— something new begins to take

[ziryla]

— I need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to swing; I need my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology —

( a little place for our feral little hearts. )

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[ziryla]

It does feel that way, doesn't it? ( a conversation that has only just begun. ) I look forward to its continuation, my lord. ( words demanded by politeness, punctuated by her own bow in answer and yet theres another press of wryness that already alludes to a secrecy between them, time stolen away before it was time to carry on with what was expected of them.

she steps away, already catching note of the handmaidens drifting closer with some poorly kept urgency — likely having started to worry that the princess may have already decided to run off again. but not before looking back to him — he, who stands carved ethereal amidst this elven land, a visage that could easy be writ on some tapestry, inlaid in golden thread. that is how she should wish to remember him, she thinks in turn. ) To happy evenings. I will see you soon enough.

( many trials lie ahead but for the moment, it is easier to be swept up in the preparations. nerves peak, regardless of the hope that's taken surest root. she still sees her father regard her with something akin to concern and some shade of guilt and it is tempting to ask if he's finally found an appropriate remedy for his political headache. she doesn't, fire pacified to rolling embers, but it is somewhat amusing — as though he still half expects her to bolt like a flighty colt. she has no such intention and viserys seems to breathe no short sigh of relief when she finally steps forward in brilliant reds and silvered white silks, in homage to their hosts, and slips her arm through the crook of his elbow.

the unearthly nature of lindon seems to reach its crescendo as night finds its zenith, the evenstar particularly brilliant through the branches. courtly life had ensured an exposure to grandeur, and yet it pales in comparison weighed against sights she's never seen before.

it is all manners from here on out, seated at their table and navigating unfamiliar tradition with whatever grace she can muster. (it had made sense, to follow more in the steps of their hosts rather than their own, save for the smaller allusions) her attention, in all the inevitability, drifts to elrond to see how he fares, what expression he might wear. despite the political nature — such union seldom done amongst the elves, as she is so abundantly made aware of — they drink and they feast and they toast much the same, celebratory nature of all of this transcending borders well enough. there are promises announced, in honor of the futures of both realms; promises of duty and alliance and the (tentative) hope looking ever onward. in some way, it only serves as a reminder. they are to be the catalysts to what future might lie ahead, for ill or for good.

it isn't until they stand face to face once again that this feels real. that despite the quiet promises exchanged between themselves mere handful of hours before, there is weight to this, here and now, hands linked and golden rings exchanged. it is only natural, to have the band that comes from her house be inlaid with three brilliant rubies, for fire and blood. blessings are given, and though rhaenyra lacks the fluency to understand it, the language sounds melodic, magical. (a contrast to the sharpness of high valyrian). it feels sacred in unspoken ways.

and once the blessings are spoken, it seems as though it gives credence to celebrations to begin in earnest, with melodies plucked along delicate strings and members of the elven court effortlessly twisting into dance.

she finds herself drifting further inwards, delicate wine flute held in her hands; her heartbeat is quick in birdcage ribs, and it does not take long to seek elrond out to meet again — so terribly close to the place where she'd first caught him earlier this day — and she raises her glass, with a smile and a bow to her head. ) And how do you feel this evening, lord husband? ( she'd asked him near the same thing, before their hands were joined. there's a twist of mirth, to hide remnants of bittersweetness well beneath. )

[osanwe]

[ The wedding itself feels as though it passes in both an age and an instant. Elrond himself is dressed in a gold that glimmers as though spun with white gold, a silver circlet set about the crown of his head. Each facet catches the light as he and Rhaenyra are brought together underneath the branches of the trees overhead, a carpet of golden leaves underfoot, like motes of dust caught in the light as a few of them fall from above to land among the assembled crowd.

This is the first of such unions to be recognized in this way, a marriage brokered for political strength and assurance of succession and influence rather than a match made out of love. But there is still something soft in the way that Elrond looks at Rhaenyra when their hands are brought together, and it is not a false attempt at blessing this evening with something it does not naturally possess. He holds her gaze, even as he slips a ring onto her finger, the one given from his kin a delicately spun circle of gold laid with white gems, glimmering with starlight.

What follows immediately after the ceremony is a whirl of congratulations, duly given, and a round of necessary acknowledgments that he suspects would not have been necessary were this not arranged in the way that it is.

(He spends the longest speaking with King Viserys. There will be more time for them to talk — it is not as though the King intends to stay here — but it feels important. He seems relieved that the whole event — as of yet, at least — has passed without a hiccup, that gladness manifesting in a little bit of color in his face as warm torchlight bathes all those gathered here in a glow. Elrond feels glad to see the King well, more so given the way his failing health has been so evident since the moment the ships had arrived from King's Landing.)

The party spills out into all corners of the forest, wandering trills of music audible throughout the trees. Still, he finds himself back where they'd been earlier that day, not by any intention but by happy accident, and the relatively perfunctory smile he wears shifts into something more genuine when he sees Rhaenyra, then splitting into a laugh at her greeting. The note of wryness in expression is evident — to him, if not to any onlookers — and he cannot really blame her for it, as a similar note manifests in the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of the line of his mouth. ]

It is strange, to hear myself addressed in such a way, [ he notes, as he steps forward to meet her, bowing his head in return. ] But— it is not unpleasant. I do not think I will much mind becoming accustomed to it.

[ He casts his gaze upward for a moment, to the stars that hang like jewels in the sky, the rich, deep blue of night, untouched by the lights that illuminate the ongoing celebrations. Such scale is a useful, reminder, sometimes — this is titanic change in their lives, in the legacy of their respective people, but there are greater forces in this world that pay it no mind, that are as affected by it as a pebble tossed into a moving stream. That isn't to say that he isn't present, or cares not for what lies before them, but simply that he knows better than to obsess over it, to become too consumed by what, in the end, will not last once he is no longer of this earth. ]

And you, my lady wife? [ His tone is similarly teasing. ] How does the night find you?

[ziryla]

( it is not politics that makes her breath catch in her throat when their eyes meet, beneath the trees. it is not obligation that softens her brows as the gaze lingers, some pin-drop precipice from which she can't look away, and tugs at the corner of her mouth before she'd watched the golden band glimmer from all the lights around them, gems like captured stars.

if this is the first of such unions, with so much promised for the strength and peace of ages to come, then let her one day be worthy of it, she thinks, much as she will one day hope to have earned her inheritance.

the rest that had followed seemed to meet more of her expectation; polite congratulations, more necessity than heart and all is as it nearly should be. on her way, her father had caught her. i had not thought this possible, he had said, this could mean peace, for generations to come and it settles like a weight and warmth both — reminders of prophecies and duties to realms and yet whatever brambles might have remained from earlier argument shed themselves readily enough when she sees the color to his cheeks; he was in better humors, a relief to witness, hands warm when pressed to hers. it had been even more relieving, to observe him speaking with elrond, a sight she'd caught onto from afar, while lingering in polite conversation elsewhere; king viserys looked more like he had years ago, life back in his eyes and a laugh that almost startles her, for how infrequent it had gotten.

it is serendipity that brings them back here and now and his laugh prompts a light one of her own. she sidles closer, much as he had and when he looks upward, the gesture inevitably makes her follow his eyes, to the great expanse of sky, untouched by all that occurs below it.

she laughs, a quick little nod. ) I'll concede, it does sound strange. But — not unwelcome. ( strange, something she will need some time to get used to, much as she imagines he will. if not simply by title (she's no intention of this being his only address), then by concept therein.

her fingers drum on the stem of her glass, occupied as they are from twisting at her ring, a small show of nerves, a tell she's never quite been terribly good at hiding. ) It finds me quite well, Elrond. ( his name sits far better on her tongue than any more formal titles might, and she finds she quite likes the familiarity. ) It is a calm affair. ( not all weddings are, is the implication, said so casually. )

I'm honored, to have been witness to your traditions, instead of my own. ( there's a quick-passing frown though, a small pinch to her nose as she considers something :) I wish I understood your tongue. I confess, I know far too little of it. ( there is hardly a book to be found on it in westeros, to be fair. )

[osanwe]

[ Even this moment feels somehow private — there are revelers mere strides from them, but they seem to know to leave the newlyweds be, at least for the moment. And besides, the ceremony had passed without incident — any gossip will be far less volatile now, at least so long as the night remains as calm as it has been thus far.

(Her note, that implies that her past experiences with weddings have not quite been the same, earns an arched brow from Elrond. He has heard enough, of course, of Westerosi history and of the building blocks of the Targaryen dynasty, to know that the comment isn't an entirely facile one. But he is glad, nonetheless — he has never wished for bloodshed in any capacity, much less on an evening like this. If anything, he imagines this will be a respite from work to come, likely not without its share of bloodletting. The realm they return to is one already balanced on the edge of a knife.) ]

I am gladdened to hear it, [ he says gently, in answer to her first response. It doesn't escape him that some things still nip at her — that tell, the way she seems to fidget, particularly with her hands, when she's ill at ease is one he's already filed away — but they've already skirted around the things he expects are on her mind. Legacy, duty, family — without them, one is nothing, and yet the three can often be too much to bear easily.

He cocks his head slightly at what she says next, a slight shift in expression suggesting he's heartened by the thought — or rather, heartened by her sense of curiosity. ]

I would be glad to teach you our language, should you so desire, [ he offers. ] Besides, I think it would do me well to maintain some connection to my kin, even in a new home.

[ The temptation is to say far from home, but he knows that those words aren't quite correct anymore — his home is with her, now, across the sea. It is a strange conundrum; he cannot afford to split himself so in two, but he cannot imagine a world completely detached from his people, his place of birth, either. ]

I had actually hoped that I might be able to study High Valyrian — it has always been of some interest to me, and more practically, I should think it useful if I am to meet Syrax.

[ And, thirdly, it would likely be a useful tool in court, especially if the assumption is that he does not understand it. ]

[ziryla]

( the thought had idly passed, on what gossip might be born from this. it is a natural thing, from all she's grown up to expect. she's aware enough, that while they are left well enough alone for now, that it would be easy enough to overhear them. she can't boast the same keen sense, even if she tries to make up for it in observation. something to ask of elrond, on their across the sea. or she yet may let sleeping dogs lie; there is little point in what gossip may come from this — it is done, and the way through is only ever onward. (still she is curious what others here think; what impressions she will leave; it is not entirely in way of vanity as much as purpose — what note may the targaryens be remembered on before departing?)

it is a calm affair, as she's named it, if only because there is hardly enough of westerosi court present; there's not enough noble men to squabble over pride and she's certain that of the retinue here, should they be inspired towards rowdiness, her father would likely see to their hastened exit himself. )

I would welcome your tutelage, ( the idea is, in honesty, an exciting one. she supposes firstly, it would only be the respectful thing to do. he is to venture across the sea to a place that, while expected to be a new home, lacks the familiarity of his own. she thinks of it in ways similar to the seed of a lindon tree — new roots need to sprout and in more ways than one. if she feels adrift in their own keep, she could only guess and how he would feel. ) — as I would readily offer you mine.

( and she understands how language ties one to their lineage — old valyria no longer exists, but the language endures. she's no stranger to wishing to hold on to something that has so long shaped their worlds, has so long ensured their bond with their dragons continues, ever held strong.

and lastly, much as he would think knowing high valyrian is a useful tool, knowing a tongue that none others speak in her court is doubly so. the thought of such small secrecy excites her, even if it will be some time before fluency. she doubts he will have much trouble. )

Mm — trying to find ways to appease her already? ( teasing lightness returns, as she's openly amused by what he says. ) I would have you know, she is a loyal beast. Your words would need to be particularly honeyed to hold any sway. ( all in jest; the truth was that their bond was borne of blood, but its hardly the time to be stuck on technicality; the alternative was far more enjoyable. )

[osanwe]

If anything, I had hoped currying favor with her would mean currying favor with you, my lady.

[ He says it lightly — she reproaches him in jest and he is more than attuned enough to the ebbs and flows of conversation to respond in kind. Granted, the heart of what he's saying, he means in earnest — if they are to share their lives, language will play no small part in binding them together, and on a more distanced level, he'd prefer to know what he's dealing with if dragons are to become a more common part of his everyday life. He'd been interested in High Valyrian even before the wedding had been arranged, but it's a more pressing thing, now.

The idea of something shared brings him a measure more comfort as to the days to come — excitement, in a way, for something that will close some of the distance between them, and for what new experiences await him across the sea. Beyond a demonstration of respect for the culture he's meant to at least partially assimilate to, it's something that's theirs, something that wasn't forced upon them by the same hands that arranged their marriage.

In the same easy tone: ] Perhaps that's too calculating of me to say? [ He's well aware, after all, of the fact that many have tried to worm their way into her family's good graces specifically for the power that they would then be adjacent to, but she knows, he thinks, that he means what he says somewhat more personally. That he cares about her (in any capacity) has nothing to do with her station, and, if anything, he imagines it is that fact that has made her willing to entertain a life with him at all.

And of the celebrations that continue, it is true that they seem less informed by politics than by the Elven propensity for revelry — everyone gathered, at least of his kin, seems to care most for dancing and drink, for celebrating this moment in time, both because of and separate from the actual reason for the occasion that brings them together. A microcosm, in a way, for his apparent disinterest in the title of King Consort. ]

—Have you yet met Lady Galadriel? She is present, as I had promised.

[ziryla]

I am starting to get concerned over my predictability. It will not do me well to be such an open book. ( there's an open laugh, at that. of course, that will not be the only thread from which hangs her favor — and if anything, she has half a mind to say he has it well enough already, but she thinks she has right to be coy about it, at least for a short time. (she cannot deny, that he is a breath of fresh air, compared to all who'd wished for favor of the crown; she'd thought that when they first met and she is of the same opinion now and that feels important.)

though, on the topic of lady galadriel — her back straightens, minutely. ) Not yet — ( quiet honesty, again. on one hand, she was no stranger to events like these, and on the other — it was easy to feel out of place in revelry such as this, similar and yet so different. besides, it would be best with his introduction, rather than her own and with that said, she'll fall into step beside him.

she finds it a good time to ask, chin angled up to look at him, a small lean towards in subdued secrecy. ) — before that though — had you a moment to speak with the High King? Was your request received?

( said in the tone of someone who would, depending on the answer, be heavily inclined to petition it herself. whether or not she has any place to sound like so is a different question entirely, one she chooses to ignore, sentiment slipping out.

perhaps it’s rhaenyra’s tendency to dig her heels against passivity. but she is inclined to ensure they both get what they want. flagstones laying out before them to establish something other; something between them and no partnership, whatever it may become, is ever forged in indifference.

to a point, she knows that this political solution did not come from elrond; not of his want of power, and to a more complicated technically, not of the Elven realm’s want of it, either. their kingdom had plenty of it. so then it returned, promptly, back to mutual benefit, mutual history, and mutual legacy. all brittle points weighed against where they currently were.

the idea that elrond should not leave here without all that he desires to bring with him is not a trite one. she would wish to do the same, were their expectations flipped. and, more to the point, is this not what they were meant to do for one another now? the reason of their union does not negate the heart of it.

perhaps she oversteps in her rashness, emboldened by the energy that buzzes around them. but it’s as much a genuine questions as it is an excuse to not focus on the excitement twisting at her nerves, to wonder at what speaking to someone like lady galadriel would be like. )

[osanwe]

[ Her laugh invites a shift in his smile — a sort of knowingness to his expression. He understands, of course, the importance of being somewhat unknowable in a position like hers — to be known and beloved by one's subjects, but to have a haven for oneself that cannot be sapped by public duty, lest one go mad given the weight of such a burden and responsibility. He has seen that dichotomy take many forms, in his time, though inevitably less often than he might had he come to King's Landing much earlier.

Knowingness shifts yet again into a soft sort of sentimentality at her next question, which he answers first with a nod. ]

He has agreed to let us take the seed of a tree with us, [ he says, glad both of the answer as well as her interest in it. She has no obligation to care at all, much less to argue on his behalf, which her tone — and his knowledge of her temperament — makes clear that she would, had he been denied. That she does could be argued solely as a method of ensuring that their union is a successful one, but he does not think her the kind to remove emotion from the equation entirely. It is the mark of potential for a great ruler, he thinks, though he keeps the thought to himself, at least for the immediate moment.

It benefits them, to keep things more personal rather than political, for as long as they can. They've established already that neither of them has agreed to this match solely for the sake of ambition (and, of course, they hadn't really had a say in the matter at all), and so it feels only natural that they should attempt what lies before them in this manner, strengthening their foundation before trying to build anything on top of it, lest it crumble beneath them. And it will be a boon, he expects, when they return to King's Landing, where he has no doubt that some will immediately seek to undermine them. ]

Though, I think, I would have quite liked to see what you would have done had he refused me.

[ It's equal parts jest and honesty — it would have been an uphill battle, had the High King's answer differed — as his intended meaning, that he appreciates that it matters to her, remains true. ]

You would make a fearsome match for the King.

[ziryla]

( perhaps it is a rather optimistic thought — or a bold one — but she thinks she minds it less, that she is such a predictability to him. in some ways, that is the way it would need to be, if he is to be a partner of any sort, navigating the unruly seas that await them.

the truth was, her obligation to be unknowable was a habit of her court; of westeros, and king's landing and the greens, even if they had not grown so terribly bold yet (cannot ignore the potential). there was enough that was said about her already — from realm's delight to less than complementary insults — and that was hardly a thing she could control. it was the rest that had need to be a tightly buttoned up coat, like armor. (though it was impossible, from time to time, to not wonder what sort of ruler she would even be).

but that was politics. this — this may be too, but if it is to be theirs to shape, as they'd mutually agreed, then there should be as little of it as possible within the spaces between them, for as much a time as they could get. a part of her understands, as soon as their ship docks upon the shores of westeros, some things will be inevitable.

so why not enjoy whatever these moments were contrived to be? her smile is one of relief. ) Good.

( an expression that turns upwards in a near grin. ) Would you now?

If you must know, I did have a fine collection of points to raise. ( said mainly in coy humor though it isn't without its honesty. she had considered just what sort of arguments she would bring, had the request been denied. there were quite a few points to be told, including ostensibly pointing out that letting go of his herald of high standing was coming across as an easier decision than parting with a seedling; more to the point, any should be entitled to the smallest comforts of home and thirdly — would he not wish to embody their alliance through such a history? a chance for symbol, alongside their Weirwood. But as it were, there's no need to bring any of that up and she's none too glad for it. little need for verbal sparring so early into the union of their houses. still: ) That is high praise indeed. ( a look over to him, smile reaching her eyes. ) But — I am relieved we will not need to find out the truth of it.

( besides, it would interrupt their going to meet galadriel — which she finds far more preferrable. )

[osanwe]

[ It is a sort of blessing to find such moments of humor and relief on a night that he had expected would only bring heavy contemplation for the both of them — that they have found themselves kindred spirits, to some degree, like a thread of color shared between two tapestries, is a lucky thing. She smiles, and it brings relief to his expression, an ease that belies the context around them.

Gil-galad would have found such an argument maddening to entertain, he's sure — he has ever been an even-handed king, but there are limits to the Elves' tolerance toward those not of their kin, particularly when it comes to the idea that one might know better than the other. But yes, it is for the best that it has not come to that. Best that the day of their wedding be an occasion for celebration alone rather than any conflict between them already. ]

It is not high praise if it is well-earned, [ he says, with a slight arch of his brow.

In the next moment, his gaze travels from her to a figure behind them, and he bows his head briefly in greeting before meeting Rhaenyra's eyes again. ]

It seems introductions are to be made. [ He nods over Rhaenyra's shoulder, indicating for her to look. Not too far from them, Lady Galadriel approaches, a gown of silver shimmering about her frame, like a veil of light as she nears them. It almost seems like second nature, the way that Elrond takes Rhaenyra's hand, leading her to meet exchange greetings.

Galadriel smiles, curious and gracious in equal measure, though the former manifests, strangely enough, like a sort of surety, as though she knew the answers to the questions she asks already. She bears a gift for the new bride, as Elrond has promised: a green jewel, placed within silver, one that she passes to Rhaenyra with a knowing look to Elrond, who seems almost surprised to see it. For you, my dear, the Elessar, she says, pressing the brooch into her palm. May it keep you safe, and keep all things around you fair.

Later in the night, Elrond offers an explanation, though they are interrupted by well-wishers. The rest of the night passes in a similar fashion, the revelry continuing long into the evening, for all intents and purposes a celebration rather than just a contract made. ]