Who: Jaehaerys, William When: Day 63, sunset-ish Where: The Godswood Rating: PG-13 Status: Closed
Jaehaerys never bothered much with the Godswood. The Red Keep had fairer gardens and there was always the Kingswood if you wanted the wilderness. Still, it was always quiet, and that was helpful for thinking, and there were no passages around it. Oh, he respected the Old Gods, worshipped in the Sept. And never once much cared for any of the above. He supposed he prayed to the Warrior and the Father if any, though the Father had a disturbing tendency to look like Paegon Targaryen after a difficult council meeting and the Warrior’s occasional habit of looking just a bit too much like his uncles was near as disconcerting. Or perhaps that just served as a compliment to his family’s talents. His mother, his father, his uncles, the Stranger… and perhaps Elia was the Maid? He chuckled to himself. The Maid had thrown off her flower crown and told the priests to go to hell then. An interesting addition to the Seven-Pointed Star that ought to make.
The other benefit of the Godswood was that no one else thought to visit it much either. So it was there he’d retired to after he washed the dye out. His blond hair was wet and slightly darker than it would have been usually, but it was nice to take a moment’s ease before dealing with the dyes again. The fact that William Stark had a tendency to come here late in the day was another draw. His uncles would probably slaughter him for such recklessness, and Toria was like to side with them, but Jaehaerys had grown tired of waiting. He wanted to know what sort of wolf this one was. And after the matter of Flea Bottom today... Gods above. There were enough dead in this city. Much more and it would be a city of bones.
He was not unarmed, though the dagger at his belt was the only one obvious. Wolves and dragons in the godswood- there was a tale that Genna would love. He settled in to wait, idly examining the cyvasse piece he’d found in one of the passages. A dragon worked with amethyst eyes, but designed with intricate details. Strange the collection of things that people had lost in the tunnels over the years, but the miniature dragon held tales few would remember now. Elia perhaps, though she’d been scarcely seven when they’d dropped the piece in the rush to escape Lord Polonius’ ire over certain matters he’d long since forgotten…