shelbs
oswin

It is currently WINTER in WESTEROS during the year 303 AC. The new moon cycle marks a full twenty years since the Mad King was murdered, and his son King Rhaegar ascended the Iron Throne in his place. Though the year is fresh, war in the Narrow Sea has been declared on the Stepstones, and the Long Night continues to beckon from the Northern fringes of the Seven Kingdoms. With the Queen Lyanna presumed dead, the citizens of the realms look only to each other for survival.
[x] A new announcement is up, so be sure to read it and age up those characters! Happy new year!
[x] OTMs are now up! Congratulations to all our winners, Lu you have been wonderful and we of course can't forget Doran Prince of Sass Martell. Love you all and Happy New Year from the Staff xx
[x] The Soliloquy of Tyrosh has at last come to its fiery end! Mortal losses have been suffered and life-changing injuries endured, but Westeros prevails! All threads have been moved to The Free Cities forum for completion <3
[x] A new plot update will be following shortly! Get out your winter coats and start chopping some firewood, WINTER IS HERE.
[x] ATEAO is nearing its THIRD Anniversary! You cannot imagine what gift we have in store for you guys <3
[x] Got an idea for a subplot? Want the staff to advertise it in the Site's Most Wanted? LET US KNOW!
 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 another life another way, ray
JON CONNINGTON
 Posted: Dec 18 2017, 09:40 PM
Quote
lu is Offline
40 years old
STORMLANDS
Baratheon
Connington
Griffin's Roost
Hand of the King



It was a happy day. The war was over, the kingdoms reunited, and Jon ruled at Rhaegars side. The management of Westeros had its challenges, but today was one of celebration, and the two childhood friends were allowing themselves some rest at the tournament. Jon didn't bother to compete when Arthur and Rhaegar were in the lists. He had tried himself against the pair of them more than enough times over the years, and he had no desire to get flattened by one of them in front of an audience, or to nurse an aching body for days afterwards. He was a knight, a capable commander, and back in the Stormlands only Robert Baratheon could regularly best him in the lists, and he felt no need to prove himself against people who didn't hold a candle to his lifelong companions. Besides, Rhaegar's young squire had desired so sorely to compete, so Jon had easily volunteered to take his place in armoring and attending to Rhaegar during the tournament.

Jon didn't think overmuch about his other reasons. He was rarely in company with Rhaegar in a state of undress anymore. As boys they had jumped into the Narrow Sea and trained and bathed in the practice court's baths often enough. They had less time for such things now, and Jon would take his quiet moments alone with Rhaegar where he could get them. They were a balm; one which he sorely wished he didn't need, but a balm nonetheless.

He was plainly dressed in dark green which cooled the red of his hair well enough and made his eyes look a bit brighter. That's what Elia had told him when they first started talking on good terms. She was always full of advice on how to calm his coloring. All red, she had accused when he lost his temper around her, which was true enough. He'd always been too pale to hide a flush. He was neat in appearance, and a glance in a mirror had even sparked the thought handsome in his mind for a moment, but not elaborate or courtly. If Rhaegar had needed real help in the lists, there was no need to destroy something costly.

Rhaegar prevailed of course, as he usually did in such trials, and he was laughing and smiling as they walked back to his tent. Jon was smiling to- he always did when he saw Rhaegar happy, and his mind couldn't help but remember the last tournament they had gathered at. Harrenhall had begun so many fated paths in their life that the event was never long from Jon's mind. He mulled on the events of that day, turning them over bit by bit in his mind as first he took Rhaegar's helm, and then his gauntlets. As he worked the straps holding Rhaegar's pauldron's in place, Jon let his thoughts take shape.

"It is good to see you so happy of late Rhaegar. Love suits you well enough that I could almost be jealous," he disclosed with a quiet laugh. Jon was notoriously opposed to being married, and his female friends were limited to Lyanna and Elia before her. His friends had asked him why and he always pointed to his duties as Hand. What room for a wife in his life with such responsibilities? The truth was not so easy.
PM
^
RHAEGAR TARGARYEN
 Posted: Dec 24 2017, 12:34 AM
Quote
Shelbs is Offline
43 years old
CROWNLANDS [A]
THE IRON THRONE
house targaryen
KING'S LANDING
KING


Gods, it felt good to be King. Times such as these, where the blood ran hot in his veins, where his heart hammered with a dragon’s strength, fueling the fibers of his muscles, the thrust of his arm, the impact of his lance, these were the times he could feel truly alive. Summer was as hot as the temperature burning beneath his flesh, and the love of his people still echoed through his ears even as he rode from the lists their victor. The High Septon had crowned him King, yes, but it was the lords and ladies, knights and dames, common men and their wives who had crowned him champion. The sun glowed upon his head, colors of silver and gold rivaling all that House Lannister could boast once he removed his helm, smiling upon the cheer that roared from the stands. When he named his swollen, pregnant wife his Queen of Love and Beauty, the applause that followed chased him all the way to his tent, where he at last relinquished his horse and bid his squire all the luck he deserved in his upcoming match. Sending the boy off with a hearty clap on the back of his shoulders, he was happy to fall into the attendance of his friend and Hand, instead.

“Jon,” he smiled, draping an arm about the man’s shoulders as they strode the remaining distance to the King’s tent. “When will I have the honor of seeing you upon the lists?” It was already a rare feat for Rhaegar to enter them, but to see both King and Hand in the same tournament? He was certain many a men would pay good money to see such a match. Dipping his head, they passed through the canvas flaps of his tent, the great royal fixture large enough to accommodate him for weeks, if he so pleased. Though his Kingsguard were quick to take formation just outside, the interior remained empty, its solitude pierced by the arrival of the two comrades. Though he was quick to pour himself a cup of a thick, frothy ale, its bitterness strong enough to dismantle any victor, he took only a few chance sips, too relieved at the feel of his first gauntlet’s removal that he even began assisting Jon in removing the many pieces of his black plate.

Arms and wrists, shoulders and chests, the King inhaled a deep sigh as the armor was slowly loosened and peeled from his muscled form. Reaching up, he pulled at the leather ties of his collar, stripping himself of his padded doublet and the sweat-lined linen shirt beneath. The veins in his forearms bulged to the surface of his skin, invigorated by the day’s events, the heat of the sun and the ferocity of his blood, and they seemed to almost twinge with every movement he made. Glancing at his reflection in the trifold of mirrors before him, he quickly made a gesture with his hand, motioning to the carafe of water nearby. “Wet some linen,” he spoke, looking down to his chest where he could spy particles of dirt and dust adhered to him by his own sweat. Loosening his armored skirt and legplates, sighing as the pieces fell off of him and to the floor, the King could do little else but chuckle at his Hand’s comment. “Almost?” He tugged loose the ties of his padded trousers, the waist falling slack until they were easily tugged past his knees and to his ankles. Standing only in a pair of simple linen shorts, Rhaegar reached for a soaked linen cloth, squeezing out its excess. “Then perhaps I might almost choose a lady for you.” He began wiping down his own forearm, all the way down to his wrist and palm, having to suppress a shudder once Jon pressed his own cooled linen cloth against him. “Lady Connington. A nice sound, no?”
PMEmail
^
JON CONNINGTON
 Posted: Dec 28 2017, 12:24 AM
Quote
lu is Offline
40 years old
STORMLANDS
Baratheon
Connington
Griffin's Roost
Hand of the King



A soft, familiar thrill ran from the weight of Rhaegar's arm across Jon's shoulder down to his toes where it lingered, warm and prickling even after Rhaegar let him go. A wry smile crossed Jon's face and he shrugged at his King's question.

"When you and Arthur both stay out of them I expect. No need to try myself when I know how it will end," Jon answered easily. No whisper of wounded pride hung in his words as it might have done just a few years past. Years of serving on the council of a mad king and orchestrating a rebellion that easily could have seen him killed for a traitor had sobered Jon and his temper considerably. It still prickled irritably and lit like a bonfire at more provocations than most, but knowing himself and his friends no longer excited embarrassment any longer. He knew now why he had always been so keen to wrestle Rhaegar to the ground, or best Arthur in his prince's view. It didn't seem so necessary anymore.

The two of them made quick work of Rhaegar's armor, and Jon did his best to keep his gaze from lingering on the thick twists of muscle edged in vein that girded Rhaegar from every angle. His forearms, his shoulders, the groove of his spine. All of it thrummed to Jon's eyes with a certain quality of vitality, of strength that he never saw in most people. Perhaps it was just the intimacy of his friendship with Rhaegar, but Jon believed in a way he wouldn't examine willingly that this was something unique, or at least some aspect of it was. Perhaps the grace Rhaegar brought to bearing arms, or the mastery, or the razor's edge of his intellect in the heat of combat. Basking in it like this was to be in the presence of a power Jon could never pretend he didn't admire.

Jon stepped away and let Rhaegar shed the last of his plate to obey orders. This was the part that sent a shiver up Jon's spine, the part where his hands ran over Rhaegar's sweat tracked body to wipe away dust and fatigue, the part where only a cloth served as a pretense to conceal what he desired. Jon wished fervently, not for the first time, that he had more mastery over himself. By the time he turned he was flushed, and he could feel it rising up his neck and onto his cheeks. He would blame the summer heat trapped in the tent if Rhaegar mentioned it.

He was grateful beyond words that he was standing behind Rhaegar and working the cloth over his King's back when he suggested finding a wife for Jon. His immediate reaction was one of disgust, and his hand stuttered unevenly over the rounded crests of Rhaegar's shoulder. He managed to keep his voice light when he answered, though it took some effort.

"A terrible sound. What would I do with a wife with a country to run for you, and squires to fill in for," he asked, trying to make it into a jest. Jon wouldn't know what to do if Rhaegar really did find a wife for him. "Besides, I cannot marry who I love," Jon added idly. Immediately he blanched, and left off wiping Rhaegar down to rinse and wring out the cloth he was using. Gods be good, let Rhaegar miss that sentence's meaning. What had Jon been thinking? He savaged himself internally; he hadn't been thinking, he had been mooning like a lovesick maiden over the chance to touch Rhaegar's bare skin, ignoble, immoral idiot that he was.
PM
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll


 


 

Latest Shouts In The Shoutbox -- View The Shoutbox · Rules Collapse  


ACTA Age of Heroes Fire And Fury Break the Wheel: a Season 7 GOT AU Stroke of Luck ♥
Candyland Couture RPG-D


☣ SKINNED BY WALKERBAIT ☣
TOGGLE CBOX BY KISMET
CFS SCRIPT BY BLACK
TEMPLATES BY NICOLE
BANNER BY KARA THRACE
HOVER BANNER & SUBBOARD CSS BY NIALL HORAN
SITE CUSTOMIZATION, CANONS AND GRAPHICS BY SHELBS & OSWIN OF ATEAO

CHATTER
*AGE UP YOUR CHARACTERS*