bakerstreet | You're my king, I'm your lionheart

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You're my king, I'm your lionheart

Companion to Royalty Meme

There's one truth you must know of royalty: though power may lay in their hands, the crown is a cage. Whether you've always been noble, came into this position recently by complete surprise, or a simple person caught in the fray, you're realizing that leaders actually lead very little - even down to choosing who they spend their most intimate moments with. From eternal bonds of matrimonies to the distractions provided by courtesans, the people behind the throne make the rules. They cannot risk losing control of their most elevated and strategically placed pawn with a match gone wrong, which could create a domino effect and doom possibly thousands.

So, what part do you play in this game?

Lifetime Royal: This is what you've been raised to do.
Sudden Royal: You just learned of your position, which has been secret from you your entire life, or you unexpectedly inherited the job.
Spouse: You're to be married to nobility.
Concubine or Courtesan: For the royal, you're to be a sexual diversion.
Unaffiliated: You're either a lower-ranking noble or a peasant, but you're free from all the machinations of the shadowy cabal...for now.

How willing are you?

Completely Willing: Either you love the person you know you'll be matched with, or you're excited about the possibilities.
Wary: There's no choice in the matter for you, so you may as well approach this situation cautiously.
Unwilling: You didn't want to be matched up with someone. At all. Ever.

What path will you follow, once you're set upon it (there is, after all, little choice for the chosen ones)?

Prepared for This: Either you're a royal and have been one since birth, or you knew you'd marry or sexually entertain one.
Make Up for Lost Time: This life wasn't the one you lived until now, but times change. You're important or will be a companion to a very important person, like it or not.
A Sacrificial Token: Somewhere along the line, your people royally pissed off someone in a key position. So, in an attempt to smooth out relations, you've been given away as a gift to the highest power, either as a spouse for a political alliance or as a concubine or courtesan.
Pomp and Circumstance: All proper, this arrangement. You're to be married, as you've been promised to each other by your respective families. Consummation on the wedding night is key. Perhaps it's encouraged that the two of you act as if this is really a love match, to add insult to injury.
Genuine Love: Speaking of love matches, congratulations! You're one of the incredible few who gets to marry for love, so your lovemaking should be all the more enthused.
Only a Plaything: Heavy is the head who wears the crown, so you're expected to take on some side entertainment even if that's not your preference. Or you could be the courtesan...such a pretty, perfumed word for what the role really is...
Volunteered: You wanted this position, either of spouse or concubine. Your reasons are your own.
Cruel: You're powerful. You can do what you want to this person, a mere ant in comparison to you.
Forbidden: Even the most powerful can't have everything they want, such as someone who's promised to or with another; taking them for your own would create strife and destroy alliances, even to the point of tempting war.
Work Your Way Up: There's always a right tool for the job and you find no shame in using your own special tools to better your life.
Give Me an Heir: Whether you're legitimate or a concubine used as a surrogate, you must help in continuing the royal line.
Mutual Benefit: Both of you are comfortable with this arrangement because you're either compatible or it takes the pressure off of you otherwise.
Want to be More: Though you've been relegated to courtesan, you want to be there one and only spouse...no matter if that role is already filled or not.
Growing Affection: It may have started as all puppet strings and power plays, but now, you lo- care for them.
Loved Before: Before you became so important and powerful, before you became the focus of all the world, it seems, they were there with you. They were with you then, and you want them to be with you now. They ground you and they care about you for you.
Because You're Normal: They're outside of all the court's nonsense, and that's appealing to you. It's like a breath of fresh air.
WILDCARD

How to Play

Comment with your character, preference, preferred role, and any other information.
Reply to others.
RNG or choose your options.

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[ ooc: sure! i'm about to head out for lunch though, but i'll get to it when i return :> ]

[ooc: no worries! I'm heading to bed, so I'll tag when I wake up. :3]

Jon tugs at the collar of his shirt, frowning as he squints at the castle looming up ahead, through the throng of irontrees surrounding him and his companions. The sun's barely out yet the heat is already almost unbearable, though he supposes part of it, aside from Mustafar being a volcanic island, is having spent nearly his entire life in the harsh, cold North.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, turning to Rey. It's not that he doesn't trust her — he's practically known her since childhood, and she's been nothing but loyal to him and the Starks — but the idea of sailing West to form an alliance with people the North has never treatied with before had been hers. All because of some old man who'd left her in Winterfell when she was a child, who'd also left her a clue, a cryptic message, as though he'd somehow known that this was going to happen, that the North would need help against the Night King and his army of the dead.

Grey eyes shift to glance at the smoke and the tiny streams of lava glistening around them. Well, if there's a place they could mine mounds of obsidian, this is definitely it. Although a part of him wonders if Sansa might've been right, that he shouldn't have led this expedition himself, given that he's now the King in the North; but then who could speak for his people and their needs best? It had to be him. He had to be here.

"As sure as I can be," Rey murmured, slightly annoyed at the situation, but trying her best to not let it show on her face. Though, the hint of annoyance was probably heard in her voice. Or, maybe Jon could tell. He had known her long enough to know when she was trying to cover up her emotions. The entire mission felt like a suicide mission, but Luke, her caretaker, told her it was part of her destiny and she had a key part to play in the mess that was this world.

There was something about Mustafar that felt familiar. In a way a pieces of a dream felt familiar, but the more one concentrated on the details of the dream, the harder it became to recall them. The heat was dreadful though, adding to her frustrations, but one needed clothing before making an appearance in court and requesting aid to fight against the White Walkers.

Or, perhaps it was the looming thought that her best friend was now royalty--a King--and now he would need to find a wife to give him heirs. It wasn't bitterness or jealousy that loomed in her heart, but a sense of loss? Things were changing around them, and though she knew it was for the best (Jon was a great leader and would do right by his people), she didn't want to lose him.

Silly, truly. She couldn't lose what she never had.

"..We're being watched." Rey murmured under her breath, loud enough for Jon to hear. Her hand drawing closer to her side. The throng of irontrees did little to provide cover, and they were too far away from the castle to see any guards. Nothing was flying above them, but she swore they were being watched. She could sense it, and her gut hadn't failed her yet.

He'd caught that annoyance in her tone, alright, but he wasn't sure what had brought it on. That he'd questioned her? He wasn't allowed to now, because this mission was technically her idea? Or perhaps he was just on the edge about this as she was and overthinking a great many things, especially this strange island that might as well have dragons living beneath it. He'd seen the horrors of ice and now he was bearing witness to the horrors of fire. How ironically poetic.

Her observation only had him closing his eyes for a moment. He'd felt it, but he hadn't wanted to call any attention to it. And he'd been doing a good job at keeping his hand away from his sword, but now it was impossible not to bring it to his side and around the wolf's head hilt. "I wouldn't be surprised if they already know why we're here." While he had no idea who they might be. This wasn't just a suicide mission; they were jumping in blindly, to the rest of their party's dismay.

He tried to offer her a small smile. "I could think of worse things, though." Like being stabbed by your sworn brothers and left to die in the snow. Like actually dying. Like standing in front of your people, the people who put their trust in you and made you king, with the realization that you don't know how to save them. "Come on. We've come too far to back down, now."

Yes, this had been Rey's idea. A complete idiotic idea that would surely bring about both their death's, but what else could they do? Not follow the cryptic message Luke gave her and fight a war without anything to beat the White Walkers? Really, she should've had a better idea rather than jumping into the water, head first and expecting to swim as fast as a fish.

Without a life raft, or anything. It was just the two of them. Her, and the King of the North.

Rey caught the small smile Jon threw at her, making her lips twitch into a faint smile of her own. Worse things? Like joining the Knight's Watch, despite her many protests? Or, having a vision that terrified the ever-loving shit out of her? Or, falling for her best friend? Sure, worse things indeed.

"Don't say that, something worse is bound to be inside the castle," she chided, resisting the urge to put her hand on the hilt of her sword. They kept walking forward, but she made sure to keep her voice low. Her eyes scanning for any sign of foot prints, or feeling for a brief change of the wind.

At least, that was the plan until she felt something coming from behind them. In one swift motion, she pivoted behind Jon, drawing her sword and took a stance.

"We know you're there! Show yourselves!" Rey yelled out into the hot air. There were several seconds of tension as the illusion gave way, revealing men dressed in black with their faces covered by black steel helmets, their swords drawn or arrows pointed at them.

Well. Shit.

Well, the two of them and Ghost; Jon's direwolf was so quiet you could almost forget he existed, even if he was startlingly out of place, a patch of white among the fires and ashes of Mustafar. He was also startlingly fast, because he was already beside Rey once she'd gotten her sword out, baring his teeth and glowing red eyes soundlessly at the enemy.

Enemies, plural.

It took a second for Jon to catch up with the both of them, a second too late to stop his best friend from doing anything stupid like... yelling and demanding whoever was watching them to come out. Not that he normally knew better. He had no choice but to unsheathe Longclaw now, too, sighing softly.

The black-clad men, whoever they were, seemed unconcerned about him or Ghost, however. Their gazes were all leveled at Rey, and when they spoke, they eerily spoke in unison, in a monotone that made a chill run down his spine despite how hot the island literally was.

"Now your journey nears its end," they chanted. "Long have I waited and now you are here, Lady Rey."

If they weren't surrounded by enemies, Rey would've jabbed Jon's side for the sigh she heard. She was being prepared! She was trying to make sure they came out alive--and willing to die for him! Her annoyance evaporated feeling a cold chill run down her spine as the soldiers clad in black spoke in unison. From the enchantment that clouded them, it almost appeared as though someone was controlling their minds? Making them speak as one--act as one. Was such a thing possible?

Even more telling was how they knew who she was.

"How do you know me?" They sent no messenger to Mustafar, wanting to do an in-person meeting themselves. Plead their case and hope the King--no, he called himself Emperor, would aide them in their cause.

But fuck, how did they know her? She was an orphan, ward of Luke Skywalker. Nothing more, nothing less. Luke begrudgingly allowed the use of his surname, because he had to be difficult and honestly, the only father figure she had growing up. She was close to the Stark family because of Jon, but closer to only him, no one else.. Now, in one of the hottest places in this realm, these knights knew of her? This had to be a trap.

"I don't trust them," she muttered to Jon under her breath, waiting to see what the enemy would do. They were out numbered, but damn if she wasn't about to go down fighting tooth and nail.

Jon would've taken the jabbing in his usual good-natured way, or at least he was generally good-natured when it came to Rey. More than with his sister Sansa, in fact; then again Rey knew him better and had never once challenged his authority as King in front of his people, despite what he could read on her face otherwise. And he would've teased her a little for her annoyance too, but he was just as stunned and weirded out by the eerie chanting that came out of nowhere.

How did they know Rey? He had that question too. Because wasn't she an orphan? Luke Skywalker, some disgraced knight who'd come to live in Winterfell, had taken her in and raised her, and he'd even given her his last name — which Jon actually resented a little, because she didn't end up as Rey Snow and therefore didn't have to bear the stigma of the bastard-born. Not that he ever faulted her for it, of course, just the circumstances. But, yes, that was all anyone really knew about her. Now an entire horde of armored knights was greeting her by name?

"Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen," the soldiers answered tonelessly, and Jon found himself shivering. More magic? "Come inside, and let us speak of your destiny."

He glanced at Rey, but mostly retained his attention and his sword directed toward the Emperor's welcome committee. "Do we have a choice?" It was most probably a trap, but he couldn't see any other way.

"Not likely." Either they could fight and waste whatever chance they had with trying to gain support on Mustafar. This sort of magic was unsettling, and felt so wrong. Like another's will was being imposed on the soldier's. Or, was it a collective mind, working together? Individuality stripped from them. No, this did not bode well for them, but she had to keep a straight face.

"We'll go, but lower your weapons." A test, see how far they were willing to go to get her--them into the castle where they would be cut from the outside world for a time being. Whatever they wanted with her, Rey could make due. It was her duty to keep her best friend, and her King safe.

There was a tense moment where the black clad knights stood still, as if waiting for the command from some higher being, or the puppet master that pulled their strings before their swords were sheathed and arrows lowered. The sight was still eerie, but as a sign of good faith, Rey put her sword back at her side, though her fingers itched to hold the hilt of her weapon again.

They were forced to walk towards the castle with the Emperor's welcoming committee surrounding them, acting as a black cloud. Rey's nerves were on edge, listening, watching for any sign of a greater danger.

"I don't care what destiny they talk of. The mission is still the same." Get the resources, the men they need and defeat the White Walkers.

They walked with their envoy, hating the heat and humidity of the volcano. Rey never thought she would yearn for the ice and snow of Winterfell until now. When they reached the castle's door, they opened to show a throne with a lone figure sitting in it and a knight standing by his side. There could be more knights, hidden by magic, it was too hard to tell.

Rey forced herself to move one foot in front of the the other, getting close and closer. As she did, her heart filled with dread, but she did not know why. She stopped half way to the throne room, and let Jon take a step forward, a subtle display of their differences in status. Him, her king and she his knight.

"Rey Skywalker of Winterfell, and His Highness, Jon Snow, King of the North."

It's unsettling for Jon for another reason entirely — it reminded him of the Night King and his army of wights. He'd seen it for himself, after all, back when he was still at the Wall with the Night's Watch, before he'd died. He'd seen the Night King lift his arms and he'd seen the dead rise, moving as though commanded by some ghastly magic. That would be what he and the rest of them huddled in Winterfell would be up against. But was it any better, for the living to be influenced in this manner, as though they were no longer alive?

He was, once more, spared from making the next move, from calling the next shot, and he also sighed yet again at Rey being so reckless and charging headfirst into trouble. To protect him, he supposed, and while it didn't wound his pride in the slightest that he had to be protected by a woman, he wanted to protect her. She was his best friend, after all. They'd grown up together, weathered the storms of their childhood. And now, just because he was King, things were changing?

Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword and followed Rey's lead, into the dark castle and its foreboding throne room. "I don't like it when people talk of destiny," he admitted under his breath. Being said to be destined for something, after all, meant expectations. Who wanted to have to live with expectations as dire as saving the Realm? Vowing to do so was one thing, but being told to be so, because you were destined, was another.

At that point Jon was no longer surprised that whoever it was on the throne knew who they were. He tried not to let his hand stray to the hilt of his sword, not wanting to provoke anyone in the room. "Aye, Your Grace," he acknowledged, eyeing the figure on the throne. What was up with that cloak? He could barely see the man's face, let alone the face of any of his knights. "And I suppose you are aware as well why we have come?"

The man on the throne... well, smiled. "Yes." It sounded almost like a hiss. Then he turned his head so that he was very clearly bypassing Jon and looking straight at Rey, even if the shadows of his hood prevented anyone from actually seeing his face. "Lady Rey, my dear sweet Rey, has come home at last."

Things were changing because Jon was King. He had more responsibilities. Every action, every plan would be scrutinized, and what could Rey offered him other than loyalty? She could offer to fight for him, with him, and protect him as best as she could. Once the war with the White Walkers was over, and there was some semblance of peace in the Realm then Jon would have to think of having a family. Having an heir and she wasn't a noble woman. She was an orphan with no title to her name--which was fine.

Whatever 'destiny' she had, she would fight and carve her own path.

For now, she had to wait, and keep a keen eye out for the knights around them. The Emperor himself looked like a figure of death, surrounded in dark shadows. The cloak around his figure only helped with that illusion, and maybe that's what he wanted to go for? Some rulers wanted to show off their status with gold, and jewels, others wanted to rule with fear.

In an instant, the warm blood in her veins turned to ice. Try as she might to keep her face devoid of emotion, confusion still flickered in her eyes. He speaks like a snake. He can speak lies as well. She had to restrain herself from grabbing the hilt of her sword as not to aggravate his court or insult the Emperor.

"I'm afraid there's been some confusion, Your Grace." Rey began, keeping her voice even and calm as she could muster.

"This is my first time in Mustafar. I'm sure I would recall a place as...memorable as this." With the ironwood trees, and the heat that made it feel like Hell itself. Winterfell is my home. She wanted to say, yet held her tongue as to not cause a scene.

The Emperor seemingly leaned back into his throne of stone, parting out his lips to let out a chuckle, which slowly erupted into a laugh. He sounded like a mad king and Rey was sorely tempted to pull Jon out and run back to their ship.

The Emperor's laugh was unsettling. Jon had heard the stories about the Westerosi they called the Mad King, and he supposed this was how he would've sounded like, too. There was just something... dark and sinister about him, and so terribly lost. He wasn't sure what rattled his nerves more, the Night King or this Emperor. He glanced at Rey, wanting to make sure that she was okay, but she even looked more anxious than he was. Which made sense, because even he couldn't fathom what this man was saying. She was from Mustafar? True, she was an orphan with no title to her name, but nobody had questioned that she'd come from anywhere but the North. And yet—

"The lies Luke Skywalker must have told you," the Emperor's strange, snakelike voice continued, and Jon found himself turning his eyes back to the dark figure on the throne. Almost as if he was compelled to. "Did he tell you that you were nothing? That you were not wanted? Did he not tell you that you were stolen?"

Jon couldn't help scoffing. Luke had been a weird old man, but he'd been kind to Rey. In his own way, like an eccentric uncle. He couldn't imagine what this Emperor was insinuating about Rey's past. But then the Emperor turned to him too. "Oh, you laugh, Jon Snow, but what do you know? The lies Eddard Stark must have told you." He laughed again, and Jon found himself seething, the urge to reach for his sword nearly impossible to resist. "Allow me to introduce you to each other properly, then."

He gestured with a withered hand towards Rey. "Rey Palpatine, Princess of Mustafar, Heir to the Empire," he announced in a loud, booming voice that seemed to reverberate right through their skulls and throughout the chamber, and Jon turned to look at her with wide, grey eyes.

Rey could feel Jon's anger rising as much as her own. They were dealing with a Mad King. A man who spoke like a snake and more than likely acted like one. Someone who sold their soul to gain magical abilities to control their men like puppets. He was spewing lies and she wanted nothing more than to slit his throat for it.

She bit down on her tongue, trying to remain civil in the Emperor's court. Luke never made her feel worthless, or nothing. Children though, they could be cruel, saying things their parents whispered in their homes. They made her feel like nothing, but she always had Jon. He had been her rock and now....

Now she wanted nothing more than to silence the snake seated before them, cut his head off and leave.

What finally made her snap was hearing those raspy words slither out of his mouth, declaring her his heir. The rage in her came to a burning, bright point. Shock registered on her face for a brief moment until she saw Jon look at her. How she wanted to leave then and there, but her anger blinded her.

"That is not who I am," she began, speaking in deadly calm, and even tones. Her eyes fixated on the Emperor, taking one step in front of another until she was in front of Jon, trying to protect him from the lies the monster spewed out.

"You cannot deny what you are, dear child," the Emperor continue, a smirk playing on his withered face, taunting Rey further. She began to feel lightening at the tips of her fingers, her anger and rage needing an escape. The emperor watched on with fascination. One more push and she would see the truth.

Unless Jon could talk her down before she attempted to murder the Emperor.

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You're my king, I'm your lionheart

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oops i got indecisive at what point to start, let me know if you need anything changed though!

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