"Above The Rest...Clearly."

Created For:

Daria N. Queen: A Game Of Thrones Selection Roleplay, by

Full Name:

Amaira Eveline Mallister, Lady Of Seagard

Nickname: 

Age:

Twenty-Four

Gender:

Female

Sexual Orientation: 

Bisexual

Pronouns:

She/Her

House:

House Mallister

Title:

Lady Of Seagard

Friends/Allies:

The Tully clan, others from the Riverlands. She gravitates towards those who seem authentic.

Enemies:

Cannot abide the Ironborn under any circumstances. Amaira describes the Lannisters as "uppity"---behind their backs, of course.

Relationship Status:

Single

Weaponry:

Carries a small dagger with a silver blade and mother-of-pearl handle. It is small, quick, and efficient.

Abilities:

Amaira is rumoured to have knowledge of herbal medicine, like many in the Riverlands. This includes a number of poisons that look as harmless as a flower.

Faceclaim: 

Madelaine Petsch

Family:

Daughter of Alexandrine and Owain Mallister. Both died of a deadly virus causing small red spots all over the skin. Everyone who tried to help the ailing pair also met the same fate, causing speculation that the curse of House Mallister continues.

Amaira is the last surviving Mallister, and mourns the inevitable extinction of her house. Generation after generation, the prosperity of the Mallisters seems marred by poor decisions, bad company, or just plain bad luck.

Persona:

Amaira is a tempestuous and free-spirited woman whose personality matches her flaming copper hair. Unlike the other ladies, who spend countless hours braiding and decorating, she lets her hair fly free in the wind. She is sensible, highly intelligent, and also has a stubborn streak a mile wide. An only child born to a prosperous but hard-working middle-class family, Amaira learned how to make the best of any situation, to provide for herself when the need arose, and to see through the schemes and manipulations of others. Though a caring person with a soft side around those who know her well, she also believes the only person she can trust and the only person who will never leave her is herself.

Like most of her ancestors, Amaira has a free-spirited side to her that enjoys drinking, dancing, and bawdy jokes. She can ride a horse and brandish a weapon, and though she is a lady, she always seems more at home in the company of men. She loves jewelry, though it is much to her dismay that the silver of her house doesn't suit her as well as gold, and often mixes the two together.

Though she has a tough and capable exterior that keeps the world at arm's length, it is likely because she's known a great deal of loss and hardship. Those close to her will find her a loyal friend, witty, and honest to a fault. 

"Above The Rest" suits Amaira as a motto, because she has the dignity of a Queen and the self-assurance of a warrior. Although her self-respect borders on arrogance, she is generally a likeable and attractive person--unless she has made you her enemy.

Backstory:

Amaira is the only child of the Lord Owain Mallister of Seagard, and his wife Alexandrine. Not much is known about her mother's background, one of many mysteries in Amaira's life. Alexandrine was a delicate woman not suited for the soggy weather of the Riverlands, nor for the pain of childbirth. After Amaira's birth almost killed the petite woman, Alexandrine took measures to ensure she'd have no more children. The daughter of a traveling apothecary, she eventually taught her daughter this secret, as well as many more that came from the earth around them.

Lacking a son, Owain raised Amaira much as he would a firstborn male. She was taught to ride, hunt, fish, and how to fight if it became necessary. Amaira showed aptitude at an early age, possessing an acute political mind and grasping insights on why people behave as they do. If she were a man, she would have become a trusted advisor in Westeros. Since she was not, she learned to be content with her future as the Lady Of Seagard, a noble if modest life.

Amaira was engaged at seventeen to a son of the allied Tully family. It did not end well, and she became a widow before a bride. Since then, she hasn't believed in romance, and thinks of it as an affectation of those with too much time on their hands. Love, on the other hand, develops with time and cannot be "selected", in her eyes.

Her parents died of a mysterious ailment that caused fever, delusions, and small red spots upon the skin. Despite trying everything she knew about herbalism, Amaira could not save them. Neither could the real apothecary who traveled miles to help. In fact, all who visited the Mallister household died from this mysterious ailment. Amaira was the only one to survive, leading to whispers that she had special "powers" that might be used for evil.

At the age of twenty-four, Amaira is no longer a naive young woman hoping to be swept off her feet. The idea of being part of a "selection" is a bit laughable to her. She is not an object to be chosen by the privileged,, and the Crown Prince is practically a child.

However, Amaira is keenly aware she is the last of a family line that has struggled for survival, almost since the beginning. A child would not continue her line, but it would somehow perhaps keep her family's legacy from dying out. 

Task One: Ball Collage And Introduction/Arrival 

The air in the Riverlands was crisp and held a small chill, the sky overcast in a way that felt like home to Amaira. It was the leaving that was unnatural, a journey that was meant to be the greatest honour of her life. Generally, if one had to be told something was a great honour, it wasn't as great as the person doing the telling fancied. Amaira would be honoured to meet lovely people, but only as much as they might be honoured to meet her. She wasn't the type to have stars in her eyes when it came to royalty or warriors, or some romantic ideal of marriage. Royals were those lucky enough to be born in the right place, at the right time. Warriors were strong enough to suppress their emotions and kill for a living. Romantics were too young to know better of the world. Not a single quality recommended a person as a husband, or a meeting that would be the greatest honour of her life.

At nearly twenty-five, Amaira had long discarded the idea of marriage. She was engaged once, though she had been young and time had dulled the blade of that story. She was content to be the Lady Of Seagard, a shrewd and fiery woman in a land of the hard-working middle-class. Amaira knew how to put on a ball gown and delicate silver slippers, and curtsy as required. She also knew how to catch a fish, run a household, balance the books, and toss back a shot of whiskey at the end of the day. If the selection was about finding a young, delicate flower, her invitation was sorely misplaced.

Two footmen, not minding the rain, helped Amaira load her luggage into the back of the carriage. She had to be talked into riding along with it, shielding her from whatever the world might throw in her way.

Amaira was not the type of woman to be shielded. She'd have happily hiked up her skirts and ridden her lovely chestnut horse to King's Landing. She only gave in after the reminder that a first impression was a lasting one.

Amaira did not need a husband,and the type of men Amaira assumed she'd meet at King's Landing would not need Amaira, not for anything more than a night of whiskey and companionship no one could ever know anything about. Yet, if she wanted to be remembered for anything, if she wanted centuries of Mallister legend and sacrifice to live on, her future child would need a father.

As the hours wore on and day turned to night, and day again, Amaira became thankful for the shelter of the modest carriage. It allowed her to sleep, as little as she could. When the bumps and jolts mercifully stopped, she straightened herself up, twisting her hair into the unusual knot that affixed it to the top of her head easily. She gave the appearance of a lithe and graceful ballerina as she exited the carriage, though her half-opened eyes and stumble against an errant rock betrayed the image.

Her black eyes raised to the sky, Amaira stared at the sight that was far more impressive than any palace or any prince. An ivory dragon moved through the sky, showing the same curious mixture of grace and ferocity Amaira herself possessed. She smiled, for the first time, feeling as if she'd been brought someplace with a purpose, perhaps by destiny.

It wasn't the honour of her life, the opportunity to be flattered by a young Prince eager to be taken seriously as a man. Yet, she had been brought to a place that felt like home and trembled with potential for its own destruction or redemption. Whatever ornate furnishings or lavish rooms might greet her as an honoured guest, she would appreciate. However, it was the power that lit up the sky that was the true work of art.