Post by ARKAS BARATHEON on Aug 24, 2017 7:19:49 GMT
[googlefont=Quicksand]
[newclass=.likedo]background-color:#f0f0f0;padding:25px;width:400px;color:#888888;line-height:10px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedotitle]background-color:#ffffff;border:solid 9px #444444;padding:1px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedotitle2]background-color:#444444;color:#ffffff;font:bold 10px Calibri;line-height:35px;text-align:center;letter-spacing:2px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedoinfo]margin-top:-10px;border:solid 1px #e5e5e5;background-color:#f9f9f9;padding:24px;font:10px verdana;text-align:justify;line-height:12px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedosub]background-color:#444444;font:bold 8px Calibri;text-align:left;padding:10px;color:#ffffff;text-transform:uppercase;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass]
[attr="class","likedo"]
[attr="class","likedotitle"]
[attr="class","likedotitle2"]EASTBOUND
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]Some twenty years ago. South of the Seven Kingdoms. South of worries. In the heart of beauty, South of worries: Lys the Lovely.
Arkas' eyes blinked open. For the last few weeks - or had it been months? - he had lived a life that he would never thought he would live. He rose not with the sun and went to bed with its fall. It was the opposite. He rose when the sun came down. And he fell to sleep, serenaded by the waves' sound through an open window, gentler than the currents of Shipbreaker Bay could ever sound. There were the lovely sounds of exotic birds, singing him to sleep every morning, not the sounds of soldiers and men at arms cursing about soldier camps on the Dornish border.
All of his life, he had been drilled to defy the Dornish. And while he wasn't in Dorne, the culture of the Dornish people had certain influences practiced in some parts of Essos. Outlandish, raiding the border was a sport to them. But also loving and conquering hearts. Having spent every night since their departure from King's Landing in Daella's arms, the surrounding city of Lys - her brothels, pillow houses and fair-faced people of dragonseed - had created a cocktail of new thoughts.
He spent another few moments gazing at the lovely sight of the body by his side. Her face was half covered by silken pillows, half covered by hair of even softer, silver colour. The gentle act of stroking those rebellious strands off her cheek, tugging them behind the shell of her ear, had opened the window to the world that was her beauty.
It was hard to believe that the Firestar could rest so calmly.
All the soft silk in the world couldn't make the man lay down forever, however. He was a Baratheon. Not a Martell. Where there was slumbering fury, there were thoughts about the future, plans and considerations about the weight of reality. The pleasures of Lys could dull his senses, but not make his brooding vanish.
Leaving the flightless dragon upon sheets of sin, Arkas strode for a familar notion within the foreign setting of their room in a so-called 'establishment' within the city of love. The familiarity he found was not some wine, not the fruits and not scattered objects of oddity - but neither were it maps for making plans.
It was the balcony that filled the room with the lovely climate, winds only dulled by light curtains closer to being silver rain than actual fabric. Once beyond them, the coastal breeze was a blessing for his skin. Close to Daella, his body burned with heat of the desert. Or something deeper.
While his eyes looked toward the West, toward his home, he couldn't say that his thoughts grew wings in order to imagine a return. His future had aligned with hers. The oaths he hadn't sworn to Jaehaerys' father, the King, he would swear to her.
One day.
He knew it.
He had known it the moment he had first seen her.
Arkas' eyes blinked open. For the last few weeks - or had it been months? - he had lived a life that he would never thought he would live. He rose not with the sun and went to bed with its fall. It was the opposite. He rose when the sun came down. And he fell to sleep, serenaded by the waves' sound through an open window, gentler than the currents of Shipbreaker Bay could ever sound. There were the lovely sounds of exotic birds, singing him to sleep every morning, not the sounds of soldiers and men at arms cursing about soldier camps on the Dornish border.
All of his life, he had been drilled to defy the Dornish. And while he wasn't in Dorne, the culture of the Dornish people had certain influences practiced in some parts of Essos. Outlandish, raiding the border was a sport to them. But also loving and conquering hearts. Having spent every night since their departure from King's Landing in Daella's arms, the surrounding city of Lys - her brothels, pillow houses and fair-faced people of dragonseed - had created a cocktail of new thoughts.
He spent another few moments gazing at the lovely sight of the body by his side. Her face was half covered by silken pillows, half covered by hair of even softer, silver colour. The gentle act of stroking those rebellious strands off her cheek, tugging them behind the shell of her ear, had opened the window to the world that was her beauty.
It was hard to believe that the Firestar could rest so calmly.
All the soft silk in the world couldn't make the man lay down forever, however. He was a Baratheon. Not a Martell. Where there was slumbering fury, there were thoughts about the future, plans and considerations about the weight of reality. The pleasures of Lys could dull his senses, but not make his brooding vanish.
Leaving the flightless dragon upon sheets of sin, Arkas strode for a familar notion within the foreign setting of their room in a so-called 'establishment' within the city of love. The familiarity he found was not some wine, not the fruits and not scattered objects of oddity - but neither were it maps for making plans.
It was the balcony that filled the room with the lovely climate, winds only dulled by light curtains closer to being silver rain than actual fabric. Once beyond them, the coastal breeze was a blessing for his skin. Close to Daella, his body burned with heat of the desert. Or something deeper.
While his eyes looked toward the West, toward his home, he couldn't say that his thoughts grew wings in order to imagine a return. His future had aligned with hers. The oaths he hadn't sworn to Jaehaerys' father, the King, he would swear to her.
One day.
He knew it.
He had known it the moment he had first seen her.
PHARAOH LEAP.
[newclass=.likedo]background-color:#f0f0f0;padding:25px;width:400px;color:#888888;line-height:10px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedotitle]background-color:#ffffff;border:solid 9px #444444;padding:1px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedotitle2]background-color:#444444;color:#ffffff;font:bold 10px Calibri;line-height:35px;text-align:center;letter-spacing:2px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedoinfo]margin-top:-10px;border:solid 1px #e5e5e5;background-color:#f9f9f9;padding:24px;font:10px verdana;text-align:justify;line-height:12px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.likedosub]background-color:#444444;font:bold 8px Calibri;text-align:left;padding:10px;color:#ffffff;text-transform:uppercase;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass]