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Genevieve Hansdottir

"I'm not some weak little girl anymore"

0 · 695 views · located in Tibera

a character in “The Price of Blood”, as played by AthaNielsen

Description

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"I’ll always stand by your side."




The Basics




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Full Name: Genevieve Hansdottir
Nicknames: N/A
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Rank/Title: Queen of Ostwall
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Kingdom/Alliance: Ostwall




What's on the Outside




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Hair Color: Golden brown
Eye Color: Jade
Height: 5’4’’
Weight: 121 lbs
Tattoos: N/A
Piercings: N/A
Scars: N/A
Description: Anyone with eyes and a functioning brain can tell that Genevieve’s beauty is almost overpowering. Her slender figure and long brunette locks, paired with pale skin make her stand out, and up close her piercing cat-like eyes can make anyone bend to her will. She’s unaware of this though, to her she’s no different than anyone else (although this changes as she receives more and more praise from Ronan.) Her plump cheeks always lift and give her an even more innocent appearance whenever she smiles, as she spends more time with her lover she begins to learn to use these things to her advantage.




What's on the Inside




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Personality:
{Easily Manipulated, Naive, Hopeful, Enamored}
Genevieve was at one time, an innocent girl. It would still seem so to outsiders but those who know her well have noticed. Even thinking of killing would terrify her, but now she was thrilled to get the chance too. This all came as a result of getting involved with Ronan. She was always kind to the prince when she first arrived in her new home, ignoring subtle hints about his behavior from concerned servants. He was so kind, how could he possibly be the monster they alluded to? As she spent more time with him and their relationship changed to one of romance and passion, his hateful nature rubbed off on her, and this is now slowly becoming more apparent to Ulfric.
Hobbies:
  • Singing
  • Dancing
  • Reading
  • Strategizing

Habits:
  • Biting her nails
  • Shuffling and fiddling with clothes when nervous
  • Glinging to the nearest person when startled
Oddities:
  • Undiagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Likes/Loves:
  • Ronan
  • The idea of betrayal
  • Children
  • Art
  • Ronan’s sisters
  • Her brother
  • Revenge
  • Being praised

Dislikes/Hates:
  • Her father
  • Ulfric
  • The man who killed her brother
  • Being talked down to
  • Receiving orders
  • Shouting
  • Abuse




What's Done Is Done




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Biography
Place Of Origin: Falor
Birth Date: February 7th
History: Genevieve was born into a noble family, growing up comfortably and happy. Growing up, her best friend was her brother, Gavin, two years her senior. They were inseparable, but when she had reached the age of 8, her father, Hans, had more strongly discouraged her from being with her brother, going off the notion that she would try and act more masculine. Her mother had tried to change his mind, but whenever the conversation arose her mother would appear with bruises and remain silent for the next few days. As Genevieve grew even older she experienced the same abuse, causing tension to grow between her father and brother. Every day they would be stretched thinner to the point of breaking. Unfortunately, her father snapped first.
It was a usual day, Genevieve and Gavin were out in the garden, one of the few places they had been able to escape to. She had been nursing bruises and he was comforting her. As they heard footsteps approaching, the two lifted their heads to see a man shrouded in black robes, a hood covering his face. He looked casual enough as he walked up and Gavin stood to address him. But the second her brother moved the man sprang into action and unsheathed a dagger from his thigh, slicing the teenaged boys throat and shoving his limp body onto Genevieve as he gripped desperately to the last moments of his life. The girl screamed, hurrying into the castle with blood soaking her gown. She was cleaned up and got to hear her father’s boasting of finally getting rid of Gavin later that night. Her father had been the one to hire the assassin, he felt threatened by his son and had gotten rid of him before he had the chance to protect his sister and mother for good by killing his father.
A few years passed, and news had spread that the Queen of Ostwall had died and the King was searching for a new bride. So, before she knew it Genevieve was being shipped to Ostwall with no warning, only being told of Ulfric and Hans’ exchanging of letters moments before she left. She looked back on her home with tears in her eyes, she hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the friends she once had. Once she arrived in her new home, she was greeted to a man old enough to be her father. She was kind to him, but she never cared for him more than she needed to.
The one she really cared for was his son.
He was dangerous, or so she was told by the servants, but she was kind to him. It must have been hard having a mother in law who’s 4 years younger, so she would always make an effort to show him affection. The first time he had kissed her she was afraid, not because of Ronan but because they could be caught. He urged her to keep visiting, which became even easier when Ulfric had to visit other nations. Ronan soon began to expose his plans to overthrow his father, and after some coaxing, Genevieve agreed with ease.
Happiest Memory: Falling in love with Ronan
Saddest Memory: Being sent off to Ostwall




Face Claim: Natalie Dormer

So begins...

Genevieve Hansdottir's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson

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There was a time, years before, when the Western Palace had been used simply as a retreat for the royal family of Falor or, of course, to host the decennial celebrations. Those who had attended the festivities before would have fondly recalled the way both families, despite almost constant border skirmishes, seemed to unify into one. One family melded into the other, and for just a few days, it was impossible to differentiate them from each other. This year, of course, there was the problem of dealing with the addition of a new family, the one that now permanently resided in the Western Palace. Of course, it did not help that tensions between Seabel and Falor had not simmered down in the past two years. Today marked the first full day of the festivities.

There was a joust on the palace grounds now among the younger members of the royal families now, and Ronan trotted his horse into ready position. Beneath his armored legs, the flanks of his ebony stallion heaved as the horse tossed his head impatiently. The young prince also moved about restlessly on the saddle, shifting his lance in his hand before lowering his helmet once more. Across the field, his opponent gripped the reins of his horse once more. Ronan had never been a skillful jouster, his preference lying in horse racing rather than arena sports, but he had insisted upon competing. Internally, he was quite grateful that they had paired his up with a young knight at the palace. Ronan, of course, was no knight. In fact, the concept of knighthood had failed to reach Ostwall.

His breastplate glistened subtly as the depiction of a bear paw emblazoned across his chest caught the sun. In an instant, the two figures rushed at each other with their lances extended, shields raised. Hooves pounded against the ground. Ronan leaned forward in his saddle.

His opponent's lance caught the shoulder of his armor, unprotected due to his misplaced shield, and the force was enough to unsteady Ronan, who tumbled from the back of the stallion and into the dust. For a moment, he lay in the settling dust, but as it began to cover the holes in the helmet for his eyes and mouth, Ronan coughed and sat upward. His shoulder screamed in pain, and he almost cried out, too. Instead, he merely clambered to his feet and clutched his shoulder. A few servants ran to him in place of a squire, but he waved them away in a hurried manner, nearly striking one.

The helmet only managed to cover the redness of his face, a mixture of little embarrassment and much anger, until he removed it to take his seat in the stands once more. In between his hurried exit from the field and his entrance into the stand, he stopped only once to remove the remaining armor. The gazes of the others seemed to bore holes through him as he quickly sat down in his seat. Despite Ulfric's request to place Genevieve on his right and his children on his left, Ronan took Genevieve's right.

He looked toward his father, perhaps daring the man to state his disappointment. The elder man, however, was far more intrigued by the next round. Ronan's mouth tightened, and he looked forward. Ronan's hand, meanwhile, brushed very subtly against Genevieve's dress. "Damn horse screwed up the entire thing," he said. "That beast can't do a damn thing correctly." He finally looked toward her for a moment. As they made eye contact, his mouth loosened again. The redness faded from his countenance as he gazed upon hers.

It had grown unbearable, in just a day, to have to watch her from afar. Privacy was just about impossible to achieve with a schedule full of public dinners and public activities. Seeking to preserve the moment, he tried to grab for her hand to give it a quick, reassuring squeeze. He was quite unsure, however, who was being reassured.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf

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Celia found these tournaments quite... boring? Perhaps that was the correct term? That was most likely why she had a book on her lap and her eyes were fixed on it rather than the competitions. In fact, she ignored the scene completely until her brother's joust came up. She glanced up, watching as he was thrown off his horse and she sighed. She loved Ronan, she really did, but she had to question why he participated in competitions he knew he was going to lose. He sat down next to Genevieve, not that Celia was surprised. In her mind, she reprimanded him; he should be more careful. After all, rumors were a courtesans favorite tool and it was not the best idea to give them something to talk about. Even so, it was not her place to mention this to him, should it arise more suspicion. "Damn horse screwed up the entire thing. That beast can't do a damn thing correctly," Ronan complained and she looked at her elder brother.

"Blaming the horse may not be the best course of action, dear brother. Nobody enjoys the company of a sore loser, especially one that blames a beast trained by said loser."

At least, Celia assumed in her mind that's what others thought. She didn't blame her hawk when she failed to hit her target with an arrow. It was her own folly that had caused the misplaced arrow, not Careen's. However, she knew that her brother's pride prevented him from viewing the world in this way. Celia stood up, noting that it was nearly time for her own competition, making her the first woman to participate in the archery tournament. First, she had to get out of this blasted dress; she never understood how other women could wear layers of cloth so easily. "Shall we go, Annabelle?" she addressed her Lady-In-Waiting, who sat directly behind her. She then turned to her younger sister. "Wanna come with me to get ready, Cori?"

She spoke so quietly that only people that knew her could hear her soft tone. To everyone else, she looked like nothing more than a young woman moving her lips without a sound escaping them. Celia bent down so she was level with her father. "I'm going now, Papa."

Without waiting for his answer, Celia navigated through the crowds and disappeared out of the arena. She breathed in the less foul air and walked towards the castle to change before the her own event began.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister

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Alistair watched as Prince Ronan Ulfricson was knocked to the dirt. A dark smirk touched his lips as he watched anger grip the prince and rage threaten. Ronan clambered to his feet and stamped off to change out of his armor and rejoin his father, mother in law and sisters. Ulfrics son was ruled by his mood, a fact Alistair would remember. Alistair had heard that the prince of Ostwall was someone of special skill and distinction, someone to watch. Watching him unhorsed in the first bout of the day was amusing to say the least. The King of Ostwall barely seemed to register his sons failure in front of the whole realm. Odd to Alistair who could only think of how his own father would have reacted. Anger, disappointment and disgust would have hung heavy on Tywin Lannisters face if the roles were reversed. Unfortunately Alistair would not be riding in the days lists, not that he hadn't wanted to. In fact he had been half way into his armor when his wife had found him. She said he should be with the other royals, as he was hosting the celebration it was his place. They had argued and she had won, like she did in so many things. The whole affair left a bitter taste in his mouth, a taste that needed washing out. Alistair reached with his free hand to grab his wine goblet and sipped the rich Arbor Red, savoring the fine vintage. His other hand was imprisoned in his wifes grasp. She had always insisted on these public displays of affection, no doubt to show the world a unified regency. Her very touch caused a storm to brew within the King.

A part of him hungered for it, yearned for her closeness. He needed her, he wanted her like a drowning man needed a breath of air. Another part, a darker part, hated it. He couldn't trust it anymore, he'd swam to the surface and found the air tainted and foul. His eyes flicked over to look upon the face of his wife. Her eyes blue turning to green like pools of cool island water that he could dive right into and stay there forever. Her long blonde hair kissed by the sun more radiant than all the gold in Casterly Rock. He watched as the breeze caressed her locks giving him a fleeting glimpse of some of the few light brown strands that seemed to hide in her sea of golden hair. She was still more beautiful than any other woman he'd ever set eyes on. Yet the person she was, the person who held all that beauty scorned him, sullied him as that damned crown sullied him. So often he'd heard them whisper, how he wasn't fit to rule, how he sullied the crown and the cloak given to him on his coronation. That's where they were all wrong. He didn't sully the crown and the cloak, the crown and the cloak sullied him. They called him king, or Your Grace or any of the other countless tedious titles attributed to him now but he knew what they all thought. He knew what they all really called him. Of all the things they titled him behind his back it was Oath Breaker he hated the most yet in a way it was also his favorite, it had a nice ring to it. They wanted a ruler, they could look to his wife, let her bother with it for he washed his hands of the whole damned lot of them.

"Well... That was anti climactic."

Came his brothers voice at his right. Alistair smirked as Tyrion leaned back in his seat, his short, stunted legs dangling off the edge of the seat as he drank deeply of his wine. Alistair took the opportunity to slip his hand away from his wife, pretending merely to lean closer to his brother but in truth he was grateful to merely free himself of her touch and the feelings it brought.

"To say the least, good thing I didn't place a bet on him."

Alistair joked. Tyrion chuckled in his cup before setting it down.

"Speak for yourself, brother."

Alistair gave his little brother a knowing look.

"You didn't."

"I did and I regret it."

Tyrion replied before the victor who unseated Prince Ronan rode out around the tourney field to chivalrously tip his lance toward his king and queen. It was only then that he removed his helm to reveal who had bested the son of King Ulfric Bjornson with a single blow.






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Loras removed his helm of shining steel, polished like a mirror. He set it at his side, his eyes on the beauty that was the queen of Seabel. Long, golden hair, porcelain skin and eyes both green and blue. Her most attractive feature was that she was his. Alistair Lannister, the King of Seabel and Lion of Casterly Rock. Loras sat there atop his white Destrier and watched as Alistair spoke with that freakish little imp of a brother. Beside the brothers was the father, Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. The whole pride of lions were in attendance to watch Loras unseat a prince. The whole thing made Loras smile but the smile was cleverly disguised as one of flirtation and admiration as he let his eyes hold the queen and her gaze for he knew what it did to her. His gaze flicked to his own father who sat beside the king of Falor, a respectful nod before a final glance at her majesty before he rode off down the field.

So much excitement in the world all culminating on this celebration. Every noble of worth and regent from all three kingdoms were in attendance, so many opportunists for a clever man to exploit. Loras Edwards was a clever man, a clever man who in time would cast a very large shadow. First came his hunt, once the lion pelt was he would rise and take what was rightfully his. Loras rounded the corner and damned near rode straight into a mountain. A man easily eight foot and then some tall, covered head to toe in thick black castle forged steel armor. Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain That Rides was seated atop a war horse that dwarfed most others, black as night. Loras was careful to steer his white pony clear around the dangerous eldest Clegane brother. Gods help whoever he rides against.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf

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There was a weight in her stomach. It was nothing to be worried about, she had been assured, but that didn't help much when Ronan got hit right in front of her. Genevieve had thankfully been able to repress her reaction to just a small gasp as she jumped in her seat. It couldn't have been much damage though, she thought. She glanced over to her... husband. She hated the thought, but for now she could do nothing about it. Ulfric hardly seemed fazed by what had happened though, so she did her best to calm herself.

Her eyes followed him the whole time he walked up, her eyes lighting up as he chose to sit beside her despite what he had been told. The girl grinned and her cheeks lifted, her nose scrunching up as she forced herself to not hold tightly to him. She nodded in agreement to his complaints as he sat beside her, frowning with concern as she reached to touch his shoulder, leaving her hand hovering hesitantly above it while Ronan’s gaze challenged his father. “Are you alright?” She murmured gently, letting out a small laugh at Celia’s remark and turning to wish her well as she left with all of the group but Ulfric and Ronan.

This was torturous. Why couldn’t the old man just find something more important to do? Or she could find something that could conveniently distract herself and Ronan from the festivities. Perhaps examining his wounds would be a proper excuse? Genevieve rose an eyebrow, touching his shoulder gently as he gripped her hand. “You should go make sure you aren’t hurt, Ronan.” She said, making it sound like more of an order than a suggestion.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir

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To a man who had spent his entire life fighting, merely watching others pretend to fight would seem, at the least, mundane. But really, Ulfric believed they were nothing more than a mockery of real battle. Obviously, that was what they were intended for, but while the others watched in excitement, Ulfric spent his time sampling the various beverages that were being passed about. His overall lack of interest, therefore, resulted in his lack of interest when Ronan returned. He had certainly seen the young man fall from his warhorse, but had he cared? Certainly not.

He bit back a remark he nearly made in response to Ronan's comment about his horse. It wasn't worth it, though. Tensions were already running to high. Ulfric simply downed the ale in his goblet. Perhaps it appeared that he was absorbed in the match. Instead, he was absorbed in his thoughts. He heard Celia speak then, however, and smirked to himself as he heard her response. If only she had been a male. She would have been a worthy heir, one to finally modernize Ostwall.

"Of course, of course," he replied, nodding as she leaned in front of him. There was more he could have said. He could have wished her luck. Told her he loved her. He didn't though, for he was a man of very few words. His other daughter flung herself into his arms, and he pressed a kiss into her temple. Sweet Corianna, also a woman trapped in a man's world. "You look out for your sister," he called, unsure whether either heard and also unsure which was looking out for the other.

He kept himself out of the exchange between the Lannisters and Christoph Edwards. He didn't even know what he would say if asked to join. Instead, he finally looked toward his wife and his son. She had certainly grown to love him, and he was glad to see that. The boy had been torn apart with Freya's death. Even his daughters seemed to accept the young woman as a mother.

Ulfric was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden gasp to his side as blood began to spray in the field. It had happened so quickly that the king hadn't even had the chance to react or cover his wife's eyes as he ought to do. Instead, Ronan suddenly stood and pulled Genevieve up beside him. "That certainly isn't a sight for one so fair as yourself," the prince said to her as they walked past. Ulfric paid them no mind. Instead, Alistair began to speak to him, and he turned his attention to the younger king. "Oh, yes. She's always had quite a love for it. Don't know where she gets it from, of course. I've never been good with the bow." A passing servant filled his goblet, and he sipped from it thoughtfully before adding his own remark"I'm surprised to see you here rather than out on the field. Has the crown mellowed you?"




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Almost as soon as they had disappeared out of sight, Ronan drew his arms about her and planted a heated kiss on her lips. His hands, rather than holding her hand, now cupped her face as he pushed her lightly into the wall behind her. His shoulder throbbed horribly, but he continued to kiss her until they both felt obligated to pull away for breath. "I want nothing more than to take you back to my chambers," he breathed, drinking in her scent as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"It's absolutely maddening to have to sit beside you without being able to profess my love to you." Again, he kissed her passionately. "We'll have time together at the masquerade though. Father dislikes dancing." His arms wrapped around her waist for a moment, holding her close to his body.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson

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Genevieve gasped, barely even catching a glimpse of the gory scene before she was tugged off. She played it up even more, covering her eyes and looking as if she would faint as Ronan lead her away. The girl watched as her husband didn't bother to comment on his sons actions, sighing with relief to herself. She knew that he was completely oblivious to their relationship, but she still worried often. She was torn from her thoughts quickly as she felt the familiar warmth of Ronan's lips and his rough hands on her cheeks. The queen smiled into his lips, wrapping her slender arms tightly around his strong neck and giving a quiet breathy moan. His words made her flush scarlet as she squirmed between him and the wall, she wanted to mention that they really should go make sure his shoulder wasn't injured too badly but knew he would brush it off anyway.

Genevieve listened bashfully to his words of love, happily returning his kisses as they came. "Believe me, I suffer as much as you do. I wish for nothing more than to just show my feelings for you without fear of being caught..." She rested her head on his shoulder as he held her. "Ronan, please we should make sure your shoulder isn't badly wounded." She frowned and pulled her head back, gently touching his shoulder. "At least let me see how bad it is.." She pouted her lips and lifted her eyebrows pitifully, knowing that she could easily get her way by toying with him, even though he was fully aware she was doing it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson

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As she rested her head against his shoulder, he gently kissed at her exposed neck. Oh, he could have stayed there for ages with her. Someone, however, was bound to come across them eventually. There was simply no privacy here. It was as if the walls themselves had eyes. "One day, my love," he cooed. "When my father is no longer, when I have taken the throne, you and I shall rule, and we shall be able to love each other as we ought to be able to."

When she pulled away, he gave a soft sound of protest. "It's just bruised, nothing more," he replied. Still, he found it difficult to completely ignore her. Ronan unbuttoned his doublet carefully before pushing the loose-fitting undershirt aside. "See?" he said softly, smiling back at her. "Hardly can be called a wound." He rebuttoned the doublet. "Perhaps it would be appreciated if you came to check on my shoulder after the masquerade. No one will be able to bother us." Still smirking, he placed one more kiss against her lips.







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A smile tugged at his mouth as Alistair replied. Oh, how he had longed for someone to understand the truth behind war. Ronan tried, sometimes, to understand what Ulfric had been through. There simply wasn't a way for one to understand if they had never been through it themselves. To watch one's friends perish before their eyes, to feel the blood pump through your body. It was a sensation that simply could not be explained. "You are most certainly a man after my own heart, Alistair Lannister," he remarked.

"I certainly respect those who can wield a bow, but nothing is better than a sword in one's hand." He laughed to himself and shook his head almost in tandem with Alistair. He shook it, however, as if shaking off the memories that seemed to haunt his every thought.

"Amen to that. The bowman needs not run into the fray. Instead, he stands about on a peek while his comrades fall. And who returns as a hero? Certainly not the dead swordsmen."

He listened, suddenly growing solemn, as the king explained his predicament. "Neither method seems too fair. The politicians are slimy creatures, those who can not be trusted. Us warriors...well, what do we know about ruling a nation?" At least, he mused, Alistair had noble connections. Still, he wouldn't allow that to influence his opinion of the man. They may have come from different walks of life, but Alistair was not a bad man. Through war, all different sorts of men were united.

He raised his own, refilled goblet then. "To our crowns,"
he agreed before drinking to said toast. It was then that he looked down on to the field to see Celia competing. A smile crossed his face as it smacked the bullseye at 500 yards. Ulfric had to set his goblet down so that he could clap for her.

When he finally picked his goblet up again, he looked far more somber, and his brow wrinkled in, perhaps, concern before he looked toward Alistair again. "These lords around us, they do not understand what war is, what it does to a man. It is as if we are different animals entirely, and I often feel that ours is the dying species, Alistair."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Priscilla Edwards Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Elanor Lannister

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OOC: "Here ye here ye! Come one come all. The good ole' Royal family Lannister of Tibera has put forth their 4th annual Masquerade ball at dusk. So, ladies and gents grab your masks and prepare to see identities be revealed.."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson

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Ulfric looked truly and utterly out of place in the midst of the masquerade. Following some unspoken custom, he had made it his priority to dance with Genevieve for the first song. Unfortunately, he had never been a talented dancer. He moved about in a cumbrous way, most likely stepping once of twice on her trip and perhaps tripping over them more than that. In reality, he hadn't paid attention to the dance. Even though he was not a fan of the dances, he certainly was not that crude. No. Instead, he pondered his life for a moment. It seemed to him that he had grown more philosophical as the years went on. Perhaps that was what happened to one who had a kingdom to preside over, who had to make severe decisions.

His conversation with Alistair seemed to come back to haunt him. For a moment, he felt much like a caged bear, trained and dressed to entertain the wealthy humans who stood around him. He was a warrior, not a king. His eyes darted about behind his mask, and it caused him to nearly lead Genevieve into a nearby couple. The song ended then, however, and he quickly blinked his eyes as if focusing them. Lightly, he gripped her hand in his and raised the pale flesh to his lips. "If you will pardon me now, my love..." he said, cutting himself off slowly. "Sitting down all day made my legs a bit stiff. I'll be at our table if you...want to dance again." He almost didn't dare offer to dance again, but that was a loving thing to do, no?

Occasionally, it pained him to be unable to provide for Genevieve the way he had hoped he had provided for Freya. Still, she seemed happy enough. She seemed to have found a friend in each of his children, a thing he had certainly worried about when she first arrived. In fact, he had highly doubted she would be as friendly with any of them, especially Ronan, as she was now. But Ronan was an enigma, and Ulfric knew there was little point in analyzing it. He smiled quickly at Genevieve, but it was easy to tell it was partially forced.

He retreated to the head table where Alistair had promised to place him and his family. He was the only soul at the table until a servant gave him a goblet of wine. He would have certainly preferred ale or beer, something to remind him of home in the midst of the festivities. Still, the wine was good enough. Anything to ease his anxiety.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir

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Corianna fiddles with the fabric on her dress. She was dressed in a black and white dress with a black mask and felt thoroughly ridiculous. Her hair was pulled up so tight that it hurt her head and her dress barely gave her room to breathe. She wished she had the guts to tell her servants to respect her wishes more because her dresses today had not impressed her at all.

She had no idea what to do. Her place at parties was usually sitting next to her mother and watching the dancers and looking "like a princess". But now that was not an option. So she just watches the dancers for a while. They looked so elegant. She wanted to dance, But who would dance with a thirteen year old? Maybe her brother, but he would most probably be busy. An exasperated sigh escapes her mouth. This was not how she wanted to spend her evening.

She watches her father dance with Genevieve. Corianna didn't dislike her, but did not like her. She would never consider Genevieve anything like her mother. Corianna was polite enough to her and she planned to stay that way, even if she was carrying her new sibling. That was exciting for her, but she always wondered if her father thought it strange that he was with someone nearlly the same age as his daughter, but that was none of her business so she dare not ask.

Slowly she made her way over to her families table and sat her self down carefully.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir

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Since his father had taken the opportunity to dance first with Genevieve, Ronan was left alone. Or, at least, he had been left alone until he came across Corianna. It had been quite some time since he'd had a chance to speak with his younger sister. A smile crossed his features as he approached her and crouched slightly. "May I have this dance, my lady?" She almost didn't manage to get a response out before he took her hand and led her out on to the floor behind him. Quickly, Ronan adjusted his mask. There was a height difference of about ten inches between the two siblings, but once they began to dance together, it was easily disregarded. His gaze moved about for a bit before he finally looked back at Cori.

"You look like Mother tonight," he remarked, smiling down at her. "You'll soon have every man in Ostwall, and perhaps further, vying for your hand." He laughed to himself before spinning her about. "But you probably won't want to have anything to do with them." They spun together now, and he lifted her briefly off of the floor so that the spin moved more smoothly.

The song slowly came to an end, and Ronan kissed her hand properly before they parted. Looking up now, he could see Ulfric doing the same to Genevieve. The older man then turned and moved toward the table, leaving her available for a dance."Stay out of trouble, Cori," he called over his shoulder as he left her. "And do leave some room in your busy schedule for another dance with your big brother."

He approached Genevieve from behind and leaned over her shoulder slowly. The urge to kiss at her neck nearly overwhelmed him, for the perfume she had applied earlier that evening was intoxicating. Ronan couldn't, of course. Not here at least. "Care to dance?" he asked, pitching his voice just above the music. When she turned to face him, he was already prepared to take her hand in his while placing his other hand on her waist.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson

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Genevieve smiled through the entire disastrous dance with her husband, properly - although reluctantly- playing her part for Ronan despite how much she just wanted the bloody deed to be done. But she knew there was still plenty of waiting and acting to still be done. She was thankful for her eyes beneath her mask feigning happiness, even though she knew Ulfric wasn't smart enough to be able to tell her faux emotions from the real. As Ulfric excused himself and walked off, she waved with a smile and sighed in disappointment once he had left. She lifted her head to peer over the crowd, searching for Ronan until she felt a calming warmth behind her. Her face lit up with joy and she giggled at his query, turning and instantly being pulled into the next dance.

"Of course." She purred, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder as if it wer almost hovering, staring at him beneath hooded eyes. "You look so handsome tonight." She stated playfully, making it still sound like something a mother would say to her some from an outside view. It was so much more relaxing to be close to Ronan, it took much more effort than it should to remain calm without him near. But, when she was with him all of her problems seemed to melt away. It was funny though, because when she was with him she actually had more trouble than ever. There was the danger of being caught, and of their plans falling through, and others catching on to their romance. Genevieve pushed the thoughts from her mind, moving her hand to the meeting of Ronan's neck and his shoulder, running her thumb along his jaw slowly.

"Don't you think that we should make sure your shoulder isn't hurt too badly?" She inquired, lifting an eyebrow as she placed her hand back over it and frowned with concern.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson

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"And you look absolutely gorgeous," he replied, not worrying to change the pitch of his voice. He doubted anyone would be listening either way. What had first drawn him to her, he could not say. Perhaps he would never be able to say. But he loved her, and that certainly was enough for him. If he had a calming effect on her, then she utterly placated him. Around her, he was, put simply, not himself. He was loving, perhaps, and he showed a side of him that easily would not have existed without her presence.

Ronan leaned slightly into her touch, a smile beginning to spread across his lips as he did so. He could have kissed her in that moment, taken her in his arms and embraced her not as a mother but as a lover. Society, however, dictated that one ought not to do such things to a married woman. More importantly, a woman married to one’s father. Society, however, had no jurisdiction behind closed doors. At least in his mind it did not.

”It’s feeling a bit better...but perhaps we truly should look at it,” he said, trying to fight back a smirk but ultimately failing. Quickly, he gripped her hand and started to weave through the crowd toward the hall. Others would walk through the hallways though. In all honesty, the only place they could truly be alone would be his room.

The walk there was perhaps the longest one of his life. In reality, it took perhaps a minute or so. When they were finally behind closed doors, he pulled her up against himself quickly, eagerly. Emotion washed over him as he kissed her heatedly, far more so than he had earlier that day, for now they were alone. One arm wrapped around her waist, and the other snaked up her back, cradling her head. He paused for a bit, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I would murder that fool right now to be able to kiss you like this in public," he breathed. A soft chuckle escaped through his lips afterwards. It certainly wasn't a lie. In fact, he'd been quickly growing more and more sick of his father. He only needed to find a perfect moment to strike. In the mean time, however, he kissed her again with the smirk still on his lips.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir

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Ulfric looked up slowly from the goblet of ale he was nursing. He couldn't remember how many this made, but it didn't matter now. Either way, he knew how to hold his alcohol. These parties tended to upset him, sending him into what could be called a temporary depression. These days, however, this depression tended to drag out. He thought back to his conversation with Alistair. All of these fake kings. Fake nobles. They failed to understand what true leadership took. With experience in combat, how is one supposed to know how to truly lead others? They simply don't.

No, he had never been a benevolent leader, but that's not what Ostwall had needed. Ostwall needed a figure to hold together various clans of nearly-wild men. In that respect, hopefully, he would be viewed as a success.

Thinking of Alistair caused him to wonder where the King of Seabel had gotten to. Years at these gatherings had told him that Alistair would simply be lurking about on the sides, without a want to dance. Ulfric had assumed the younger monarch would have joined him by now, having made him a guest at his own table, but he was nowhere to be seen until he looked toward the throng of dancers again. A sense of betrayal struck him then. Alistair had claimed to be one of Ulfric's "kind", the warriors who had been made into kings. But he danced with an elegance that Ulfric had never known.

At the same time, however, he could remember dancing with Freya back when she had lived. He could remember the smiles and exchanged laughs as he trampled over her feet. Perhaps Alistair was still a warrior. Perhaps he still had some fight left in him. Ulfric certainly hoped so. This realm could not survive on just one warrior monarch.

Another coupled caught his eye this time: Ronan and Genevieve. Whereas she had not so much as smiled when she danced with Ulfric, Genevieve now beamed up at Ronan in a way quite similar to how Freya had beamed up at Ulfric. His jaw tightened. No. He clasped his hands together before him and pressed his lips against the knuckles. It couldn't be. But it only made sense. It explained the long periods of time they had spent in the gardens, the nights she had left him to wander about. But he was not angry at her. He couldn't be when he failed to provide for her what she deserved: a husband her age. No, it was Ronan's fault.

But Celia joined them then, and he was torn from his thoughts as he listened to his daughters talk amongst themselves. Celia's wisdom was something that, even almost twenty years after her birth, continued to shock him. It was something he had never possessed, had never been able to possess, and it gave him hope. Again, he wished he could name her his successor, for Ronan certainly did not possess her skill.

"Aye," he said softly, entering their conversation without being asked to. "But at these gatherings, people often replace those masks they wear everyday with ones that are more truthful."
He was surprised at this remark, but perhaps it did contain some truth, for people often believed the presence of a physical mask provided them protection from their actions, however despicable they were.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson

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Genevieve didn't even bother to see if the old man was watching as Ronan pulled her off so the two could be alone together. She couldn't prevent herself from giggling uncontrollably as they neared his room, enthusiastically wrapping her arms around him and returning the passionate kiss. As his arms snaked around her body, she quickly took the opportunity to toss her mask aside and let her hair down, the curls falling down around her shoulders. A small sigh of happiness escaped her as the two sat in one another’s embrace.

Ronan spoke, but it was clear to see from the outside he didn’t want to think of such things now and so he pushed them aside by using Genevieve’s lips as the perfect distraction. It would be stupid to say that Genevieve didn’t want to focus just on her lover right now either, but if they could strategize, why not try and give him some small advice? Reluctantly, she pushed Ronan back for a moment. “Why not just kill him as soon as we can then..?” She murmured, her brow knitting. “Isn’t there a hunt tomorrow?” Her face returned back to its devilishly innocent state as she smiled. “Don’t you think that there would be some father-son time where you’d be apart from the others?” Genevieve quirked an eyebrow, prompting him as she slowly ran her fingers along the neck of his shirt.

“If we can get him out of the way then…” She began, kissing his jaw and slipping his mask off. “Why wait?” Her cat like eyes gleamed mischievously as she stepped forward, moving both of them closer to the bed. “Hm?”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Guy Priestas Character Portrait: Simon Priestas

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Her hair, now cascading down her shoulders, was far easier for him to weave his fingers through. As one hand continued to stay wrapped about her waist, he ran his other hand's fingers through her golden hair. Ronan's lips seemed to subconsciously yearn for her as she pushed him back for a moment, for they remained slightly puckered.

She was, quite honestly, quite brilliant. Yes, he was intelligent, but Genevieve had a certain cat-like slyness about her that Ronan often failed to possess. But he was convincing, a man who could easily talk his way out of the deepest pits. And that was why they would easily be able to kill Ulfric.

"It's perfect," he breathed, grinning like a small child might grin having been presented with a long-awaited gift. And to Ronan, that was precisely what it was. He had awaited this moment for too long now. Two years, perhaps, Ulfric had lived alongside the man who plotted his murder. And the old man thought nothing of it. "It's exactly what we've waited for, my darling." She may have felt the quick jerk of a laugh he gave while kissing his jaw.

There was a moment where he merely looked down at her, absolutely captivated by the moment. By her beauty. By her plan. By the justice that he would serve. It was a long-awaited justice, one he knew would be incomparably sweet to him. In the next moment, he had picked her up in his arms and swung her about for a heartbeat in a loving embrace.

And then he released her on the bed and followed her down on to the plush covers, his lips connecting with hers once more as the ignorant old fool went about his business without, as far as Ronan knew, any knowledge of what was going on behind the closed doors of the bedroom.








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The fool was once more lost in his thoughts, far too overwhelmed by what he had seen or what he had thought he had seen. He could only pray to the Gods that it was the latter. He needed someone to turn to. Freya. But she was dead, and she would remain dead. He had never been close enough with his children to confide in them, something he slowly, in this moment, began to regret.

But there was a voice to his side, and once more he was pulled out of his reverie. He had forgotten about the hunt, quite honestly. It was a welcome escape from the formality of the rest of the celebration. And it would provide a moment, he prayed, to confront Ronan about his concerns. "It would be rude to not attend, Guy," he replied. "It is a sacrifice I am certain you and Simon can make for the day."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre

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The hunt had been delayed following a rain storm that had lasted far longer than anyone had truly expected. The sky, however, had reverted to a light blue and the sun had begun to show itself a little after noon. The only sign that remained of said rainfall was the softness of the ground beneath the hooves of horses and the feet of nobles. Now, however, the sky was once more graying. Though there was still a substantial number of royals and nobles atop horses, preparing for the hunt, others had chosen to stay beneath tents that had been pitched over ornate carpets.

One such noble was Christoph. He had had every intention to join the hunt that day, but frankly, he cared little for riding about in such dismal conditions. Instead, he had merely ridden his horse out to the site of the tents to avoid wetting his shoes as most nobles chose to. Behind him, his dogs had trailed, and presently, they sat by his feet and watched the unknown people milling about under the tents. Christoph had taken a seat, as had quite a few of the nobles who were not busy mounting horses.

To his left sat Evelyne, for he truly hadn't wanted to leave anyone in his room without the dogs there to guard his belongings. Besides, she was entertaining company to keep in the midst of what was often dull conversation. Occasionally, he would whisper hushed remarks about the various nobles in her ear. Currently, he noticed a man who far too old to walk, let alone ride a horse, attempting to mount a well-bred stallion. Christoph's lips twitched as he leaned toward Evelyne. "I do hope someone puts me out of my misery if I'm ever that daft," he remarked.

He looked about for another victim, and his eyes fell upon Tyrion, the Imp. He stopped himself, however, before saying anything to Evelyne, for as much as he wished to say something about him, he knew Tyrion was a good ally to keep. "How are you on this fine day, Lord Tyrion?" he asked, cocking his head subtly. "Will you be joining the hunt?"








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Alongside the other nobles, Ronan finished adjusting the saddle on his ebony warhorse. The stallion fidgeted beneath unfamiliar saddlebags that, in turn, hit against his flanks with more fervor. He gripped the saddle and lifted himself on to the horse just as a rain drop fell on to the crown of his head. The rain, however, had never bothered him much either way. There was still a dull throb in his shoulder, and it brought about a wince as he yanked himself upwards. Once he had settled on the saddle, he gathered up the reins and looked about.

Ulfric, a little ways off, hefted himself into the saddle of his dun mare. She was much older than most of the horses gathered about, but she was a loyal mount. He'd ridden her for years now, since he had taken the throne, and not once had she failed him. As he settled himself on the saddle, he looked about and met Ronan's gaze. They would have to speak, for now Ulfric found it difficult to tell what was true anymore.

Clicking his tongue once, he walked his horse towards Ronan and then stopped so that their horses were only a few inches apart. "I was wondering if perhaps you would be willing to split from the group with me and hunt on our own," he said, reciting the line he had practiced that morning. "It'll be difficult to hunt with so many in the party."

Ronan blinked for a moment, then two, as he tried to determine how to proceed. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Nevertheless, he would work with it. He had to. "Of course, father," he replied, nodding to Ulfric. His father turned the mare around and began to move her past the camp and towards the woods. With a final glance over his shoulder, he caught Celia's gaze. "Look out for you sister, Celia," he called before kicking his horse into a canter.

Ronan looked toward his sister simply because Ulfric had mentioned her, but then he looked to Genevieve. For a moment, he simply watched her, waiting for something and then he nodded once to her before following Ulfric at a similar pace.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Alistair Lannister Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Annabelle Waldorf Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Cassandra Lannister Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Lorelle de Croismare Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Tyrion Lannister Character Portrait: Elanor Lannister Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre Character Portrait: Guy Priestas Character Portrait: Simon Priestas Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards

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The King's hand brushed lightly against the scar that still graced his left cheek -- a bitter-sweet reminder of how he had come to stand here beside Genevieve. His coronation, given the lack of spiritual leaders in the widely-diverse Ostwall, was headed by one of the eldest chieftains within the kingdom's borders, a man of a staggering seventy-seven years. Ronan's hair and beard had grown out to appear more like his people, from whom he required approval. The thick fur of a bear, draped about his shoulders, only helped further that image and reflect the symbol of his father. The pelts seemed to weigh him down greatly. They most certainly were the reason beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. Or perhaps they came from the worry that, somehow, they'd trace the murder back to him.

The death of Ostwall's monarch had brought the festivities to a screeching halt. Ulfric's burial had been a ceremonious one, and the kingdom had grieved for months, meaning the current coronation had been unable to occur until now, two months later. In the mean time, Ronan suddenly found himself in the shoes of a man he had only, until then, dreamed of becoming. He played the part well, and Genevieve had as well. It was only when they were behind closed doors that she lost her air of nearly-constant mourning. Even then, he had not permitted her to be joyful in public until far after he had announced his plans to wed her.

Ronan moved his hand to brush at his brow then, and as he looked up at the chieftain before him, he noticed Celia just a bit off, holding Volundr. His son. He could never acknowledge the boy as his own, for the kingdom believed he had been the child of Ulfric and Genevieve, but Ronan told himself that the young prince should rightfully bear the surname of Ronanson. It pained him that it should be otherwise.

The chieftain stumbled over his words, causing Ronan to look back at him. Ostwall, unlike the other two kingdoms, had never truly adopted the more traditional concept of coronation until Ronan had insisted upon modernizing the nation. The chieftain had little idea as to what he was doing, and the words on the page made little sense given the fact that he was just barely literate. His stammering ended soon, thankfully, and he moved on to the crowning of the royals. The crown that was placed upon his head was nothing more than a thick band of iron with ornate patterns carved into it. The real beauty and power laid in the heavy chain that was placed about his neck, further weighing him down.

It was a relic dating back to times before even Falor had been unified when the clans of the North would give the chain to the strongest chieftain in the land. Over time, the simple chain had been added to in terms of links and precious stones until it hung heavy enough that it was only used for ceremonies. This, of course, was one of them.

As Genevieve went through a similar ceremony, receiving a less burdensome crown and chain that he had had created, for up until this point, the consort of the king of Ostwall had no political say. Though he had most certainly received the approval of the others in his kingdom, he knew they hardly approved of this action. Nevertheless, he turned around to great his people, hand reaching for Genevieve's as he did so. The chieftain cleared his voice once more before speaking in his thickly accented voice.

"I present to you King Ronan Bjorn Ulfricson, first of his name, and his queen, Genevieve Hansdottir of Falor, first of her name."




The proceeding festivities were a welcome change for all in Ostwall, having been in a period of nearly perpetual mourning for two months. A mixture of traditional and foreign instruments played, inspiring many to leave the banquet table in order to dance. Ronan, a bit too drunk by then to gracefully find his footing, resolved to stay at the table where he held the one month old Volundr in his arms. The King brushed a finger along the boy's cheek, laughing as the young prince gripped it and inspected the calloused finger with fascination.

"It's wonderful, is it not?" he remarked, looking out on the crowd of nobles, local and foreign, who occupied the hall. "It's ours now." Ronan continued to look about, meeting the gaze of a few nobles who watched the pair closely, with judgement visible in their eyes even from at the royals' place at the table. He knew they spoke about him and Genevieve quite often. It was most certainly scandalous for anyone to marry their widowed stepmother, let alone just months after her husband's death, but there were no laws regarding marriage in Ostwall.

Propping the small child up in his lap, Ronan gripped his tankard of ale and sipped from it for a moment, positioning it afterwards so that it attempted to block out the gossiping nobles. It hardly helped, however, and he simply turned back to Genevieve with his arm once more around Volundr.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir

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Relief washed over Genevieve the second the chain had been laid around her neck as all of the lies and hiding that had gone on for months washed away. Well, not everything. They couldn’t just blatantly say an affair had been going on for much larger than before Ulfric died. But she could safely show her affection towards Ronan without being terrified of the consequences. Now the only real job was keeping up the charade of mourning long enough for it to seem natural to move on.

In some way she was sad, but it wasn’t anywhere near as much as the others throughout the nation were. She resented him still, just for being forced into marriage with him, despite it leading to her meeting Ronan. It would have been much more pleasant if Ulfric had just died before she arrived and Ronan chose Genevieve when he became king, but she didn’t bother to think that she would have probably resented Ronan for it too.




As the queen sat beside her new husband and child - the thought alone making a smile grace her features - she could only stare on lovingly, almost immobilized. The thought that Volundr wasn’t Ronan’s had never once crossed her mind, staying firmly in belief that he was without a doubt the father of their son.

She got pulled from her thoughts as she heard Ronan speak, lifting her head to smile and stare into his eyes. “No more worries…” Genevieve mused gently, it was wishful thinking but she didn’t want to think about the bad side right now. The only thing she wanted to focus on was her family - her perfect new family. A sharp pain hit her heart for a moment as her mind flashed to her childhood, and the image of her brother’s corpse burned into her head. She stared blankly, her eyes watering with tears involuntarily before she was torn from her memories by Volundr grabbing a strand of her hair.

Genevieve blinked rapidly, tears streaming down her face and smiling down at the baby. Frantically, she wiped her eyes and leaned her head on Ronan’s shoulder, gripping his arm to try and bring herself back to reality. This was her life now. She didn’t need to think about her old life, so why did it keep coming back?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards

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Lucas had been watching for the girl, yet he hadn't seen her again, not since that night he had asked her to dance. He sighed softly from where he stood in a small alcove behind where Nicholas sat. He would much rather prefer standing, or sitting, next to his friend and talking to him rather than pretending his only care was keeping him safe.



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Lucas stood, watching Priscilla and Christoph with contempt that was only visible to people who knew him really well, in other words, Nicholas. His gaze floated to the recently made king. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man. It was clear to Lucas that he wasn't all he seemed to be, and that his wife probably was already in love with him before his father died, either that or he took in a widow for his father, though Lucas couldn't help but doubt that.

Lucas had his hand lazily on his sword though he was more alert than any of the surrounding guards. He could appear lazy but be taunt as a horse during a gallop. Lucas watched the crowd, growing more and more tired of his task of watching the crowd than ever before. He wondered if Nicholas would be kind enough to come save him from his duty by going to bed. How wonderful that fantasy sounded.

Lucas thought back to a happier moment to distract himself. He was standing on the packed dirt that served as a training grounds for squires though Lucas was using it as a guard by the age of fourteen, a young and bored guard, but a guard nonetheless. He was training with an older guard, perhaps his current age. The older male was not going easy on small Lucas and Lucas would walk away with many bruises and cuts, yet he was easily holding his own against him. His task for the day, appearing like he was trying his hardest while throwing the match. His most recent teacher had wanted him to practice his hiding his abilities and it wasn't all that difficult.

The older fellow seemed to smile as his saw an opening Lucas had left open on purpose. He took the shot and Lucas pretended to nearly miss deflecting it before falling down and ending with the sword at his throat. It had been a great day since he had successfully completed the task in his mind. His master later chastised him for not being good enough, but the original pleasure of the memory held within Lucas's mind.

He turned his full attention on Nicholas again, finding that he couldn't help but continue to think of that girl from those many months ago either. He had been embarrassed about staring, yet had truly been happy to see her during the ball, and work the nerve up to talk to her after being abandoned by his ward. A strange situation yes, but still, it had worked and he had gotten to talk to the beauty that had captured his attention.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Guy Priestas

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His gaze wandered about the hall, for Ronan had never been one to focus on one thing for too long. Renly, a distracted look in his eyes, caught his gaze first. Oh, Renly. Poor Renly. He would not, could not say why he let the teenager stay in Ostwall's castle. Both young men had never been particularly fond of each other. Ronan had always resented his father's ward, for Ulfric had seemed to dote on the boy more than he had on Ronan.

Perhaps the King knew, deep down, that he could not dispose of Renly without having the concern of resentment from the people on his hands. Already, their loyalty was something he questioned daily. One slip up would, potentially, cost him the throne and even his life. He resolved to speak to Renly, for he wanted a mind such as his on his side rather than against his.

Genevieve's response pulled him out of his reverie. He gave a slight nod of the head, coupling it with a smile. No more worries. In his drunken state, he attempted to convince himself that there truly was nothing wrong. The paranoia within him, however, gnawed at the back of his mind, plaguing him even as he watched his wife and son attentively. His mood noticeably soured, marked by the look of disgust that befouled his expression.

Nevertheless, he managed to pull on a semi-satisfied smile as he adjusted the position of the baby in his arms. Genevieve’s grip on his arm, which he matched with his hand placed over hers, seemed to calm him a bit more. But then he let himself gaze about the room again, meeting the gazes of the King of Falor and his advisor. Both men spoke to each other with their eyes still fixated on the newly-crowned monarch. Ronan’s mind began to turn on him, creating twisted ideas of what they might be whispering to each other over their respective goblets of wine or ale. He forced himself to look back down at the child shortly before Nicholas turned his attention to his fiancée.

It was truly unfortunate that Guy chose then to walk past Ronan, who caught a glimpse of his cousin on the edge of his peripheral vision. Having been coming to a boil for the past few minutes, Ronan found that his cousin would be the best victim to receive the extent of his drunken rage.

”Leaving so soon, dearest cousin?” he called after Guy, his voice dripping with feigned civility. ”I don’t recall giving you permission to leave so early in the night.” He passed Volundr to Genevieve before gripping the arms of his chair to push him to his feet quickly. The sensation of blood rushing away from his head causing a disorienting sense of lightheadedness that caused him to lean against the table for support. After a moment, he pushed himself off of the wooden table and continued moving towards Guy. ”Did my...did my father teach you nothing of civility?” His face had reverted once more to a twist of a grimace, antipathy radiating from him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Guy Priestas

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Simon paused midsip upon hearing Ronan addressing Guy. It was rather clear to both twins that Ronan had had a few too many drinks and that this was anything but unintentional. This was an easy way to mess with Guy, calling him out and all. Guy froze midstride, nearly past his cousin. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his temper from reaching him. He moved his hands behind his back and clasped them, squeezing painfully hard to clear his mind from his own quickly rising temper.



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Guy faced his cousin, studying Ronan quickly. He was definitely not entirely sober, then again, neither was Guy. Two drunk cousins who didn't really like each other was not going to work very well in their favor, or Guy's favor since Ronan was the king now. "It has been a rather eventful day hasn't it, beloved cousin?"
Guy returned Ronan's fake voice with ease. Ronan may have more power, but Guy was easily... well, what was he? Sassy, he decided in his drunken state, Guy had more sass in his little finger than Ronan did in his whole body. The good kind that was, or at least, that's what Guy though considering his thoughts were slightly muddled. He wasn't drunk to the point he was stupid though, as he knew he was treading dangerous territory.

Simon watched his brother with his cousin and wanted to groan. The two of them were both hardheaded, and stupid when drunk. They did not need to be fighting, on Ronan's coronation day, in front of foreign dignitaries, at all. Simon moved forward, moving to stand by Ronan as he watched his brother, hoping he could communicate through eye contact that he needed to shut up. Right then. Immediately. "Cousin, perhaps here and now is not the ideal place or time to chastise Guy for his manners. We do have guests," Simon managed to speak under his breath, looking into Ronan's shoulder rather than at his brother.



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Guy was insulted by the way Ronan seemed to think his father was only his father. Guy managed to stay somewhat civilized in his response. "Dear cousin, 'tis all but a matter of habit. I am not quite accustomed to such procedures considering, well... this is all so new to all of us, the change in ruling that is," Guy managed, not really saying anything insulting, but making it sound bad considering his tone.

"Cousin, do not act rashly, you are both slightly drunk. Perhaps dealing with this in the morning would be a better idea," Simon practically begged to Ronan though he managed to make it sound more advising than pleading.

"Do I have your permission to leave now, cousin?" Guy asked, his voice coming out slightly mocking though he managed to cover up most of it. He didn't really want to get killed, or hurt, or tortured, but the more drunk you were, the braver you were, even if it was stupid bravery, not nearly close to the good type of sassy that had run through Guy's mind earlier.