️ ‍ ‍‍ ‍ ‍ 𓉸 ‍ ‍ 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑠 ‍ 𝐓͟𝐀͟𝐑͟𝐆͟𝐀͟𝐑͟𝐘͟𝐄͟𝐍͟ ‍…

𐬺 𐬺 𐬺𐬺

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝘽𝙮𝙧𝙖𝙣 𝙍𝙚𝙙𝙬𝙮𝙣𝙚

oc / multiship / dead dove accepted

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ #asoiafrp | #akotskrp | #hotdrp |

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⸻

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝕯𝔞𝔢𝔫𝙮𝖘

oc / multiship / dead dove accepted

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ #asoiafrp | #akotskrp | #hotdrp |

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in some confusion upon distinct features.

“ you wish to humiliate me and hurt me, do you not ? ” fingers encroaching upon the edge of the blade. he does not move if away, merely settles pads against the edge, a sudden movement likely to cut.

he spoke softly, not accusing, though however dressed up his words were, the accusation of madness remained.

“ i am your blood, you forget it, i o͟u͟t͟r͟a͟n͟k͟ you. you cannot point a blade at me and muse me your little victim. ” matarys murmured, brows creased

step backwards he knew valarr would have said suggested yielding. the young prince ignored the first barbs escaping the cousin’s thin lips. the glint of the blade against his chest, however, proved impossible to.

“ have you forgotten your senses, cousin ? ”

apologise to the poor sod who thought it a good thought to train with the brightflame. the words that followed, in all aerion’s apparent madness and cruelty, were mystifying. a wavering glance towards the blade pointed at his chest, matarys shifted, a small

appeared few who were worthy of holding a sword. the poor fossoway squire, for instance. alas, there were plenty to satiate aerion’s probable desire for victory. if necessary, he would remain to watch his cousin. present a polite comment after his victory,

a quick observation to other knights and squires within the grounds for training, matarys at once decided he was quite safe from aerion’s clutches of a game. there were plenty he could ‘ train ’ with here. even the younger prince had to concede, there

“ i might try it. you forget i am no babe. you would do well to speak to me proper. ”

up the first eyes settle upon. whether it was aerion’s or not, he cared little.

“ you are in luck valarr is not here. he would knock you to your boned arse. ” he muttered, careless connection of elbow to aerion’s as he held out the sword.

an involuntary flinch with aerion’s hand upon his collar, matarys shoved himself free, a grunt and gentle shrug of his shoulders as if to shake away aerion’s venom. swearing under his breath, the younger prince turned towards swords lined up, blindly picking

felt his glare soften. not through choice, but a distraction of wonders of other means of insubordination. if his cousin was to demonstrate utter contempt for his simple existence, and yet demand his servitude, matarys would not allow it to be an easy feat.

matarys held as steely a glare he could miser in turn to his mad cousin’s draconic gaze. his own eyes wide, as blue as his mother’s, the most minuscule flecks of lilac within the very centre, hidden to most. with his own jaw subconsciously clenched, he

sickeningly familiar voice, the younger prince lifted his head. half expecting valarr, he gave a small hum upon seeing the mad cousin.

“ oh, fetch it yourself, cousin. i am not in the mood for trickery. where is your squire, hm ? ”

perfectionist. matarys was in good mind his brother would end up tending to half the responsibilities of a squire, simply because he did not trust his brother to do it properly. that was likely where he had disappeared off to now. uncaring, until hearing a

than an honour — a punishment, even, though not a soul would suggest so. it simply felt like it. to spend an irritating amount of time fawning over his elder. there were plenty more fools who would appreciate the chance more than he. valarr seemed a

only the gods could know where valarr had disappeared off to. matarys had cared for the first half an hour, though as time flickered on, he found himself entirely uncaring. it had not been his decision to squire for his brother. it felt more of a lesson

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bsky.app/profile/such...

̲ ⠀ . . . ⠀ ♘ h͟e͟a͟d͟c͟a͟n͟o͟n͟s͟ …

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𝓐  daffodil  in  spring,  freckles  dusted  across  cheeks  and  nose  with  tousled  curls  as  though  clipped  from  his  mother’s  ends.  tall  as  brother  and  father,  yet  visibly  smaller  in  self  belief.  wobbling,  not  entirely  certain  of  himself.
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ser  𝙼anfred  had  spoken truthfully of  𝙱aelor   𝚃argaryen’s youngest boy.

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the  lords,  observing  something  had  been  said,  fall  silent.  freckles  are  shrouded  in  a  redness,  with  an  exasperated  glance  towards  the  elder  of  baelor’s  sons  offered.  it  is  this  action  that  brings  about  another  hum  from  the  lords.
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“ your  freckles  are  quite  ridiculous.  it  appears  the  G͟O͟D͟S͟  sneezed  whilst  they  painted  you. ”  she  giggled,  a  quick  turn  away  to  fall  into  line  once  more  as  introductions  continue.

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