this and that. willing to allow him to continue blowing smoke from his lips until she'd heard what'd sounded like reason enough to prove him wrong. to prove otherwise. an offhanded comment about how she must only know how to handle a bow and arrow.
black curls billow down into her face in the half second it takes her to cross the distance between them and sweep his legs out from underneath him, sending him flat to his back – with aly quick to press him further to the ground, knees settled to either side of him in the dirt, a dagger pulled from within her boots to press to his neck. “ i can manage a blade well enough too. ”
@50yds said: you were right there ! don't tell me you did nothing !
the guilt rattles in her chest. a trembling hand curled around her bow, an attempt at steadying herself as she steels herself to meet her nephew's gaze. she'd told herself she would not cry in front of him, that she would be the adult presence he'd needed – the unwavering rock he'd undoubtedly need in the wake of hearing of his father's death. but she'd not been prepared to hear him accost her so. deservedly, alysanne decides – her arrow too late to save her brother's life, his child now left to her; and who was she, but barely old enough to be considered a woman herself?
the shaky exhale that precedes the heavy footfalls of her boots across the floor is one she hopes he does not hear, her hand pressing out onto his shoulder. “ i did all that i could do, benji. ” lips made into a thin line, a chant in her head over and over again that she would not cry. “ an eye for an eye, lord bracken no longer breathes. i – should have been quicker. ” it was not often that aly admitted to her own faults, that she took measure to state her own faults, but now was as good a time as any. for the only person who would ever deserve to hear them.
“ i'm sorry. ” a sniffle, before she brushes the back of her hand against her cheeks, and muscles benjicot into her arms for a hug, whether he is willing or not. “ if it is your wish, i will slaughter every last bracken until my fingers bleed. ”
it is with the keen eye of an archer that alysanne considers him, the subtle arch of her brow, depths upon depths hidden within the warm brown of her eyes. but it is the girl who grew up surrounded by brothers that threatens to tease him, the curling corners of her mouth as she shifts her chin, sending spirals of black curls over her shoulder.
“ mostly good things. ” a pretty white lie from sharp white teeth, none had ever so much as whispered anything that wasn't complimentary of him in any circle around her, before aly finds herself shaking off the rust and disuse of her own courtesies, offering lord stark as ladylike a curtsy as one could manage in a pair of leather breeches. “ this far south, they'll blow hot air at anything, won't they? ” flexing her fingers, the itch of war still lingers in her hands – but there's a comfort to be found now, she supposes, if not in the quiet of it all, then in the man that stands before her; steady as they come, none had ever thought to question cregan stark, and when her little nephew – gods, could she even call benji that, now? – had politely suggested a marriage to him . . .
a laugh tumbles forth from her lips, before aly offers him her gloved hand, palm up. “ the arrangements? or you? ”
@petitmortes ❅ ❝ It's good, to finally put a face to the name I heard spoken so often. ❞ / alysanne & cregan
𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 , 𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑬𝒀𝑬𝑺 𝑼𝑷𝑶𝑵 𝑪𝑼𝑹𝑳𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑯𝑨𝑰𝑹. towering down her back like a storm. it's hardly the gentleman of him to admit how fervently he had agreed to the arrangement of marriage between them. especially not after such a brilliant first impression , looks even aside.
a gentle smile makes its way onto foreign lips. ❝ good things , i hope. ❞ some even and open way into the greeting. cregan bows his head in respect. the tight formalities of the capitol evade him. he does not make any effort , large or small , to catch up to them. his existence on this plane is nothing short of EPHEMERAL , he must tell himself. ❝ i have heard your praise , my lady. even here in the south. ❞ a reach at some northern sort of connection. a desire for someone to feel so misfit as he should feel in the capitol of his plane.
❝ i hope the arrangements are to your liking. ❞ a stifling swallow of bile. he's never grown used to these sort of things. still so far drained in his youth and yet stiff in all that the north has laid upon his skin. he feels some statue in the capitol : the sun warms its subjects too freely here.