#[ ♔ dethroned. ]

[divine-reflection]

Hey everyone! thank yall for the patience! These past few weeks were very dreadful both emotionally and mentally....thankful, things are starting to look up. I just replied to several threads! i put them in my queue so look out for them!

[chyertsar]

♔. synopsis: koschei is the youngest of the seelie queen’s three sons: two of which she bore through her late husband, and the youngest being the son of her royal guard. after her death, koschei’s father took him away from the faerie realm to protect him from the deadly plot of his older half-brother, casimir. the runaway prince was ultimately left to the charge of a witch woman named jadwiga, who raised him as her apprentice and stable hand. in his reckless youth, koschei revealed his whereabouts to the faefolk by the improper use of his magic. tricked and abducted by a pooka who'd served casimir, he was flung into a prison realm where he battled for his life for nine infernal years. now having finally escaped, koschei seeks to take revenge on his brother and unseat him as the new seelie king . . . affiliated with rainfile

♔. not set to any particular canon, but will be drawing from a mix of inspirations: slavic and irish folklore, dante’s inferno, naomi novik's uprooted, as well as koschei’s original fairytale ( specifically, his ties to baba yaga and her horses ). i’m happy to comply and/or adjust this to other canons though !

♔. he can possibly be encountered: 1 ) in his youth – as a witch’s apprentice and stable hand – in a village outside the faerie realm that i can easily integrate with any fantasy setting 2 ) traveling through a chthonic realm(s) after being wrongfully cast out from his world; 3 ) as the returned seelie prince, now in possession of the sun stone and gathering allies to dethrone his brother

♔. once he becomes the new seelie king by forcing casimir's retreat, he's either still hunting the traitor down or ( if he’s managed to find and kill him already ) fully settled into his position. . . although proving to be not much of an improvement. 

♔. something he encountered in the prison realm is trying to seek retribution for his escape and/or use koschei as a vessel which is driving him to venture further into the dark arts to mitigate the threat. consequently, a seelie king’s unnatural use of magic is having adverse effects on the realm and those surrounding it (e.g., fluctuating temperatures, overgrowths, root rots). many are starting to question what is really afoot or whether he should remain king

it is said by those who ought to understand such things, that the good people, or the fairies, are some of the angels who were turned out of heaven, and who landed on their feet in this world, while the rest of their companions, who had more sin to sink them, went down farther to a worse place. . . . t. crofton crocker the priest's supper

shortly after the birth of the seelie queen's third son, a solar eclipse brought with it the end of a reign. the seelie queen was struck with an incurable illness and decided to leave the matter of succession up to the morrigan by taking her crown jewel ( the sun stone ) and casting it out into the realm. on the eve of her death, she declared that whoever ventured to find the stone would be the recognized monarch of the seelie folk.

her two eldest sons, casimir & oisín, searched every corner of the realm for the stone, but they had no luck. the eldest, aggrieved by his mother's ploy to refuse what he felt was rightfully his, conspired with an unseelie fae to get rid of his brothers, allowing him to take the throne by proxy. oisín was the first to mysteriously disappear, but before any harm could come to the infant prince, his father fled with him back to the eastern lands where his people, the víly, had migrated from. there he called on a favor from an old friend, the bear guardian of an untamable wood.

she could not house the prince. after giving up her bearskin to marry a mortal man, lord lenkov, she knew of only one person who could rival the faerie's magic and thus better protect the child: jadwiga, the local witch woman. she was a capricious crone who the villagers avoided where they could, but they also greatly depended upon her. she was the best healer that could be found within a day's journey, so the people turned a blind eye to her impious nature and allowed her to make a discreet living out of curing their ailments ( and personal vendettas ) via a mix of herbalism and zagоvory ( incantations and sorcery ). but to the priests and boyars who traveled near ( and lived to tell the tale of it ) she was known as one of the finest horse breeders in the kingdom.

jadwiga was convinced to take in the faerie child, if only for the convenience of having an extra hand to help tend to her fields and mounts. she named him koschei, her servant, though she endeared herself to him in time. jadwiga also never lied about his being an orphan brought to her door, nor had it been possible to hide from him that he was one of the fae ( a vilak, is what she called him, even when the boy questioned why he had four wings and not two ) she glamoured his faerie form until he was old enough to learn the art himself. koschei proved to be an eager pupil, and not even the crone could deny his gift for sorcery. at the age of 10, she took him on as an apprentice; her one condition was that he was not to wield magic outside the confines of her hut. jadwiga made it clear that his survival depended upon heeding this, but his coming of age was rife with mischief and recalcitrance.

at barely 17, koschei was forced to reckon with his foolishness when jadwiga had no choice but to leave the hut on important business. she was gone for three days, and in that span koschei tended to the villagers who came to her hut during the day, and wrangled her wandering horses back to the stables at night. on the third day, he broke the witch woman's rule for one final time. on the third night, a stallion had strayed farther than the others. he found it in the middle of the main road to the lenkovs’ village, but something was off. the beast, its mane mangled and flank covered in mud, refused to move forward, apparently too spooked. 

unable to assuage its fear, koschei did as he was taught: he used a handkerchief to blind the horse and mounted it to spur it forward. sure enough the horse began to trot – and then galloped at breakneck speeds. try as he may, koschei could not reign in the beast nor unmount his back. its laugh was a wicked sound which made clear that this was no horse. it was the pooka who'd come to deliver on the final piece of his bargain with casimir. koschei was dragged through the bramble of the wood until the pooka finally came to an abrupt stop and launched koschei into a boghole–  an ancient portal that swallowed him, like his brother before him, into a prison realm where no soul could hope to escape.

the search was deemed futile. jadwida could sense that koschei was no longer in this plane. still, lord lenkov's son, mishka, who had grown up with koschei and considered him his best companion, scoured the woods for him until even he lost hope. for nine years koschei had been assumed dead. then, on a cold night, he showed up again at jadwiga’s doorstep: covered in mud and blood, smelling of brimstone and decay, but he was alive and tied loosely around his neck was the sun stone. refusing to speak on what he endured or how he had managed to come back from that underworld, he instead demanded to know the truth about how he came to be jadwiga’s charge. she gave him the whole of it, but he only cared to know who was responsible for his banishment into the hellmouth. 

there was no reasoning with him then. koschei set out for the faerie realm, posing as a vílak refugee to infiltrate his treacherous brother’s summer guard. he didn’t trust that revealing his true identity and possession of the sun stone would be enough to stave off another one of his brother’s ploys and earn his seat. it was his mother's mistake to underestimate casimir's influence with both the seelie and unseelie folk, and it was not one koschei intended to repeat. now he hides in plain sight, biding his time forming secret alliances with whomever he can ( the other víly especially ) bent on gathering the forces he needs to stage a successful coup.

♔. the víly ( pl.) [ sing. fem. víla , mas. + neu. vílak ] in this verse are not subject to a particular gender and is generally known in the faerie realm as a subclass of "lesser" fae. they originally lived among mortals, serving as guardians of the forests or sworn to protect chosen heroes, who they refer to as their vílenik. eventually, christianization ( or some similar cultural shift ) turned the mortals against them, and they were driven to seek refuge in the faerie realm, where they were accepted into the military class. the víly are similar to the valkyrie in appearance and function, but also have other distinguishing features dependent on the element of nature they embody. they can be found in both the seelie & unseelie courts.

♔. koschei's faerie form is a mix of his parents: his father was a vílak with a universal pair of bird-feathered wings, but was distinguished as one from the woodland víly by his horns made of tree bark. his mother as the seelie queen of summer had four fairy wings of gold, which leaves koschei's true form to appear as four white feathered wings, horns made of tree bark, golden hair and lots of summertime whimsy

♔. his wings were badly burned in the time he spent within the hellmouth, rendering him flightless, but he'll still glamour them and all other markers of his struggle so as to appear unmarred. it's not that others aren't aware of his inability to fly, but that he's conscious of appearances being deemed important in the seelie court, and he'd rather not incite further discourse of his being unfit to rule

♔. koschei mayyy or may not be deathless post-hellmouth -- that's not a theory anyone has managed to test yet, so most muses can assume he isn't :3 also we're heavy on the yarilo and icarus-vs-lucifer vibes here; this (zombie) fae boy is looking no older than his late 20s.

[jonquildove]

egoxistic:

{ ♔ } He did not enjoy the fact that she suddenly spoke up against him, so for now he clenched his fists even tighter and went after her, he taking the visor of his armor off as he walked to her. “I do not need a queen. I do not like queens, they are greedy and sap expense to the hardworking people that bow to her. I may marry Margaery, as she is beautiful and a hero, unlike you. I do not need your company either. It is like you said, your father tried to automatically dethrone me, so why should I ever consider your request of pretending to l o v e you”. For now when he remained where he was, he decided to head in front of her, standing there with his arms now crossed over his chest. It was gullible and fun how this girl could have loved him and adored him like if he was some kind of Prince Charming, which he would never ever become either. If the stories was to be told about him, he would rather be referred as the fierce dangerous dragon who’s fire would demolish buildings and slay thousands of innocent souls. He would ride on a dragon, he touching the skin of the dragons in the tombs, the largest one being Balerion the Black Dread. Then there had been Vhagar, whom Aemond rode on. He swallowed the black darkness of the night with his massive scaled body. He would not want to be the prince who rescued the princesses from danger, as he liked Rhaegar's battling in tourneys, he was not sure he liked the love story between him and Lyanna. How could he love the wolf girl he sighted upon in the tourney so quickly, giving her a blue rose as a lady's favour -- he forgetting his love for Elia? Reading further, he had read that his marriage to Elia got annulled. He wanted to be the one who ravaged them and ripped their innocence into pieces. As he watches Ros and other woman on the bed, she bleeding from the chandelier piece the redhead gored into her skin. He did not think them innocent. Yet Sansa was someone he liked to torment, an innocent wolf. He leaned in, eyes fixed on her in a creepy way. “I am not a part of your little dream, Sansa. It will never ever come true. I will personally see to it myself”.

Sansa was surprised when Joffrey walked in front of her, but stood her ground. She did not wish to anger him, though. How could he call her not beautiful? He had said she was, vowing to never hurt her again, they kissing in the morning light of the balcony and he giving her a necklace. His eyes had been soft and kind, saying he would protect her from harm. “I only meant…who will carry on your legacy, if you don’t have a Queen?" She says in a soft voice, he thinking it sounded more so a whine. "And, I just thought…if you ever had any feelings for me…” His words still stung, despite her already knowing his cruelty. What had happened to the gallant prince she’d once loved with all her heart? And she had once thought he’d reciprocated her feelings for him… She couldn’t help gulping, upon seeing his eyes fixed on her so creepily. How miserable was Joffrey determined to make her, was her life going to be a living hell from now on? “I understand, Your Grace. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

[icefiire]

º   .   ♔   ⸻   the capital of king’s landing welcomes EDDARD STARK of HOUSE STARK, the FORMER RULING LORD of THE NORTH. news borne by a raven sends word that she bears a resemblance to VIGGO MORTENSEN. the  FORTY SEVEN year old CIS MAN is reputed to be LOYAL and HONEST, but with the eyes of court watching their every move, they might turn out to be COLD and JUDGEMENTAL. when songs are sung, their verses speak of  whispers of promises fulfilled, fists clenched and mouth silent, & chapped winter lips turned down into a frown. whispers throughout the seven kingdoms claim that their allegiance lies with HOUSE STARK, where they conspire to DETHRONE THE BASTARD JOFFREY. but in the end fealty means little when you play the game of thrones.

eddard stark cannot remember much of his childhood. he did not think he would have to. he remembers bits and pieces. he remembers his father teaching him how to hold a sword. he remembers his mother placing kisses on his forehead. he remembers sneaking over the walls of winterfell with lyanna and benjen only to get caught by brandon and dragged back kicking and laughing. he had been a child once, not so stoic as he turned out to be. as he grew up, the burden of being a stark began to set in, and he became the stoic stark he was always meant to be. eventually he started discouraging his sister from her wildness, something she never seemed to get over. then again, she was only a girl. and when he was old enough, he went to the eyrie, and he met lord robert baratheon, a man who would become his best friend. though, he never forgot his siblings in the north and often wrote to them, lyanna especially.

at the tourney at harrenhal, he met howland reed and ashara dayne, the latter being the first woman he ever loved. he even told brandon he would marry her one day, which resulted in brandon laughing at him. but then, a year after being crowned the queen of love and beauty, lyanna was “taken”. ned’s father, rickard, and brandon went to demand her return, only to be rewarded with wildfire. their ashes were all that remained. then, the rebellion began, and robert took the helm under jon arryn’s leadership. after the battle of the trident and the death of rhaegar targaryen, ned went in search for his sister. he found her. and he found her dying with a babe swaddled in her arms. promise me… promise me, ned. he took the babe and claimed him as his own, much to his new wife’s ire. 

with catelyn, though, he was happy. together, they had robb, sansa, arya, bran, and rickon. he was happy in the north, as happy as a man who’d lost his entire family could be. his father, brother, sister, and mother were all gone, and ned couldn’t even keep benjen, watching him do his duty to the north at the wall. little did ned know, he would be there soon. it all began when robert baratheon traveled north to ask him to be the hand of the king. his wife had convinced him: the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not. and so ned went south. he went south, and he discovered more than he wanted to. joffrey baratheon was not a baratheon at all but a lannister. 

from there, robert dies, and ned thinks there is safety in the law. however, littlefinger and cersei lannister have more in store for him. what would have been an execution for “betrayal” turns into taking the black, and ned feels the weight of the night’s watch on his shoulders. would all of house stark be banished to the freezing north? he wishes he’d never agreed to come south. never agreed to marry sansa to joffrey. starks should never go past the neck. it always seemed to end poorly.

[jonquildove]

egoxistic:

{ ♔ } “That is good. Because I hope you realize the fact that I will not be marrying you." He waves his hands in the air in exasperation, breathing through his white lace tunic. He had found it in the woods where he hunted, smeared with dirt and leaves, yet he hand washed it in the sink with cold water and soap in basin. "I would never wish to marry the daughter of a confessed traitor. Furthermore, I do not have any slight will to ever take a wife. ” He had decided to marry Margaery, he seeing her in court, with her wry smile that seemed rather small on her face. She was beautiful and gracious, he marrying for love. They had spent their days together, he seeing she liked hawking, and he said his hobbies like sword-fighting. He liked cleaning the shininess of his sword hearteater, having also had his kingsguard dig up lion's tooth out the river. He hesitating to speak to her, shyness fluttering in his tongue, differing to Sansa, as he thinks to a happier time when he was a babe in his mother's arms. Cersei had looked at his smiling face, as she cradles him, she in the room balcony with curtains dancing in the breeze. He wishes he could be happy like that again, his life befallen with tragedy and responsibility, yet perhaps he could with Margaery. Sansa thought him cruel now, he hearing whispers he had gone mad like King Aerys -- he was a strong leader! he thought though, the ringing coldness of puzzle in his head turning to a shiver, the people knowing nothing. Arya had thrown his sword in there, the miserable wretch. He had defended her honour, and this was the thanks he got? He had remembered being sworn to marry Sansa, he agreeing to the marriage. Yet the maester, the elderly man Pycelle had said that had been before the Starks were revealed to be traitors to the crown, when Robert and Ned had said for their children to be engaged to be married. For now when he spoke to her, he then noticed that she had turned her back on him. In fact, such an action could be considered rude in court, especially towards the king himself, even as he realised she was not continuing their conversation. Yet Joffrey did not focus on that for now. Gritting his teeth, clenching his fists, he wondered how to keep going on with this conversation. It was getting to him, making him almost feel affected by the words of Sansa Stark. He did not want that, he did not want women and their weaknesses to ever affect him. He saw the women in the brothel Littlefinger ran within the castle, thinking Ros an interesting redhead. Cersei, his mother was very soft, he thought. That would only prove the fact that he was maybe weak.

She turned back to face him, glancing back into his eyes. “I do. I do realize that you won’t be marrying me, and I understand your reasoning. My Father actively tried to dethrone you, he committed treason.” The words that she spoke about her Father hurt to say, but she couldn’t let Joffrey find a reason to punish her. “Pardon me for saying so, but doesn’t every King need a Queen?” Her eyes flickered down to his clenched fists, and she wondered why her talking to him incited such frustration in him.