⛧ Aʟʟᴇɴ "ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴇsᴛ" Wᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ★ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likethelight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-04-08 08:41 pm
likethelight) wrote in deercountry2022-04-08 08:41 pm
[semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark
Who: Allen & others, possibly Argonaut appearances
What: Event-log and other April-related prompts. Plotting prompt stuff!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various
Content Warnings: SAD THINGS, harm and death to NPC children, mutilation, nightmare fuel mindfuckery, high corruption and beasthood.
⛧ 1. if your screams don't make a sound (wonderkind/AKUMA) ★
[ You were probably just minded your own business doing something totally normal — and then you got caught in up in Allen Walker's vortex of bad luck. Sorry. It's just a thing that happens. He doesn't even have his unlucky rabbit's foot on him! He learned better really quickly...!!
Regardless of whether you might have been haggling with a bakery over the price of day-olds, sipping tea in some little shop, or maybe this is your house that he's... about to put a hole through. So sorry — but all of a sudden part of the nearby brickwork explodes as a slender figure is bodily slammed entirely through it.
Yeah. It's that kind of day.
It does not look comfortable. And it does not look like something anyone could have gotten away with without some broken ribs, but as the dust settles the boy that was indeed used as a wrecking ball of sorts starts coughing and trying to sit up. This is just -- ugghhh...
Coming to his senses quickly though, dressed in a black and red jacket underneath what seems to be a impossibly volumous feathered white cloak that seems to be made of moonlight itself he -- blinks. And then whirls around, realizing you're there.
His left eye has bled black throughout the sclera, and the iris has shifted to glowing red rings that shift in and out like a camera lens focusing. There's a dark, corrupted sort of smoke that seems to be pooling around it as well. His expression is wide with alarm, actual fear for a moment at seeing you there, before he stumbles back up to his feet. To square his shoulders, face the hole he just was thrown through—
And rip back, shouting at you over his shoulder as he spreads a single arm out in warning. ]
RUN!
[ Because, over the edge of the rubble... there's a faint sort of here-but-not dark glow. And the world seems to desaturate, fading from color into the black and white. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're even looking through your own eyes.
And then you hear a faint sobbing. Distant, but far too close as well. Like it's there in your own skull. Faintly.
And a figure floats into view, cresting the stone. At first, it looks like... an extremely mummified corpse. Bone dry, curled up in a fetal position. It isn't even the thing crawling up and through the hole, but that seems deem and distant right now. It's attached to it.
Because the sobbing stops as soon as you look at it, and the specter stiffens suddenly. Socketless pits for eyes turning right towards you as it realizes you see it —
—and its jaw falls open as it screams. ]
⛧ 2. if your heart just cries too loud all the time (butterflies/beasthood) ★
[ He knew this worked like a game of Russian roulette, he really did. And he doesn't even want to have to destroy any of the butterflies that have flocked to the Trench. It's fine when they stay up and away from people, but when they choose to land near populated areas...
It's not even for misjudging his own ability to purge corruption from his own body! It has limits, he knows that... too much can still be too much if it's all at once. But he has to keep trying. Better him than someone else. Or at least, thinking about that...
...it's easy to forget the actual consequences.
Maybe you were there when he destroyed the butterfly, a boy who suddenly transformed into into a white harbinger wreathed in what looks like condensed moonlight taking the shape of a huge feathered cloak and wielding a great broadsword as long and broad as he is. Maybe you just see the consequences of that — or hear the sudden howling gale.
What: Event-log and other April-related prompts. Plotting prompt stuff!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various
Content Warnings: SAD THINGS, harm and death to NPC children, mutilation, nightmare fuel mindfuckery, high corruption and beasthood.
⛧ 1. if your screams don't make a sound (wonderkind/AKUMA) ★
[ You were probably just minded your own business doing something totally normal — and then you got caught in up in Allen Walker's vortex of bad luck. Sorry. It's just a thing that happens. He doesn't even have his unlucky rabbit's foot on him! He learned better really quickly...!!
Regardless of whether you might have been haggling with a bakery over the price of day-olds, sipping tea in some little shop, or maybe this is your house that he's... about to put a hole through. So sorry — but all of a sudden part of the nearby brickwork explodes as a slender figure is bodily slammed entirely through it.
Yeah. It's that kind of day.
It does not look comfortable. And it does not look like something anyone could have gotten away with without some broken ribs, but as the dust settles the boy that was indeed used as a wrecking ball of sorts starts coughing and trying to sit up. This is just -- ugghhh...
Coming to his senses quickly though, dressed in a black and red jacket underneath what seems to be a impossibly volumous feathered white cloak that seems to be made of moonlight itself he -- blinks. And then whirls around, realizing you're there.
His left eye has bled black throughout the sclera, and the iris has shifted to glowing red rings that shift in and out like a camera lens focusing. There's a dark, corrupted sort of smoke that seems to be pooling around it as well. His expression is wide with alarm, actual fear for a moment at seeing you there, before he stumbles back up to his feet. To square his shoulders, face the hole he just was thrown through—
And rip back, shouting at you over his shoulder as he spreads a single arm out in warning. ]
RUN!
[ Because, over the edge of the rubble... there's a faint sort of here-but-not dark glow. And the world seems to desaturate, fading from color into the black and white. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're even looking through your own eyes.
And then you hear a faint sobbing. Distant, but far too close as well. Like it's there in your own skull. Faintly.
And a figure floats into view, cresting the stone. At first, it looks like... an extremely mummified corpse. Bone dry, curled up in a fetal position. It isn't even the thing crawling up and through the hole, but that seems deem and distant right now. It's attached to it.
Because the sobbing stops as soon as you look at it, and the specter stiffens suddenly. Socketless pits for eyes turning right towards you as it realizes you see it —
—and its jaw falls open as it screams. ]
⛧ 2. if your heart just cries too loud all the time (butterflies/beasthood) ★
[ He knew this worked like a game of Russian roulette, he really did. And he doesn't even want to have to destroy any of the butterflies that have flocked to the Trench. It's fine when they stay up and away from people, but when they choose to land near populated areas...
It's not even for misjudging his own ability to purge corruption from his own body! It has limits, he knows that... too much can still be too much if it's all at once. But he has to keep trying. Better him than someone else. Or at least, thinking about that...
...it's easy to forget the actual consequences.
Maybe you were there when he destroyed the butterfly, a boy who suddenly transformed into into a white harbinger wreathed in what looks like condensed moonlight taking the shape of a huge feathered cloak and wielding a great broadsword as long and broad as he is. Maybe you just see the consequences of that — or hear the sudden howling gale.
A whirling gale of feathers, light, and tattered wings made from moonlight themselves that rips upwards from a doubled over figure. A white and gold gigantic masquerade mask floats above as well, twisting to and fro from the feathered cloak like it's unsure how to hold its shape, like it's too angry to remember its shape and cares not for what it was, but is trying to contort itself into something new. But the winged sort of cloak looks almost angelic, glowing white-gold and ethereal. It's beautiful, and somewhat terrible as well. Especially as the figure, with his hands clutching his head like it wants to split in two, would not seem to have a normal left hand but a great white and gold monstrous sort of claw instead. But it too can't seem to hold its form, splitting into glowing feathers along his arm that twist in the air.
It's like a howling monster clinging to the figure even as it also tries to rip away.
And if you're caught staring, an edge of that tattered, feathery wing-cloak rips out towards you and slashes into—and through the brickwork by your head. And that's when you might realize that even though it looks like a cloak and feathers, it cuts as sharply as any sword. ]
Stay— [ It's a boy beneath all that. A teenager, pale and ethereal himself as the feathers around him, with a dark red scar cutting through the left side of his face. And he pants and rasps it out, gritting his teeth audibly and fixing a surprisingly sharp and hard dark eye on you. A window of raw clarity in a maelstrom.
Anguished clarity, his face twisted in tragedy.
But that eye is blood red and black, and the scar surrounding it twists itself restlessly across his face like an angry, living thing. Black smoke bleeds from that left side of his face, mixing in with the white. ]
—back...
More closed prompts below! I'm trying to do more closed/planned things since I have a lot going on this month and a bunch that are sequential, but please feel free to hit me up on my plotting prompt and I'm happy to plan something and do a private prompt for us! He will be generally collecting the hope orbs, mostly for Viktor, getting fucked up with his restored memories/tether and hiding from people later in the month, and trying to purify and reverse the corruption/beasthood of any turned, especially as a result of the butterflies. So, especially if you want to get your character in on realizing even full beasthood can be reversed by exorcists and other sorts of purification abilities and you want them to be able to see the human souls still in them... 👉👈 hit me up.
It's like a howling monster clinging to the figure even as it also tries to rip away.
And if you're caught staring, an edge of that tattered, feathery wing-cloak rips out towards you and slashes into—and through the brickwork by your head. And that's when you might realize that even though it looks like a cloak and feathers, it cuts as sharply as any sword. ]
Stay— [ It's a boy beneath all that. A teenager, pale and ethereal himself as the feathers around him, with a dark red scar cutting through the left side of his face. And he pants and rasps it out, gritting his teeth audibly and fixing a surprisingly sharp and hard dark eye on you. A window of raw clarity in a maelstrom.
Anguished clarity, his face twisted in tragedy.
But that eye is blood red and black, and the scar surrounding it twists itself restlessly across his face like an angry, living thing. Black smoke bleeds from that left side of his face, mixing in with the white. ]
—back...
More closed prompts below! I'm trying to do more closed/planned things since I have a lot going on this month and a bunch that are sequential, but please feel free to hit me up on my plotting prompt and I'm happy to plan something and do a private prompt for us! He will be generally collecting the hope orbs, mostly for Viktor, getting fucked up with his restored memories/tether and hiding from people later in the month, and trying to purify and reverse the corruption/beasthood of any turned, especially as a result of the butterflies. So, especially if you want to get your character in on realizing even full beasthood can be reversed by exorcists and other sorts of purification abilities and you want them to be able to see the human souls still in them... 👉👈 hit me up.
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Namely right now as he's realizing he is in a bad spot but torn about what to do about it. Should he just jump off? Should he try to anchor both him and the dragon to the tower? Except no, his body would be torn limb from limb in the process... But he can't just leave--
When the raven cries out and digs her talons into the luminous soft downy feathers of his cowl, one so wide it falls back over his shoulders like a small sort of capelet, he's startled out of his dilemma and looks up at it. That raven--? Was it... trying to save him? But he weighs too much --
Impact is imminent and there are no more options, so his expression twists in torn concern up at it, right before he throws himself down and flat against the back of the dragon, tucked between its wings and hugging himself to the creature. His sword shifting back into the shape of his arm and claw as he does so --
-- and his hood snapping up then, like a living thing moving to protect him and her. Scooping up the raven in a protective, if incredibly soft and pillow-like sort of armor the cloak makes and pressed against the side of his face. It's something that feels strangely gentle to the touch. Peaceful, like the luminous sort of feathers and material could touch straight though to the soul and soothe it.
There is a dull thoom as the dragon lands heavily on its side, shaking the both of them and the ground itself in a small earthquake-- even back to where Sansa's body is and the crowd around her. (One little girl -- she's stayed and is shaking her seemingly unconscious body and trying to get a response out of her, afraid she was hurt. "Miss? ...Miss?) But it is ground, not cobblestone or pavement, and the soft grass and dirt gives underneath it, ploughed up under the weight.
And on top, staggering upright slowly -- a somewhat dizzy-looking boy clad in white who slowly starts to pull his mask down and looks around finally. ]
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Thank you, you're very kind, I'm perfectly well--[she picks herself back up and brushes a little dust from her dress.] Don't look so smug, Winter, I can feel you laughing at me.
["I just wanted to know what you were planning to do, exactly," winter says.]
You know you'll have to be bigger than that if you want to carry either of us.
[he grows, then, to the size of a black bear. the little girl backs away wide-eyed.]
Take me to him, then. I would have felt it if he died.
[winter springs into the air and scoops up sansa with his massive talons. she's too tired to think very much about falling, or the moon door. he carries her towards allen, and sets her gently on the ground beside the dragon.]
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Allen has just slid down and has turned back to the dragon when Sansa arrives. He's patting it lightly along the neck, looking intent and a bit concerned as he takes in the deep gouges. The blood is only oozing from it by this point, but the wounds it had taken during its fight with the previous dragon were certainly part of why it was already weakened.
It leaves his cloak looking a little wild and tattered as well. Not just from the fight which has it looking kind of... smoldered... and sooty, but it's shifting like a restless living thing. The corruption is incredibly high in this area right now, after all. And Timcanpy has slipped out by now as well, hovering and watching the dragon in some apparent worry. ]
Lady-- Alayne! [ There's a slight pause, but he did catch himself despite his brain still trying to catch up after... dragon... but there might be people around. He looks startled to see her, especially being borne aloft by such a huge white raven of an omen. ]
Are you alright...? [ He looks... questionable, but alive. He's let his mask and cowl down so the lower half of his face looks cherry red and uncomfortably burnt -- badly so at the edges of his face -- but he smiles at seeing her, looking relieved.
Next to him though, there is a rumble. A shuddered sort of deep exhalation, as the dragon begins to stir. Rolling itself to one side to upright itself on the knuckle of its wing, it gives its head a slight shake before turning -- and fixing its gaze directly on the two teenagers. Eyes as big as either of their hands, and a clear, extremely intelligent pale grey that dilate and then narrow as there's a quiet rumble deep in its chest. ]
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"I can mind the hound," he says, and flies off.]
I'm well. Were you hurt at all, or burned?
[she walks around the dragon from a careful distance, making sure she's out of the line of fire and trying to get a look at its wounds. the little raven hides in her arms.]
We'll have to clean his wounds. I don't imagine he will enjoy that.
[she hopes it hasn't lost too much blood. she's not sure the blood ministers have the right kind of blood to replace it. at least it has the strength to stand up, but that means they have to worry about dragonfire. she tries to think of people she could call to help, and realizes she has no idea what time it is.]
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(Aaa, hot. Even its regular breath at this distance is hot, but...)
Not dangerously so, or even that uncomfortably. And he hesitates for a moment, an odd sort of expression on his face before he steps closer to its head. Almost twice his size in length for its head alone, its scale versus him means it could easily snap him in a single bite. It snorts for a moment, watching him, and lips curling back from its teeth in a rippled utterance. And yet...
Carefully, he places his right hand along the side of its muzzle. Letting his fingers spread out wide and still being dwarfed in size, but it merely snorts in response. Tousling his hair with the sudden gust, but otherwise watching him with calm eyes that slowly blink through the aid of a membranous third eyelid. ]
I think he'll let us though. [ It's just a knowing. But his tone is quietly awestruck.
For him, after all, there was no such tale of dragons being gentle or understanding of humans -- let alone any reality. ]
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You are a dragonknight. The first in a hundred years.
[technically aemon the dragonknight hadn't had a dragon, and he had lived a little more than a hundred years ago. still.]
I think he must be the Grey Ghost.
[and allen saved him from his horrible fate. how wonderful.]
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Eh?? 'Dragonknight'?? [ But... but he just exorcised it!! That can't be the same thing!!
He's a bit mollified that she seems to know this specific dragon though, and glances back at its pale eyes with a conflicted, but curious expression. Soul piercing. They're soul piercing sorts of eyes, but somehow he still gets the sense it's calm and at ease now despite its pain.
He gives its muzzle another pat. "Dragonknight"........ ]
You mean you recognize him? 'The Grey Ghost'?
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I recognized the other one. Sunfyre, the mad dragon. He...[she lowers her voice for this next word, as if the dragon might hear it and be upset] ate the Grey Ghost, before he ate Queen Rhaenyra. I had nightmares when we learned about that. Of course, I was much younger.
[maybe 11. she carefully approaches the dragon, trying not to make any sudden movements.]
The Grey Ghost was what they called him on Dragonstone, because he never stayed in one place long enough for anyone to get a look at him. It's not a proper name.
[but she smiles, somewhat helplessly, at allen.]
Still, I should tell you, my brother's wolves were called Grey Wind and Ghost.
[sansa doesn't believe in destiny anymore, only duty and birthright and luck. still she can't help but wonder at the serendipity of it all.]
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Except, apparently... another dragon. That's awful. What a fate.
Turning back to him, the Grey Ghost, his expression knits in sympathy. Running his hand along the ridge of its scales as it turns an eye to watch Sansa, breathing out a rumbled breath that has its nostrils flare and contract. It's not friendly, but it isn't unfriendly either. Highly cautious and measuring her movements; her intent. But mollified. ]
They were? [ He shoots her a clearly startled look at that. What are the chances, her brother's wolves bearing such similar names? And he was just thinking, if it didn't have a proper name then "Ghost" seems to fit... ]
I'll have to think about it. [ Moreover, he's not sure he has the right to name such a creature. ]
I think... I'd like to try and figure out what he thinks it is.
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Ghost still is.
[and then she pauses, hesitates. she's still holding the raven, and pets her absently.]
When I was born, the dragons had been gone for nearly a hundred and fifty years. But--other creatures, very clever ones, don't give themselves names, as such. They don't--have to tell anybody who they are. Names are how people think of the world. Even animals that know their names--they just know that's what people call them. It isn't theirs.
[she's never really had to put these things into words before, and she would have been afraid to try until very recently. she hopes it makes sense, and that she hasn't crushed allen's hope of learning his dragon's name.]
He should be able to learn his name, though. That is, what you want to call him. They were said to be clever, cleverer than horses.
[which doesn't make training easier, exactly.]
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Mm... [ It's a thoughtful hum, looking up into the dragon's eye again as he mulls that over. Maybe it's a tiny bit depressing, but... not really. It isn't really exactly what he meant. He just... that seems like something too important to make arbitrarily on his own?
They need to get to know each other first. See what suits it; what kind of creature it is, what it likes and doesn't. Maybe that's more what he means. Because it can't be just another animal, even a very clever one. He refuses. He didn't even see Timcanpy -- the original Timcanpy -- as a golem or some artificial creation, much like how he barely sees him now as his omen. He's just... Timcanpy. His best friend.
And this dragon is its own person he wants to meet. That's how he sees it. ]
I'm sure he is. [ It's a gentle, neutral response. He'll still have to think on it, but in the meantime--
He glances back to Sansa, head tipped back as he considers the more immediate problem. ]
How do you think we should try to clean its wounds? [ Thankfully the bleeding has mostly stopped, though there's been enough spilled the corruption here is high, but they're so... big. Not in scale to the rest of the dragon, but to them and how to approach tending them they certainly are. ]
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Well, you could get on his back and pour any sort of alcohol on them. It shouldn't be harder than staying on his back when he was corrupted. Keeping them clean would be harder, though. [dressing a wound on a dragon cross with the sting of having them cleaned out with stinging antiseptics...and changing that dressing...] We'd do well to find a healer mage, or a even just a blood minister.
[she pauses, hesitant.]
I do know a healer among the sleepers, but I'm afraid he doesn't like me very much.
[and...people that don't respond well to her charms often turn out to be quite dangerous. to her, at least.]
But I think Lord Sasuke might be married to another one...I could ask him to send her.
[she doesn't know if it's a reasonable hour to fetch sasuke out of bed, but who knew what kind of germs had been on sunfyre's horrible talons?]
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I can do that. [ He's watching those eyes for a read, taking in the measured blink of the nictitating membrane. ] I think he'll let me.
[ Without having to resort to cheating with his cloak this time, that is. ]
And I wouldn't want you to have to call on someone you're not comfortable with. [ He's not sure he wants someone testy being around a creature like this in a state like that anyway. Calm energy without people feeling tense around each other is a much better idea... something tells him that even though it seems calm now and understands they're trying to help it, someone could get really hurt very easily. ]
I don't know either of them, but... do you think she'd be willing? [ He hates bothering people, but this isn't for him. ]
At the very least in the meantime we should move him out of here. The corruption isn't good if it's wounded.
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I'm sure he'll let you the first time. [a pause.] Lord Sasuke is my sworn sword, and Lady Sakura...seems kind. She is a powerful healer, and I don't believe she would have become one if she didn't want very much to heal those in need. And she sounded quite comfortable with Sasuke's giant hawk and snakes.
[not a euphemism. but sansa has an idea, when he suggests moving the dragon.]
A quick dip in salt water would cleanse all his wounds at once. But--I'm not sure that the ocean would be safe for a wounded creature.
[sansa knows zero facts about the ocean, or what sharks are like, but she knows there are beasts there, who might think a wounded dragon an easy meal.]
There is a bright salt lake in the Trenchwood. It's said to have healing properties under the full moon. The traders and hunters were talking about it, when I went to Feed. It should be easy to spot on dragonback.
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It's been a full moon all month! [ Could that actually be luck? No, he doesn't believe in that sort of thing. ]
That might be the best. I don't know how well he might react to more people after all that anyway. [ And who knows if regular healing magic would work on something like a dragon? But moreover, while it seems alright with him and Sansa... he's a bit hesitant how it'll react to more strangers. ]
What do you think? [ Is he talking to Sansa? No. He's moved around and has cradled the tip of its beaklike, bonily ridged snout between both his hands while looking up at it -- and pats it, careful to use the palm of his bladed, faintly luminescent hand that's not that unlike its own clawed feet. Exactly like with a dog. A very, very big dog. ] Would sitting in a lake be better?
[ Utterly fearless teen? Utterly fearless teen.
-- Also his best friend has always been a toothy flying thing anyway. It's like a boy and his new best deadly friend. Who's something like fifty times his size... or a hundred... or more. Wings make it hard to tell. And he's really skinny. ]
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You know, the lost prince Jacerys promised a knighthood to anyone who could ride one of the wild dragons of Dragonstone.
[a knighthood and lands and riches. she may be able to make good on one of them, at least.]
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Why's she smiling like that? And telling him that? ]
Eh?
[ Putting the two together? No. No, he is not. ]
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By rights, you've earned yourself a knighthood. He also promised lands, but I'm afraid you'll have to find them for yourself, here.
[however!! she grins.]
Prince Jacerys Velaryon made a famous pact with my great ancestor Lord Cregan Stark. After he died, Lord Cregan marched his army south in his name. That's how we won the Dance of the Dragons.
[this is perhaps a gross oversimplification]
As the current head of House Stark, it is my duty to carry out any other final wishes Prince Jacerys might have had.
[it........probably isn't. but she affects a deadpan face.]
Give me your sword.
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whatwhatwhatwhatWHAT! ]
A knight... hood?! [ His voice might have cracked a bit. Just a little. With a slightly panicked expression. ]
I-- [ ...can he refuse a lady???? No! That definitely seems more impolite! She's the head of a noble house! Maybe not his if he even had, cared for, or paid attention to such things, but the point still stands!!
But he hasn't -- he didn't deserve anything to, so... ]
... [ With a rather red face and look of utter helplessness, he wordlessly reaches again for the golden crown that circles his left wrist, drawing his sword once again from his arm in a transformative burst of light that leaves his cloak draped protectively over his shoulder where once there was a sleeve.
He holds it out to her hilt first, but with a somewhat worried expression. ]
It's very heavy for anyone else to hold. [ Very. He wields it like a feather, but this is an almost six foot long, two foot wide gleaming white and gold spiritual blade we're talking about here. ]
But you don't-- I really don't feel like I've done anything that... [ He trails off with an expression that's mildly dismayed, if also just... awestruck. So very, very awestruck and torn about it. ]
...something like that just seems like... such an honor.
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You've done something no one in the Seven Kingdoms could do. The Grey Ghost was never ridden. The only other dragon like that was the Cannibal, and he was horrible. So long as you don't betray the rightful queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, who has been dead for a hundred and seventy years, to her treacherous younger brother Aegon, who died shortly afterward, you are more than worthy of this honor. So kneel.
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...! [ He can't... even find words for that. And for a moment it may as well have been that she struck him, so startled is he -- and moved. Expression twisting in a sudden surge of emotion that leaves his throat feeling tight, he can't even respond to her. He just blinks rapidly for a moment, a flutter of stark white eyelashes trying to chase back a sting.
He kneels without another word, on one knee with his cloak out around him. Behind, the dragon rumbles and watches impassively, as does his golem. Shifting its weight for a moment between its great hind legs and the knuckles of its wings, like it's lowering itself a little or getting more comfortable.
He bows his head as well, and thinks it's a good thing she can't see his face. ]
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By declaration of Prince Jacerys Velaryon of Dragonstone and the Pact of Ice and Fire, I name you Ser Allen of house Walker, knight of the Seven Kingdoms.
[for what little that's worth. but now is not the time to think of the mountain or ser boros blount and ser meryn trant or even jaime lannister. she thinks of loras and garlan and aemon the dragonknight. allen belongs with the best of them. she taps his other shoulder, for good measure. she's never actually seen someone knighted before, and is only guessing. she clumsily draws the sword away and holds it unsteadily in front of her.]
Now rise, Ser Allen, and take this greatsword from me before I drop it.
[her arms are getting tired.]
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Although she might have destroyed him slightly when she says that, "of house Walker,", as his head jerks up at it. He won't cry, but for a moment he looks like he might. Just because... she really has no idea just how much that means, hearing it like that. Like an echo from the past. Especially now with his memories returned in full. And to be seen with honor in something that he's always just felt so much incredible guilt and sadness over...
He rises, throat still a bit too tight to manage a proper response as he reaches out to take the sword back. It's featherlight and easy, the second he actually grips it, and he returns it back to his left side
And he bends in such a deep, deep bow to Sansa then. ]
Would it be alright... [ His voice is a bit thick, before he swallows and peeks back up to her through the hair that's fallen over his face. ]
...if you still just call me 'Allen'?
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Of course. But you must call me Sansa, when we're alone.
[she grins.]
You'll have to choose a sigil for your house. I don't know that the Targaryens would like it very much if you took a dragon, but they're all dead now, anyway.
[NO, SANSA]
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Mm. [ He smiles finally, softly and so very relieved. Grateful. ] Sansa, then.
Although I, ah... [ is he squirming? it kind of looks like he is ] A sigil? Like... a coat of arms? [ Ah, his fluster is visibly rising again. ]
Is that... really appropriate? I wouldn't even know where to start...
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sorry for delay! my portfolio deadlines left me very little brainpower for many tags