#‘but they were KINSLAYERS’ really? every last one of them?

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

refugees do not, in fact, stop being refugees because you don’t like their leaders

[polysucks]

What do you think: which asoiaf house deserve better?

It’s too easy to say the Manderlys or the Tarbecks deserved better.

I am a true hater to my core. If there is one thing about me everyone should know is that I will find something to complain about. Periodt.

So, let’s talk about which house deserved worse.

House Bracken

If any house deserved worse, it’s these perpetual, scheming, backstabbing opportunists. The Brackens are like that stupid fuckin coworker who keeps getting their corporate cock sucked despite being objectively terrible at everything. Their entire existence revolves around making bad decisions, siding with the stupidest decision makers in Westerosi history, and somehow still managing to stick the landing. The only reason they’re still around is bc the chad Blackwoods would be considered kinslayers if they finally followed through with ganking the virgin Brackens because they WONT STOP FUCKING THEM. AND BREEDING.

“Waahhh fuck the Blackwoods, they suck, I should burn their houses down!” Sir, that’s your AUNT. Y’all are literally all First Men.

Those horsefuckers have been “feuding” (it’s literally hearsay) with House Blackwood for thousands of years, and they still can’t get a single W. Go ahead, go check in on them, take a shot whenever they are either betraying someone, sucking the cock of whoever’s in “power” this week, or trying to steal land that they will inevitably lose again. You’ll get alcohol poisoning. They backed Aegon the Dork in the Dance (woof), they backed the Blackfyres in the rebellion (really?), and in ASOIAF, they’re STILL making terrible choices, switching sides between the Starks and Lannisters like a bad wifi signal

And let’s be real—their entire personality is just hating the Blackwoods. That’s it. You ask a Bracken what they care about, and it’s not power, wealth, or horses (the Rills did horses better get a new gimmick)—it’s screwing over the Blackwoods at every possible turn. Get a fucking hobby. Touch GRASS. Suck CLIT.

Meanwhile, the Blackwoods are over here with their REAL weirwood tree, ancient legacy, and genuinely interesting history and baller fucking seat (Raventree Hall??? HELLO????? METAL AS FUCK. Stone Hedge is so LAME!) , while the Brackens are just flailing around going, “What if we betrayed our allies again? That worked so well last time!” 🤦‍♀️

Honestly, the only reason they still exist is sheer fuckin’ luck at this point.

First off, House Bracken is basically the Riverlands equivalent of Elon Musk. Hollow threats. Zero rizz. Fake as fuck. Total LOSER. Weak ass bark, zero bite. They act like they’re a major power, but they’re not. They think they deserve what they have!!!! Every time they make a move, it backfires spectacularly, and yet they just keep doing it. They fail upward!!!! They fucking learn nothing. They are medically incapable of making a good decision. I’d say it’s in their genes but the family tree of the Brackens and the Blackwoods is a wreath, and the Blackwoods don’t fail this fuckin hard.

Greatest Hits:

• “We Were Kings, We Prommy!” – The Brackens love to tell people that they used to be kings in the Riverlands. Oh, you were kings? Cool. So were the Blackwoods by your standards, and guess what? They didn’t get demoted to second-rate nobility because they were bad at being kings. That was time. That was just a natural change in power dynamics. Eso es solo economía basica. (Also, their kingdom lasted longer but like. Whose counting?) (me. I’m counting.)

• The Dance of the dumbasses – During the Dance the Brackens backed Aegy (imagine being that wrong) while the Blackwoods supported Rhaenyra the Perfect and Did Nothing Wrong. But here’s the kicker: not only did they lose, but they also got their castle burned to the ground by the very same side they supported. Imagine baking ur neighbor a pie and they still burn ur house down. Embarrassing. Whack. Sad. Take a lap.

• Blackfyre Rebellion: Worst Bets Edition – When the Blackfyre bastards popped up, the Brackens were like, “Hell yeah, bad decision 2: electric boogaloo!” Meanwhile, the Blackwoods, once again, stayed loyal to the crown. Because it was in their best interest. Guess who won? I’ll give you a hint: not who the Brackens backed. And guess who got punished for backing them?

• Their Weirwood Crimes – This one’s just sad. The Chad Blackwoods, like proper First Men, still worship the Old Gods and have a massive weirwood tree. The virgin Brackens, meanwhile, chopped theirs down centuries ago, probably just to be spiteful. The internalized racism is coming from inside the house. And where did they build their new godswood? On top of the stump like a bunch of insecure toddlers. It’s like they knew the Old Gods weren’t on their side and tried to cover it up. Lady Bracken (geodndndge please what is her name please reply to my emails) is correct when she says the gods are punishing them. Y’all deserve it. Stupid horse fuckers.

• The Award for Most Inconsistent Allegiances – Every major conflict, the Brackens flip-flop faster than an American politician on Twitter. Like we call Walder Frey the Late bc he’s opportunistic— man what the fuck about the Brackens? They backed the Tullys, then turned on them. They supported the Lannisters, then tried to hedge their bets when things got rough. Go fuckin cry about it. Pound sand. Die mad. They switched sides between the Starks and Lannisters during the War of the Five Kings like they were speed-dating for survival.

It’s already bad that the Brackens are losers (imagine being born a bracken. I would simply. choose not to. Be. Born.), but the fact that they’ve spent thousands of years being consistently outclassed by the Blackwoods just adds insult to injury. The Blackwoods have a richer history, cooler symbolism, and an actual legacy—while the Brackens have…horses? They fuck horses? The Rills got horses, too, man. Pick a better personality. And a track record of failure? It’s like watching a rivalry between a college professor and a loser who gets kicked out of bars for trying to fight the furniture.

Honestly, House Bracken only still exists because somehow they keep getting pardoned after every betrayal. Westeros has wiped out noble houses for way less (RIP House Darklyn and Tarbeck gone but not 5gottem).

They’re like fucking cockroaches. They just keep crawling back. House Bracken should’ve gone extinct centuries ago, they refuse to die.

Fucking clown shit for real.

This message has been proudly brought to you by the Official Council for Blackwood Riverlands Supremacy—preserving history, honoring the Old Gods, and reminding you that Brackens have been taking L’s since the Dawn of Days.

[beware-of-pity]

Just before tonight's episode airs, I wanted to get out of the way some of the little thoughts that still wander my head from last Sunday's one. I know this post will hold little to no meaning or significance after the episode airs, because it could probably completely change the trajectory of where the relationship between Rhaenyra and Jacaerys stands seeing as we already got teased a conversation with these two, but there was something that did bother me about how they choose to portray these two th last episode that I feel the need to talk about it.

I really, really, cannot get down to what they want to do with the dynamic with these two. I really do not understand where Jacaerys and Rhaenyra's relationship is heading as of last Sunday's episode. While it seems like they can have moments where they communicate and understand what they're both feeling and going through, most of the time these two are on screen they do nothing but misunderstand and be angry at each other.

Rhaenyra treats Jacaerys just like how Viserys treated her under Otto's influence, as seen in episode two of the first season. She ignores him, doesn't listen to his suggestions except for when she's on board with them, and shuts him down at every turn- and yet she deliberately tells Mysaria that Jacaerys is rebelling against her, a feeling that showrunners like Sara Hess back up as the truth of the matter.

And all I can do while watching all of this unfold is ask myself if I've either lost the plot of what's in front of me or if I'm just not seeing what the showrunners want me to see. All I've been seeing for the past six episodes is an inactive Rhaenyra being angry at her council for.... something I'm still not exactly sure about. I understand, her, feeling diminished and put down and perhaps still not being taken seriously as a woman in a room full of men but every time there's a council scene and Rhaenyra is in it, I can kind of also understand why she's still not being taken seriously. Every time she recoils with uncertainty because she does not know what to do, how to retaliate, or how to get her faction back on her feet, her mind leads her to what she knows best, participate with Syrax. When she's told that her getting on her dragon and becoming an active participant in the war is a bad idea, she scoffs and becomes annoyed because she doesn't know any better. Rhaenyra doesn't know what to do because with the little education she was given by her father battling a civil war with her half-brother was certainly not on the curriculum. And while I wouldn't blame young Rhaenyra for not knowing better, adult Rhaenyra should have certainly foreseen that her ascension to the throne would have been challenged, challenged enough that a dragon war breaking out would have been on the cards that she would have to, one day, play.

This hesitation is what costed her rook's rest. Had she already started cooping up the men-at-arms of the houses whose support she had on her side, she could have had the means to face Cole with an army. But the writers were literally obsessed with turning Rhaenyra into another version of Viserys, that instead of us getting the Rhaenyra that's grieving and wanting to avenge the death of both Luke and Visenya, we got the Rhaenyra who doesn't even mention the death of her only daughter, the one she was desperately dreaming of, not even once and treats the death of her son as something of a matter of fact, something that happened that we have to get over with, something that the show almost wants us to believe Lucerys either deserved or had it coming for him. Something that will not have anyone mention the faults of Aemond's intention and doing, with him not even once being called or denominated as a Kinslayer, while he actually goes down in history as being the prime epitome of said act.

Jacaerys feels virtually and emotionally alone, there is no other way to put this. His half-sister and cousin, as well as his three little brothers, were sent off for their own good and the only person that he feels comfortable enough to open himself up to is Baela, but even he understands that he cannot put and vent all of his feeling and frustration on her. He knows he cannot burden other people with the things he shouldn't even have to go through. The person he has ever felt closest to, both in age and in as a human being is now gone, and he cannot even let himself properly grieve him because of the war he now has to put himself to the bone for. The person he openly seeks out to consolidate and ground himself is his mother, the only other person who can feel his pain to the fullest and because of everything going on Rhaenyra cannot see what Jacaery wants in her in those times he tries to seek her out. And it's both tragic and makes you want to bash your skull on the nearest wall available at the same time.

[edennill-archived]

Elvish cursing/profanity:

Headcanon unless I say otherwise.

S: ego! (Q: heca!) - "be off!". canonically a form considered very offensive, probably the emotional equivalent of "f*** off", though not a scatological reference. Likely the word used by Fëanor at times, now that I think about it.

All and every form of words related to Q: urko = S: urug, orch = "orc"; even before Beleriand, when it canonically meant something more like "monster, bogey". That applied to an elf it would be the gravest insult is my own headcanon, but it seems obvious enough.

"Kinslayer" seems to have just been an almost-neutral description of an unpleasant reality, but I don't doubt there were other words meaning the same that were considered worse, and were often applied to non-kinslayers too. Probably ones with an almost visceral meaning. Kin-devourer? One who gorges himself on the blood of kin? Kin-tearer-apart? (oh, that last one would be so applied to Celegorm and Curufin all the time, because...well)

"oathdamned" is something that's said empathically about the Sons of Fëanor after... events (in the sense of "that oath is going to end badly for them and I don't even pity them") and becomes damned (pun not intended) by association, enough to be used as an expletive in unconnected contexts.

Any fanfic that has Elves cursing "Grinding Ice!" or "Starless Night!"/any variation thereof is so right by the way.

I've also read a fanfic where people referred to "a Morgoth's mercy of something" (meaning "a literally nonexistent amount") and I really like that, but I'd assume it would not be considered polite, or anything nearing that.

I don't think they would mention Angband/Morgoth extensively in any other context though; I feel like when evil is near you, it probably isn't something you find necessary to mention for no reason.

[conundrumoftime]

My Silmarillion and LOTR fics

Gathering up in one post.

Shorter fics (2500 words and under):

I do not hope to bind the wind, Celeborn/Galadriel: a few moments in Third Age Lothlórien

"They say she talks with the trees. They say she can read men’s thoughts and she can make the land and all the creatures in it do her will.” “Really,” Celeborn says. “Then it seems unwise of you to cross into her lands, doesn’t it?”

Precious: Gollum and Sauron and the One Ring.

Hiss and curse it, thief thief thief, it cheated, it cheated us. The Precious was our birthday present. He smiles down and his burning eyes are hunger. “No, it wasn’t,” he says.

When all the leaves are gold: Celeborn/Galadriel. I was trying for a creepy gilded-cage take on Doriath here.

The trees keep spring as a golden treasure in their trunks; if you put your palm to them you can feel it, warm and alive and comforting, whispering quiet, quiet, all is safe here, all this shall pass.

Rarer gifts than gold: Celeborn/Annatar.

Elsewhere Galadriel and Celebrimbor will be arguing by now, no doubt. Here, the air in the workshop draws close. Dust spirals drowsily in a sunbeam.

Secrets: Gimli and Glóin, and dwarves in general. Written in 2005 (dear lord)

They did not sleep in the days after they were made; they lay awake in the darkness beneath stone, and they grew to love the gems, the ores, the seams of quartz, the very rock itself. The other peoples of Middle-earth do not know this.

Leadership qualities: Gríma Wormtongue, another 2005 ficlet.

A colleague, Saruman called him. An ally. The words were like honeycomb, too rich and warm to hold between his fingers.

Changeling: I think the first Tolkien fic I ever wrote. Fourth Age Maglor.

These are the jewels the elves lost. A father and his seven sons came across the sea to find them, and all of them died except one, who still walks by the sea and sings.

Longer fics (>2500 words):

Fair as the sea and the sun, Celeborn/Galadriel: Galadriel takes the Ring from Frodo.

There is no place in all of this for the strange things Celeborn remembers and Galadriel has reassured him of this, time and time again. A bad dream, she says. An old fear. I don’t know what you mean. I don’t remember Mithrandir. 

Not one before another, Elladan/Elrohir (and Celeborn, and Maglor)

They are the last two threads of an age-old tapestry. It is right that they should twine around each other in one perfectly sealed, perfectly seamless knot. 

It would make every nightingale sing, Elwing/Maedhros.

Show me strength, Kinslayer, she thinks. Show me hope. Give me all you can’t use that I deserve to take, you who have taken so much from me. 

Say it like the sunrise when it's talking to the fog, Glorfindel/Celeborn: Glorfindel has come back from the dead a little too bright.

He spins out of the other’s grip like it’s combat, a well-practised smoothness reassuring in its familiarity. This is a course he can follow. “Noldor think all the world is yours to demand,” he says.

Softest of tongues: Galadriel/Celeborn, from Doriath to the Grey Havens. This one's tagged with 'Sapir-Whorf hypothesis as a metaphor for the pain at the heart of your marriage' which about sums it up.

“I don’t know who I would be, there,” he says; he who has known nothing other than Middle-earth, its trees that die, its fading glory. “I don’t know what there could be of me that is not part of here.”

As certain dark things are loved: Annatar/Galadriel/Celeborn, in Second Age Eregion.

That they are Lord and Lady here, not King and Queen, is an interesting show of humility but, he assumes, a temporary one. He knows the Noldor; he knows ambition. He knows what he sees in her Tree-lit eyes.

Brighten my northern sky: Glorfindel/Celeborn, in Doriath.

Celeborn looks at him now and there’s a moment when – when anything could - And then he flushes and breaks his gaze. “I know your customs are quite different. It isn’t my intention to suggest anything disrespectful.”

Some of us can only live in songs of love and trouble, Maeglin/Idril/Tuor.

Only Tuor could talk of living as a thrall and an outlaw to a crowd of the Noldor and be seen as ever the greater for it; just as only Maeglin could talk of riding at Turgon’s side in battle, of bravery and victory, and still, still, be seen as his father’s son.

[dreamfyre03]

A Dragon's Love

Warnings: Threats of violence, death, kidnapping, kinslaying Chapter 13: The Skies of Storm's End

After days of negotiation with Lord Borros, and promising his brother Daeron in marriage to one of his many daughters, Aemond had secured to Lord of Storm’s End’s support for his brother. He itched to get back to Daenys, already planning to fly them to a Septon he had located far from King’s Landing as soon had he returned. He missed her voice, and her presence that calmed him. She was his guiding light, and every moment he spent away from her was like falling further into darkness. 

All seemed to be going well, until a certain brown haired Strong boy made an appearance. Lucerys Velaryon, the bastard who never paid his debt.

“Wait, my lord Strong.” Aemond said. He felt nothing but anger and a lust for vengeance boiling in his blood from the moment his nephew walked in.  

“Did you really think, you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” He asked him, unwilling to let the opportunity before him go. No mother or stepfather to shield him from Aemond’s cruelty.

“I will not fight you. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.” He responded timidly.

Aemond smirked. 

“A fight would be little challenge. No, I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine.” He demanded, ripping off his eyepatch, revealing the glittering sapphire he put in his lost eye’s place.  

“One will serve, I’ll not blind you” he said in a terrifyingly calm manner, unsheathing his dagger and tossing in on the ground towards him. 

“I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.” He told him, menacingly.

“No.” His nephew responded firmly. 

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.” He shot back. 

“Not in my hall!” He heard Lord Borros shout. 

“Give me you eye, or I will take it bastard!” He shouted, his voice laced with pure hatred. In that moment, Aemond was blind to everything else except the need to watch this boy suffer. He knew he wasn’t a good man, and he didn’t care. He relished in it.  

Lucerys quickly drew his sword, and the guards did as well, as Lord Borros got up and yelled, “Not in my hall! The boy came as an envoy, I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof.” 

 Aemond heard the crash of thunder outside and smiled cruelly, letting the guards take Luke to his dragon. If little Luke thought he had escaped Aemond’s wrath, he was very sorely mistaken.

 .

.

.

Aemond sat atop Vhagar, watching the pieces of Arrax fall into the ocean. He could smell the flesh on Vhagar’s jaw, he could see the blood dripping down below them. His heart hammered in his chest, as the rain beat down on him. Luke was dead. 

Aemond killed him. He only meant to scare him, but he lost control, and Vhagar sense the hatred in her rider’s heart, and devoured the boy. 

He spent his life yearning, training, waiting for the perfect moment to exact revenge for the loss of his eye, to make his nephew pay the debt he spent his life feeling owed. He felt the rush power as he taunted him, as Vhagar soared overhead tiny Arrax, and let his menacing taunts echo the skies that were dark and stormy, as though it was an ominous foreshadowing of the months to come. 

Luke was dead. 

Aemond was a Kinslayer.

War was coming. 

Daenys woke the next morning with dark circles under her eyes. She woke before sunrise, and dressed with the help of her maid. The Hand and Queen Mother asked her to travel by carriage, fearing that flying on Meraxa would alert Rhaenyra and Daemon as to their doings. Reluctantly, she agreed. She knew Meraxa would come North to her when it was time. 

Her last act before leaving was summoning Helaena’s maid, Diana, to her chambers, with an important message. The young woman stood before her nervously. “You haven’t any reason to fear, Diana. I would like to ask a favour of you.” Daenys said. She looked surprised. “Of me? What can I do for you, Princess.” “I am leaving for Winterfell. I ask that when my brother Prince Aemond returns from Storm’s End, you give him this letter, along with this one addressed to the King and Queen, and Prince Daeron. I ask that you do not let anyone know of my whereabouts, not even Queen Helaena.” Diana looked hesitant, and Daenys knew it would hurt her to keep such things from Helaena. 

“You have brought my sister much happiness, Diana. I know I ask a lot of you to withhold information from her, but it is for the good of the realm.” “Very well, Princess.” She replied, taking the letters and putting them in her dress pockets. 

Daenys dismissed her, then walked to the courtyard, where she was set to leave. On the way, she stopped in the nursery, needing to bid her niece and nephews farewell.

Tears brimmed her eyes as she watched them sleeping peacefully. She was the first to find out Helaena was with child, she was in the room when they were born. She spent almost every day of their lives playing with them, or singing to them. She loved them as if they were her own, she always saw her brother and sister in their faces. Whenever she felt sadness, or loneliness, she went to the children and allowed their childish innocence and love to uplift her spirits. 

“My sweetest darlings,” she whispered, careful not to wake them. “I shall miss you terribly. I pray that I will see you again very soon. Remember how much I love you.” She quickly dried her tears and gently kissed each of them, before walking out to the courtyard, and giving the Red Keep one last look, not knowing when she would see it again. 

Two days into her journey, and Daenys felt like a shell of herself. She barely slept when they stopped, and when she did, all she dreamt of was Aemond. His smell, how it felt when he held her, his voice whispering reassurances to her. She knew he probably found out she was gone, and no doubt hated her for leaving him. But she promised she would do whatever she could to help her family, and keep them safe. 

She tossed her book aside in the carriage, unable to focus on the words. The carriage came to sudden halt, and she gripped the seats to ensure she didn’t fall. “Ser Arryk? Is something the matter?” She called out. “All is well Princess, just-“ Her Kingsguard was cut off with a groan, and thudding sound of his body hitting the ground. She felt herself become paralysed with fear, and cursed herself for not being able to even wield a blade. The door to the carriage swung open, and she was greeted by three men whose faces were covered. “Come on now, Princess. Time to go.” One said cruelly, as he grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her forward. She screamed and kicked in resistance, sickened by the feeling of their hands on her body as they struggled to bind her,  until she felt something hard hit her head, and her vision went black. 

[barbswo]

I have to ask, considering Aemond is one of my favorite povs in 'Tides'...what have you been thinking of him in season 2?? Up until last episode it seemed like he was just moping in the brothel ever since Luke died..

Uhhh fasten your seatbelts people, we are in for a rideeeee.

I literally thought about it yesterday when writing the next chapter—that now that I have all this new information and images of Aemond in my head, it’s kinda hard to shake them off and go back to my Aemond, Aemond we all grew to love over the course of 300k+words of ‘Tides’... Because the show is definitely going down the villain route for him, and while I personally don’t have an issue with that, it’s just so... Different?

Okay, I’m rambling, back to your question.

To get it out of the way—and MASSIVE SPOILER in case someone reading this hasn’t watched the show/last ep yet—Aemond burning Aegon had me shaking fists at my TV screen at 4AM. I suspected it was coming, as the writers were building the whole brotherly feud since season 1, and I still. was. so. pissed. And I have no love for Aegon, but after they painted Aemond as this strategic mind behind Cole’s campaign, I expected our smart guy to be actually smart, and burning his brother’s dragon when their side already lacks them... Yeah, great planning.

Of course, I get that in Aemond’s head, he thinks that he rides the largest dragon of all and by extent is invincible and doesn’t need anyone else to win the war, and that his emotions get the best of him, but—“This war will not be won with dragons alone, but with dragons flying behind armies of men.” What dragons, Aemond dear? Plural? Are you sure? Counting that the show already mentioned Daeron twice, we might actually see him on screen, but as for now the greens have Vhagar and Dreamfyre, and unless they armor-up Helaena and make a second Visenya out of her, I don’t think Aemond understands the repercussions of his actions.

I feel like everyone and their mother is shouting atop of their lungs that Aemond is the one true Targaryen, that he respects his ancestors, he never skipped a High Valyrian lesson on duolingo, Aemond this, Aemond that, but excusez-moi—he had already. Killed/wounded. Three dragons. The sacred sygil of his house. And he didn’t give a f4ck. And I think that he saw Cole planning to cut Meleys’ head to drag it to King’s Landing and just went “meh, not my problem, not my monkeys, I am regent now and that’s all I care about.” Gr-r-r-r.

But to be honest, I actually expected to be far angrier with him than I actually am. Because Aemond isn’t just a plain villain. He is complex, and I do love him for it. His weird attachment to that madam clearly indicates that our boy has serious mommy-issues; he has no friends (if you don’t count Cole, and I never count Cole); his big brother won’t stop bullying him even after Aemond had bested him in everything but getting the crown (which still isn’t good enough reason to unalive Aegon, but this is Westeros and I get it); and he, apparently, does “regret that business with Luke”, which I think is the most sincere thing that came out of his mouth this season.

Aemond has an odd relationship with every person in his life, even his family, and I believe that makes him who he is. He is a circus tiger that has been caged his whole life, and now he broke through the bars and is—understandably—lashing out. War brings out either the best or the worst in people, and in show-Aemond’s case, it’s definitely the worst. Which makes sense, counting what we know about him from canon.

I wish I could say that I trust the writers of HoTD to do their thing, but I really don’t. I do hope they won’t butcher the story and its characters, though.

So I guess I still have very mixed feelings about show-Aemond? All his contradictory character traits make Aemond an incredibly interesting person—and yep, it helps that he literally put the SLAY in kinslayer, because MAN is he gorgeous. Ewan was born to play him, and I’ll never stop saying that, because every time he talks about his character, I pause everything I’m doing to just... listen.

Anyway. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, I’m off to gym now. See you guys soon.

[outofangband]

(edit: I had to repost this because of a few stupid errors!)

the long awaited (not really) second publishing/draft of my infamous Fetch story :)

CW: dehumanization, public humiliation, mention of bones, minor gore/injuries

Angband world building and aftermath of captivity masterlist

“You heard me, elf!” Gothmog roared, flicking his whip so it landed inches away from Maitimo’s left wrist so a flurry of sparks landed upon his hand and arm, “Crawl to the other side of the hall and fetch.” The last word was accompanied by yet another strike with his whip. This one did not miss, intentionally or otherwise and Maitimo yelled in pain as a line of his flesh sizzled.

The elf panted. Every time he had attempted to struggle to his feet, the whips of the balrog general and a few of its cohorts had knocked him back down to his hands and knees. It had long since been made clear that he would not be allowed to leave, to rest, until he fulfilled the order. Glaring would do no good, not that this stopped him.

Maitimo crawled forward a few inches, stomach turning as he eyed the pile of singed clothes and bones that had been left by another captain. One of the bones was out of place, this the one Gothmog had thrown in frustration before the idea for this little game had come to him when Maitimo had refused to beg.

There were only so many taunting remarks about the High King of the Noldor on his hands and knees like a hound before they...mostly...lost effect.

He had grown to despise and fear the balrog general almost as much as his master and the lieutenant. The demon seemed to be the only one of his kin with the knowledge or ability to speak any elven tongues and he too was by far the shrewdest, the most cruel. Maitimo had felt a hatred for him from the moment of his capture when he had arrived with his own party and heard the taunts of his own father’s death.

He supposed he was only to be glad that the Dark Lord himself was not here to witness this particular game of debasement.

There was a tension in the air that crackled like the balrogs’ own flaming whips. Maitimo grimaced, looked down at his hands and arms, both covered in welts and burns from the whips. He bent his head, his hair falling over his eyes and closed his teeth around the bone. This was not the first time they had played this little game. Nor would it be the last.

When the bone was lifted from the ground, the hall exploded into the rumbling laughter of the balrogs, so intense that Maitimo nearly dropped it. Gothmog had risen from the curved iron he had been seated upon, watching the prisoner intently.

“Good little elf, now bring it to me,” the high captain rumbled, “Drop it at my feet like a good dog and I will give our master a good word, tell Him his prize has seen the futility of its earlier disobedience.”

The pain of the whips, his exhaustion and all the indignities they had yet to inflict on him seemed to no longer matter. All he felt was his sudden anger. The bone fell with a clatter from his mouth between his arms. For a moment he thought of grasping it and flinging it across the room at the high captain. But this was  difficult with the chain connecting his hands, giving him enough space between them that he could crawl but certainly not enough to throw something.

Naked with his hands shackled as they were there was no position he could manage that would afford him any dignity. Nevertheless he turned back to Gothmog, raising himself onto his knees with his palms on his thighs, the submission in his posture sarcastic enough to annoy his tormentor.

“Wrong choice, little kinslayer,” the balrog general hissed and the whips came down on him again. The agony and heat was, Maitimo knew, a mercy compared to what he would endure later.

When Gothmog grabbed the long chain, Maitimo felt the iron collar about his neck burn from the proximate heat. He yelled once more.

Bits of his skin speckled the floor around him as he was dragged forwards towards the throne room. At one point his body seizes, his limbs twitching as they flail. The balrog actually stops at this, gripping Maitimo by a fistful of his hair. Vaguely the elf registers that he has not been burnt to nothing, a previous suspicion, that the demon could control his fire, confirmed.

When he is next aware of himself Maitimo finds himself back upon the smooth floor of the Nethermost Hall, at the foot of that terrible throne and the steps ascending to it. What sits upon the obsidian thing is more awful still. Weakened, diminished it was claimed Moringotto was but even such the aura of ancient, dreadful power is palpable in the air, choking Maitimo.

Gothmog holds his leash, a demon stark and bright in the gloom of its master.

“I killed its sire, My Lord,” the balrog says, “I will gladly snuff it out too. Or do you want it back in its cell?”

The Vala stands, shadows shifting around Him as He does.

“What condition is our guest in?”

“Poor, Master,” Gothmog replies, “A shame. It was doing so well in learning obedience before it decided to be stubborn. It will be of no use as a thrall in the mines with its leg in tatters and it will not yet obey well enough for more delicate work but I am certain we, or you, My Lord, could find some use for it still.”

“No matter,” the Vala says softly, “My messenger was slain by the Fëanorian host. When we, in a show of such generosity...” the almost lilt of this word in the strange voice that spoke it was followed by a whisper of laughter from the watching denizens, “Send a second, no reply would they send. Our little king is going nowhere. There is time to teach obedience yet.”

(author’s note: I tend to use more common grammar for the servants of Angband and older English for Melkor to indicate that he’s speaking in a higher and older form of Quenya when he’s speaking to Maedhros or that he’s occasionally speaking in Valarin)

second author’s note: yes the bone is elven, yes it’s probably from someone Maedhros knows

[nyrasbloodyclover]

the great war (aemond targaryen x oc)

masterlist (read the warnings!)

a/n: aemond is finally hereeee!!! ah i really hope you like the story so far even though it's just the beginning <4

4. the greens

Months passed and nothing changed. Life became miserable thought she had to bear every day. 

Nobody knew what was happening to her behind the wooden doors of their chambers. Her husband was a violent man. He didn't want to kill her, he just had these...animalistic urges that he showed sometimes.

Bruises everywhere underneath her dress. He was careful where he hit her. Legs, stomach— those were the main places. Somewhere nobody would suspect.

Her first month at the Riverrun was the worst. The acceptance of something completely opposite of her life at home. She was young, full of hope and happiness and suddenly she had to deal with the fact that the life she knew existed no more. He raped her before the bedding ceremony even started. He stole something that was only hers. Something she was willing to give away for the sake of her family. That was when she missed her mother the most. Father, too, but her mother was her saint. Arra would've found a way to fix her. To repair the damage he caused.

After the first month, she became a shadow of her past. She missed her old self.

During the second month she grieved her childhood. Every time her husband abused her, she didn't cry because of him. Reila cried for the years at her home she took for granted. Every time her mother wanted to talk to her and Reila had no time or when her father wanted to train but she'd been too tired. Elmo Tully didn't want to get involved in his son's marriage. Simple. She respected that. But the girl his son was breaking was silently screaming for help.

Third and fourth months passed like summer rain. She couldn't remember them. Reila knew she was present and alive but her brain blocked out those dark days. She wandered through the large castle, looking for secret passages. It was cold. Her lips were blue almost all the time. She wanted to kill herself. That was the only thought she was aware of. Death seemed like her only clarity.

Reila still wasn't with a child. It was a blessing and a curse. She told herself that she would love the baby no matter what but in reality she couldn't. She would hate the child just because of the abuse it's father put her through. He was angry that he still wasn't going to give him heirs. He even accused her of drinking the tea that would kill anything in her womb, but she did no such thing.

She was dying inside. She was sure it couldn't get worse than this. But that was before he came into the room today.

"Hello, dear wife."

"Hello," she said with no emotion. Reila couldn't meet his gaze. She was seventeen and still scared of ghosts.

"I came to share with you the news we got this morning."

She said nothing. The war started a month ago. Dragons were killing dragons. Brothers were killing brothers. It was a living nightmare. Usurper's younger brother killed sweet Prince Lucerys. Before that, Reila had no hard feelings towards The Greens except for the fact that they took the throne from Rhaenyra, their rightful queen. But after hearing the horrible knews from her husband... She despised them.

The memory burned. "That one eyed bastard killed Prince Lucerys," laughed the man she married. Her head snapped towards him, "What? No, that can't be true."

"Are you calling me a liar, woman? Aemond isn't only "one-eyed" anymore. They added one more nickname. Kinslayer. His dragon ate the little one." Reila felt the anger pool out of her.

"Guess mommy hadn't taught him how to ride properly," one of the men at the table said. Reila wanted to cry. Why would someone say such things?

"Whose side are you on? Really? Why don't you go and bow down in front of that one-eyed beast and his brother if you like him that much?"

That night her husband used her five times in a row, each more violent than the last one, and he only stopped when she passed out, exhausted from begging him to stop. She never spoke of Aemond in front of him again. She only cursed him in her mind.

And on top of that, she couldn't even leave with her father. Her husband forbid her, threatening to do horrible things to Iris and she couldn't risk it, so she wrote to Cregan Stark. She was ill. It was a foolish idea. She doubted he believed her, but her father said nothing.

"Are you listening?" And he slapped her across the face. Her knuckles went white. She could strangle him right now. But if she did that, her father could kiss goodbye the army. "Stupid whore," he laughed. "Your father could be dead for all you know. But you're still desperate for my cock."

That was when she snapped. She was in perfect control whole five months. Five months of abuse and degradation. Reila almost jumped at his throat, rage pooling out of her eyes. But she was still too slow.

He gripped her neck—No—He gripped her mother's necklace that she still had around it. Not once had she taken it off. Emerald jewels digged in her soft skin as she gasped for air. It lasted five seconds before the necklace snapped and she fell on the hard floor.

He looked at her in disgust. "You are dead for this." And within a second he smashed the green stones on the floor beside her. Thousand little emerald pieces around her.

"The Greens will be here until dawn." With that information, he slammed the doors and left her.

She couldn't process what just happened. The only memory of her mother, ruined. Enemies will be here in a couple of hours at best. Probably with dragons. They had no chance at beating that.

Her body was a shell. Broken and scratched. And she was falling apart, but not slowly anymore.

She pressed her palms against the sharp green pieces, feeling them burn as they were digging in her skin. Reila let out a silent scream that made everything around her disappear. Her face burned, her hands burned, her chest burned. She wanted to gouge her eyes out as well as her heart and just dissolve as a person.

Reila heard the doors open and saw Iris enter carefully. She was her only true friend here. Although, she wanted to gut her husband, but Reila didn't let her. She doubted it would solve any problem.

She went to her bed and hugged Iris' auburn fur. Her hands were still bloody but she had no energy to clean them now. They both fell asleep in seconds.

She woke to the sounds of destruction. Her eyes widened immediately as she rose to her feet. Reila ran to her window and gasped in awe.

There was a dragon. For the first time in her life she saw one. And she was sure it was the largest. She remembered the history lessons with her father. Vhagar. She was Queen Visenya's dragon. Now that Balaerion is dead, Vhagar was the largest one in the world. 

She could step on this castle and it would crumble beneath her. But that's not why they were here. 

At least seventy feet from Reila's room, there were soldiers, Targaryen soldiers that came to claim Riverrun in the name of their King. Vhagar lit half of  Elmo's men on fire. Reila already saw the battle outcome.

There is no way they were getting out of this. 

She saw an escape that was more of a death wish than anything. What if she got close enough to Vhagar, in the middle of chaos? What if she burned with the soldiers?

They would call it a tragedy. They would question how she ended up there. And her father would still have allies. It was decided.

She went to the doors, only to find them locked. Reila didn't let herself feel overpowered even if she clearly was. 

Being alone in this castle gave her enough time to explore and realize that her doors weren't the only way out. The fireplace, full of ashes, looked ordinary enough. She kneeled beside it and let her hands explore the floorboards.

She pressed until one of them made a clicking sound and rose enough for her hands to go beneath it. Stone stairs went down and she was sceptical when she first found out there was a path beneath her room, but now, she didn't hesitate. Reila gathered her skirts and went down. 

She looked behind her, only to find Iris standing, looking confused and Reila knew that she wanted to go with her.

"Come, girl," she said, "I'm not leaving you in this shithole."

That made her satisfied enough and Iris followed.

After minutes of darkness and empty corridors, they were standing in front of large doors that led to the back of the castle. Which would get her to Vhagar's side. And hopefully she would get to die soon.

"You have to leave, Iris," she told her direwolf. "Find North. Find Lord Stark." And somehow she understood everything, but was still eager to go.

"It's alright," she petted her head.

Iris stood in place but Reila had no time. She ran, getting closer and closer to the dragon. Vhagar was on the ground the whole time. She was untouchable.

But Reila didn't want to live this life anymore. And if this was her only chance, then so be it. 

She could smell the burned flesh while the smoke made her eyes water. There was death everywhere. She crossed the stone bridge that separated her prison from the rest of the world.

She was so close now, that she could see Vhagar's rider. Aemond Targaryen. King's younger brother. Her stomach turned. She never hated someone that much.

He looked ready to jump from Vhagar's back. She had to be quick. 

The  dragon started opening her mouth and Reila went that way. In the middle of chaos. She will be lucky if one of the soldiers cuts her or stabs her enough to bleed out. Chances of that happening sre high, but nobody seemed to notice her presence. Good.

Directly in front of Vhagar's large mouth, she stood calmly, waiting for her escape. She felt dragon's hot breath on her skin, and it almost gave her unattainable burns. The clashing of swords continued behind her, but she was barely able to hear them.

"Vhagar! Daor! Stop it!" She heard someone shout. Her heartbeat quickened in fear. What was happening? 

The large dragon just closed her mouth and Reila was tempted to run. 

"Not so fast," she heard a muffled thump before seeing a face. It was the same voice. 

Aemond. She was frozen with fear. If her life at the Riverrun was a misery, what would happen to her if Aemond got his hands on her?

He came from behind Vhagar while his long blond hair represented a mess, from the riding, she assumed. Reila prayed her Old Gods could hear her and help her somehow, but nothing changed, no one was here to save her from the biggest monster she'd ever encounter. 

She heard about the murder of Lucaerys Velaryon and her heart was broken for the young prince. That was when she decided she'd hate Aemond with the rest of The Greens for the rest of their existence.

He was standing in front of her now, slowly approaching, step by step. She could run. She could go back to her room. Nothing was stopping her yet. 

So she did. 

Her heart was beating so fast she wasn't sure it was beating anymore. The sweat made her hair stick to her neck as her legs almost gave out. The bridge grew miles longer as her feet stepped on the cobblestones.

Reila looked back only to find him pacing to her, not even bothering to run. Was she that slow? She felt like she was in a dream, not being able to move her body any faster. He was chasing her, a small smile on his face.

He was her hunter and she realized she had no way out. Her throat felt like it was closing, she wasn't able to breathe. Then her head met the ground.

"There you are. Oh, no," he kneeled beside her, still smiling, "I need you alive." 

No, no, no. She wanted to punch him, slap him, anything, but felt his tight grip on her wrists and she was sure she could throw up. It was her wedding night again. It was last night again. It was like she was reliving them, only with worse scenario.

She would be his war trophy. He was no better than her husband. Now she was as good as dead. It sounded like it was a game to him, she shouldn't be surprised.

"No," she panted, "Please kill me. Take my head. Anything—" Black dots appeared as he pulled her up, and threw her over his shoulder. Everything felt dizzy, she was sure she wasn't going to last long.

He managed to carry her to Vhagar and tie her to him, as Aemond secured himself. She had no energy left. Crying felt like the hardest job right now because Reila was barely keeping herself conscious. 

"My mother is very excited to meet you." That was the last thing she heard before seeing black

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 85

Gif by @bonniebirddoesgifs

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @stargaryenx

Queen Rhaenyra and Ser Criston Cole died a week before Sunfyre choked on Lady Ida Strong, the last of Lord Lyonel Strong’s daughters, and followed suit.

In the meantime, Tyrstane Truefyre had rose as king, the Shepherd as his rival and Borros Baratheon made quick work of them before the moon was over.

Corlys had not been freed by any of the three kings, although Trystane had given him good food and a better cell hoping to get the Seasnake to bend the knee.

Borros had only come after Viserys’ by-blow had been cruelly executed along with his oh so loyal retainer and arrested every damn lamb following the Shepherd.

“You think her Rhaenyra, but she is all Rhaenys.” Corlys said when Borros came down for a visit. “Better than your new son by a league.”

Poor Cassandra Baratheon, humiliated by her own husband who could not even get it up.

But eight and ten year old Cassie gets a crown, and her father gets to become Hand, who knew Baratheon would want to follow Otto Hightower’s example?

“Your Silver Queen is just a girl like mine or worse, a mad little queen, or so it’s said.” Borros countered and passed him the wineskin.

A gift from Aegon, stolen from Laenor’s prized collection Rhaenyra had kept for the children.

“They called Daenys mad too and look how that turned out.” Corlys pointed out.

In retrospect, revealing Aemma’s ability had given their enemies ammunition, but then again, what did they have except stories the Clubfoot and Rhaenyra’s fool made up?

“So you say, Velaryon. But she is still just a woman, controlled by her husband like you controlled my cousin.” Borros smirked.

To say such a thing was to invite a gruesome death by Corlys’ own hand.

He and Rhaenys were equals in their marriage, something Borros would never believe given he thinks women only exist to serve men.

“Aemma is still your kin, the blood of Jocelyn Baratheon runs through her veins and that of her baby boy. Do you really want to risk the life of your sons, the living and unborn one, for a man who cannot make a wife out of your sweet Cassie?”

Baratheon could not afford to lose his precious sons. Royce had been a miracle in itself and Elenda knew her husband’s sudden good nature depended on this last baby to have a cock between his legs.

Maegor had been cursed to lose any child sired by him, even the bastards sired before he murdered Aenys all died unnaturally young.

“You play well, Seasnake, but unless Laenor’s precious little girl comes with her army, you are going to have to bend your knee to my new son.”

“We could just take the city and be done with it.” Aemma suggests and their council thinks her insane.

The city had descended into anarchy and many loyalists had been killed during the past moon.

The Greens had taken it back thanks to Borros Baratheon a week ago, and the current strategy was to have them bring Aegon out of hiding and then descend on him with fire and blood.

The Rivermen and Northmen would draw Baratheon and his fresh army out of the city, Aemond and Aemma would fly to the Red Keep and finish his brother once and for all.

If they are lucky, Cassandra will kill him for them.

If they are not, they become kinslayers in truth.

“And when the Usurper’s army closes in on you, your grace, what will you do?” Sabitha asks her as if she were one of her children and not her sovereign.

Criston had left plans that the remaining council had fine-tuned in his memory.

He died with her mother’s name on his lips, or so it was said.

Him holding her as they died together while her baby brother screamed at the horrific sight before him.

The fishermen were knighted for their service, mother cremated by Moondancer and Ser Criston’s bones sent to his parents out of gratitude.

If Lord Baratheon and Lord Dondarrion had something to say against it, they were very welcome to discuss it with them when they meet in battle.

Aegon was safe in Driftmark, with Baela and Vaemond keeping Dragonstone trapped behind a blockade.

Grandfather was languishing in the Black Cells, Aunt Alarra had been smuggled out when Perkin the Flea and his puppet king had taken the Red Keep and rumor had it that Aegon would execute him today if he did not bend the knee.

“I do not like this waiting, Lady Frey, that is all. I just want this to be over once and for all.” The princess acquiesced with a half-meant apology.

“No one does, but we must.”

Morning comes with bad news.

“If you do not bend the knee, they will kill them.” Baratheon warns.

Driftmark had been taken.

Aegon captured a heavily pregnant Baela and Alyn who remained on the island as a last line of defense.

Vaemond had managed to take little Aeg to Duskendale, but Baela had refused to leave and said Aegon had no dragon to defeat them only to have Aegon’s sailswords kill Moondancer in the air.

“My knees are old and stiff and do not bend easily,” Lord Corlys responded, before setting forth terms of his own.

Terms Aegon would never accept but would buy them all time.

He demanded pardons for himself and all those who had fought against him. Especially his grandchildren and Rhaenyra’s son.

He asked for Meleys’ head to be given to him and displayed in a place of honor in High Tide, for a betrothal between little Aegon and Aegon’s daughter, Jaehaera, and for Prince Aemond to be reinstated as Aegon’s heir.

“The realm has been split asunder,” he said feigning loyalty. “We must needs join it back together.” Lord Baratheon’s daughters did not interest him, but he wanted his family freed at once.

As expected Aegon would refuse and would do so the moment he came into the city, so he could have the pleasure of taking the Seasnake’s head in person.

In the last days of the 130 after conquest, Aegon the Second, more commonly remembered as Aegon the Usurper, returned to the city he lost to retake a throne that was never his on a trading cog called Mouse given as payment to Marilda of Hull for birthing Ser Laenor’s bastards.

It is the last day of the year when two dragons are sighted on the Kingsroad.

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

As High King Fingolfin came down from his orgasm, he noticed his lover was frowning.

“I’m sorry, was I too rough?”

“Don’t start that again, you were tender and careful as always.”

“Did you not come? I’m a bit worn out, but I can use my hand.”

“You saw me come quite dramatically over your abs. I’m perfectly comfortable and you were in no way neglectful of my needs.”

“Than what’s wrong?”

“I just said I’m comfortable, there’s no need to worry over me.”

"And yet I do. Obviously something is troubling you, and I would hear it even if I cannot solve it.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “You called me Curufinwe.”

“Ah. I’m sorry, I know you don’t prefer that name.”

“If you’re going to pretend that you’re screwing someone else, at least call him Feanaro so I know who I’m substituting for. I’d rather stand in for someone who is truly impossible to reach rather than someone who merely requires an inconvenient amount of effort. If you want to fuck my father, you need only send a letter to Himlad.”

“I have absolutely no interest in Curufin!”

“So call me by my grandfather’s name or my own, but not his. I’m only asking for clarity, not attraction on my own behalf.”

“Celebrimbor, you have the last already. I am picturing only you when we pleasure each other, in every detail of your own beauty. I will of course use the name you wish, but there is no reason to be bitter about a slip of the tongue.”

“And yet you don’t deny attraction to Feanaro. Even if I am not a replacement, you still desire him.”

“If Feanaro were here and willing, I would still choose you.”

“But it would be a choice, weighing two options that you want but you can only have one.”

“Feanor was bright like a fire, hot and changing but impossible to spend long near. You glitter like a jewel, always having a new angle, reflecting your own beauty and that of all around you, brilliant and clear. You’re right that fire can fascinate, but I cannot hold it and do not wish to.”

“Fine, I accept that you are not wishing for another. I still don’t want to hear my father’s name in the midst of pleasure.”

“I see your point. I am not ashamed to associate with you, but still I wouldn’t like to explain our relationship to Finwe. ”

“My father wouldn’t disown me as long as I give him a reason he can approve of.”

“Oh? And what reason would he possibly accept for you fucking your great-uncle, and your esteemed grandfather’s greatest rival?”

“Blackmail,” Celebrimbor said with a sharp grin. “I seduced you so that I could steer the political fate of the Noldor. If our relationship got out, everyone would lose their trust in you, either for screwing an evil Feanorian kinslayer or you taking advantage of my youth and naivety. So you have to advance my plans or else I’ll ruin you before the whole court. And of course with so much time around you, I will learn of the secret plots you doubtless have against my family.”

The closest Celebrimbor had come to using their relationship for political favors was asking for a room on the same hall and a private smithy. Every other agenda was argued before the whole court, never spoken of in their rooms either before or after it was resolved.

“Would Curufin really ask you to sacrifice yourself so completely to his goals, using your most intimate moments and actions to cynically further an agenda?”

“It’s less than Grandfather required of him and my uncles - it would last a few decades or centuries, rather than until the end of Arda. But he wouldn’t actually approve the plan. It would make me look weak for one, to play the victim of your unwanted lecherous advances, the young innocent gave in before the crown and the personality rather than fight back. Since this is my first time before the court, I must show them I am to be respected and feared.”

“That is a lot to ask from someone in a new situation.”

“Perhaps, but my father has always expected me to be exceptional.”

ao3

[dreamsanddragons]

My S2 prediction is that Blood and Cheese is not going to happen the way we expect it to, as it did in the book. Obviously spoilers will be ahead if you aren’t already familiar with the events of the book.

(deleted my first version of this post because I forgot about Maelor not showing up in the show yet)

I’ve got a few theories as to how it will happen.

To start with some background, in Fire and Blood, when Luke’s death happens, Daemon is not at Dragonstone with Rhaenyra. At that point in time he is taking over Harrenhal and securing support for the Blacks in the Riverlands. He sends a raven to Rhaenyra saying “an eye for an eye, a son for a son”. It is from there he reaches out to Mysaria and arranges for the infamous Blood and Cheese incident.

Rhaenyra in the show, does not seem to be the type to just kill an innocent child. If it is anyone’s head she is after, it is going to be Aemond’s. And book wise, it isn’t ever mentioned if Rhaenyra approved of the Blood and Cheese plot. One of the sources mentioned that Rhaenyra had a horror of kinslaying, which was why she was delaying an attack on King’s Landing, though this was from a source writing years later; another source, the fool Mushroom, said that at the time she was too grief stricken over Luke’s death to take any action. Mushroom, while present at the time, is not considered to be the most reliable narrator, but honestly I think this is an instance where we can take his word for it. She had just lost her father, gave birth to a stillborn daughter, AND her other son was killed by his uncle while on an envoy mission where he was forbidden to take up arms. Kinslaying is also considered to be one of the worst crimes of the realm, and Maegor the Cruel was thought to have been cursed by his slaying of his nephew Aegon. Also in the book, before the “peace terms” were sent to Rhaenyra, she stated her half brothers and her “sweet sister” Helaena, were being led astray by evil men, and should they bend the knee to her and ask for forgiveness she would “take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer. I think these things will be all true for Rhaenyra in the show, at least as of where the show left off (though I don’t think we really know how Rhaenyra really feels about her siblings in the show).

At this time of where we are in the show, I don’t think Rhaenyra would approve of the Blood and Cheese plot (if she is asked for approval of the plot as it happens in the book; it is possible Daemon could either not ask for approval or just not give her the full details). It could change, in the book Aegon does throw a big party for his brother for killing Luke and that might just set her off, but even then I don’t think she would go for one of Helaena’s children. She did look out for blood in the last image we saw of her, but I’m still on the fence if she would go after one of the little children instead of one of her brothers.

Also, in the books, Helaena takes her children at dusk every day to see their grandmother who is living in a part of the Red Keep that is easier to get to than the rest of the Red Keep. This is how Blood and Cheese were able to get to the children. However, Helaena doesn’t actually seem to be that close to her mother in the show, as evidenced by how Helaena seems to hate it when Alicent tries to touch her.

Daemon does however seem to know a lot of the secret passages in the Red Keep so maybe that is how it goes down.

There is also the fact that Maelor has not been shown to exist in the show yet. And in the book, Haelena had chosen him to die as he was just an infant and would not know what is going on. They have played fast and loose with the timeline, i.e the fact that Aemond is apparently supposed to be 18/19 in the show when the time jumps we got only showed 16 years passing and they never showed us Aemond as a baby.

So my predictions:

Blood and Cheese aren’t even done by the Black faction. It is Larys Strong’s doing to make the Blacks look bad. I wouldn’t put it past him, he took Alicent’s “I wish my father were here” to mean “burn my brother and father to death in a brutal attack using murderers whose tongues I cut out? Say no more”.

Blood and Cheese are done by Daemon, but they were meant to go after Aemond or maybe Aegon and decided to go rogue for some reason, or were paid off by Larys to go after Jaehaerys instead.

Daemon could put out a general bounty on one of the Targaryen sons in King’s Landing and Blood and Cheese took whatever opportunity they could and went after the easiest target.

They decide to axe Maelor being involved at all or have him born after Blood and Cheese, so they make Haelena choose between the twins. Or they could have Alicent choose, or maybe even Aegon? Could be a weird twist and commentary on how male children are preferred over female children in terms of inheritance, especially if Alicent is made to choose.

And this is probably the most likely one, Blood and Cheese happens for the most part like it does in the book (they just brush over Maelor never even being mentioned to exist in S1 like how they have never mentioned Daeron existing), but it is Alicent who is forced to choose between her grandsons (or the twins). An added variation is that she could be forced to choose between one of her sons and one of her grandsons.

[magpiecaranthir]

There is a question eating at my mind: how would Tinwë react to Maglor’s version of Old Maggie Took? I’d die for a crossover of the two…

And because my sleep deprived brain likes to come up with weird questions at night, how would she feels toward to my cabbage patch elflings? I already have a few headcanons but I am interested in what you think.

OH OH OH Its gonna be a really long one so under the cut (you gave me an idea and I might as well write a whole fucking fic now bc I couldnt stop lol) ^^

Ok so first how Tinwe would react to Old Maggie?

Ok so in OWWSAF we put it in a tiny paragraph that Maglor died, right? So by all means tinwe doesnt think she'll see her big brother again. But then if we screw the timeline a bit to make it so that she's in Imladris when he and Liló go there for the first time, Lindir recognizes Maglor.

And how would Tinwe react to your Cabbage Patch elflings??

Of course he does. He sometimes watches tinwe paint when she's in the valley and he watched her more than once sketch that face. Even if lindir wouldnt be the one to recognise Maglor, Erestor would. Or anyone else left of the formerly feanorian host. And BOI they would not know what to do.

On one hand, they now have the thrice kinslayer who suddenly popped up from... the shire??? With a toddler????

On the other they have a (known to react very harshly) wife of the captain of the guard who does not speak of her family to others unless it's to remind them that they were the ones holding the North, not the Sindar of Doriath.

By the time the people who realize that problem decide to keep their mouths shut and pray ecthelion has the sense to keep tinwe away from everyone else until Maglor disappears again, Tinwe gets found by Liló.

Of course she does.

And Liló is just a baby but shes a smart baby who remembers the bedtime story Maglor told her about his siblings and she remembers he had a little sister with white hair and lilo obviously is convinced tinwe is that sister (even if she werent, lilo equals white haired elf to Maglor's sister).

So LILO drags tinwe to 'her ada'.

Tinwe sees Maglor.

Tinwe calmly asks for lilo to go play somewhere else. Everybody knows what's coming. Ecthelion manages to get the concealed daggers off tinwe before she charges at that mf and throws him on the ground in a chokehold.

Screaming. Blaming. Absolute guilt tripping and gaslighting on her part (she's going to feel bad about it later bc that's her big brother she has her big brother back maglors there he can cuddle her shes not the last- but first she's getting her anger out. He left her alone. And got a fucking perfect life with a BABY!

She's not going to stop being hostile towards him, but she's doing it lowkey like just occasionally mentioning she got tortured for Celebrimbor while Maglor was doing fuck-all and that's why her hands tremble every so often, or how she has been keeping the dunlendings safe while Maglor was having tea partys (her coming clean about Caranthir and haley's marriage is a WHOLE other conversation they're having at some point) but she's only doing that when lilo isnt around.

She's sweet with lilo. She's a baby. She's cute. Tinwe is a sucker for babies just like she was with Lindir. Teaches lilo how to paint. Encourages lilo to paint on everything in Maglor's smial.

It takes a few years of tinwe coming to terms with Maglor being alive, but the hostility ceases bc that's her only family left that's her big brother he knows her and loves her even in her anger and Big emotions and she doesnt want to lose him again

When she's over it, she goes to the Shire with ecthelion. He says it's to make sure she doesnt get harmed on the way there, but they both know it's because he wants to see that shit for himself.

Oh god she would just flop over like Maglor did. Like what the fuck?? Faint of disbelief. Why the fuck do babies grow like that???

And the second shes digested that change of her reality, ecthelion's just casually like "so... remember how we have a very nice garden?"

And yeah tinwe is hesitant because Doom and shit, but pls she always wanted to be a mum. She always wanted babies and she wanted them with ecthelion.

So yeah. They plant a baby. So what.

While their bby grows she is absolutely doting on the double twins from Elladan and elrohir. Just stealing one or two away for a day or two or five bc they are babies they are so cute 🥺

She's also the first ti see the signs of their neurodicergence bc she's nd herself and remembers well the struggle it was growing up and e.g. not understanding why you wanted to rip the pretty dress auntie Allen gifted you off your back while you're crying so hard you cant speak (hint: the fabric was capital b Bad). So she just starts getting accommodations and dropping hints about how others can deal with these things when she notices them

Their own bby gets born (hatches? Gets harvested?) And of fucking course its twins. Twins with white hair, too, bc tinwes genes bullied Ecthelion's into submission lol.

[simplynotcapable]

how do you think Visenya and Baelon would've done if they got incarnated later into the Targaryen dynasty? Kids of Aegon V, or siblings of Aerys II or siblings of Rhaegar or something?

Hi anon!

I think if Baelon and Visenya were born at almost any other time (assuming Baelon was not a firstborn son), they would be largely footnotes on the grander scheme of history. Baelon doesn’t really want the throne or power, he just takes on the responsibility because he feels like it would disrespect his mother’s sacrifice to do otherwise. In a part of history where his father didn’t kill his mother for him, he’s going to care even less.

So as kids of Aegon V:

We’re assuming Baelon is born after Duncan and Jaehaerys, but even if he wasn’t our boy is probably not going to be king. Way more likely he punts it off to his younger brother.

Aegon V was very against incestuous marriages, so Baelon and Visenya would be betrothed to other people. I say that probably lasts right up until they’re 15-16 years old at most because they’re going to run off and get married. I think the difference here between them running off and Jaehaerys and Shaera doing the same thing is that Baelon and Visenya probably aren’t going to go back. Because like…what’s waiting for them there? An angry father, royal duties, responsibilities neither of them have ever really wanted or asked for? They’re going to steal a bunch of shit right before they leave the Keep, get married, and then fuck off to somewhere like Essos. They’ll live their silly little lives being in love and careless and dumb.

It’s likely they’d still be alive during Robert’s Rebellion and even for the events of the series, but I don’t think they’d involve themselves very much. Definitely not in the wars themselves because they wrote themselves out of it on purpose and also they’re old now. They don’t know any of the Targaryens still alive or particularly care about them. They don’t have the same sense of familial loyalty that they do when they’re born during the Dance, and what they did have for their siblings did not transfer over to their brother’s kids and grandkids.

Robert has people watching them undoubtedly, but I don’t think he’d try to have them killed. They’re both old and fled the throne once, there’s no indication they’d want to fight for it now.

They would support Dany’s claim, though, in a very distant “yeah hope she gets it back” kind of way, and they would be very excited at the thought of her bringing back the dragons.

Since we don’t know how the books end yet, I can’t really say for sure beyond that point, except Baelon and Visenya are perfectly happy where they are and aren’t getting involved with anything even if asked.

Siblings of Aerys II:

(We are again assuming Aerys’s younger siblings.)

Baelon and Visenya are going to be married, though we’ll leave it up in the air why Jaehaerys felt strongly enough to argue with his father about it. Maybe the wood witch’s prophecy involved them, too.

Robert’s Rebellion never happens because Baelon’s gonna kill Aerys himself.

One thing that mostly always stays the same about Baelon is that he is very protective of his sisters. Especially Visenya but all of his sisters. Baelon does not let people put their hands on his sisters, full stop, regardless of every other factor of his relationship with them. He doesn’t have a particularly close relationship with Rhaella. They aren’t even friends, really, it’s nothing like our Baelon’s relationship with Rhaenyra. But the second he finds out Aerys is abusing her, he’s a dead man.

Which is a difficult decision, no doubt, because Baelon does care about his brother in his own way, but he has been watching him spiral further and further into madness every year. And now his unhappy marriage has turned into an abusive one, and Visenya tells him that Rhaella cries in the night??

Baelon very cheerfully decides to become a kinslayer, and Visenya is basically like “okay babe be safe love you”

I’m not sure how exactly he’d manage it, being as Aerys was so damned paranoid about everything and everyone, but he’d find a way. Single-handedly saving the Targaryen dynasty by murdering his brother before he can kill Ned Stark’s dad and brother, before Rhaegar takes Lyanna. Rhaegar probably isn’t even married to Elia yet.

Downside, Dany and Viserys won’t exist because their dad is dead well before they’re supposed to be born.

Now, the real question after this is Rhaegar.

Rhaegar was reportedly very uneasy about his father but hoping to just wait him out, since Tywin was handling matters of ruling pretty well, and he didn’t want to have to move against his father. But I don’t think that would be enough to make him be like “yeah okay unc, fair enough, you’re good”, especially since Aerys wouldn’t have yet reached the height of his madness. At the very, very, very least he’d get sent to the wall, but it’s way more likely he’d be executed.

Visenya can’t go to the wall, and they can’t be together if Baelon is dead, so they must likely bolt immediately after he kills Aerys and do not come back. Unlike when they do this as Aegon V’s children, they are never going to be able to just sit still and live. They are going to spend the rest of their lives running, and whether they get caught or not entirely depends on how viciously Rhaegar decides to chase them.

Or at least a good bit of their lives, until the Long Night comes and Rhaegar has bigger problems to worry about because Baelon might have accidentally made it so the prince(ss) who was promised was never born.

(I am a firm believer that it is Dany, but I know that is only a theory so decide on that how you will.)

Rhaegar’s siblings:

This is the one case where I think that Baelon and Visenya would fight for the throne, less because they want it or care but because of the murder of their family.

I think it would be interesting if they and Dany were triplets because of the whole three-headed dragon thing, but it’s more likely they were born between Viserys and Dany.

(If they were closer in age to Rhaegar, Baelon would be on the battlefield with him and Visenya back with Elia at the Keep, so they would both be dead.)

The thing is that Baelon and Viserys are constantly at each other’s throats, because Viserys is a nasty little shit who thinks he’s special. Baelon is younger than him, and, like Aemond, he’s small until he hits puberty and has several gigantic growth spurts. Viserys is older and bigger, so for a long while of their childhood Baelon can’t really do anything when one of them “wakes the dragon” and their brother has a fit.

Once he does suddenly shoot up to significantly bigger than Viserys, the dragon wakes a lot less.

Shocker.

Viserys also initially wants to sell Visenya to the Dothraki, and when Baelon immediately has a knife pointed at him, he tells him if it isn’t Visenya then it will have to be Dany. And Baelon looks at Dany and Visenya, kind of huddled up against each other, and Dany’s thirteen. She’s a baby. His baby sister, and he loves her so much, he does.

He loves Visenya more.

He never really forgives himself for it.

He spends most of his time very drunk for a while after Dany is married, or lurking near Visenya because he’s very suspicious of the khalasar. Fights with Viserys a lot more.

Has to shove his head into a bucket of water and scream when he finds out his little sister, tiny and small and so fucking young, is pregnant. Visenya holds him, but sometimes he catches her looking at Dany with this guilt on her face.

And they both know they would be dead already, if they’d let Visenya be the one, because they couldn’t stay apart and Drogo would have caught them together, but it doesn’t make it easier.

When Viserys is killed, Dany turns to look at him. With her big eyes and her soft face, and she’s looking at him like she expects him to do something, and Baelon isn’t even thinking when he kneels.

Visenya only looks at him for a moment before she kneels too.

(“You are the elders,” Dany said, uncertainly, later that night.

“And you,” said Baelon, “are khaleesi.”)

They are, admittedly, not that upset when Drogo dies. Delighted, a little, in fact, though they hurt to see Dany hurt. She does not see the atrocities that they see when they think of her marriage, because she is young and thinks she knows love.

Baelon has never heard his sisters scream the way that they do when the baby dies.

He has never screamed the way he screams when Dany walks into the pyre.

(He has never wept the way he weeps when she walks back out.)

There are three Targaryens for three dragons, and, wherever Dany goes, it’s with Baelon on her right and Visenya on her left. It’s love, for the most part, and it’s guilt for what they allowed to happen to her, but it is loyalty as only dragons can show it.

Three dragons conquered Westeros once, and three dragons do the same all over again.

I hope this kind of answers what you were asking for?? It was fun to think about :)

[kingsmoot]

ahhh i sent this ask to wormlips accidentally i got confused by the wams pfps >_<. still i want to hear your opinion on this -- what do you think the ramsay's mom miller's wife was like as a person, have you any thoughts? and what do you think theon's lover miller's wife was like? also, on the horrible miller's wife multiverse, what's your opinion on the theory that the younger miller's boy was theon's bastard --- some reckon it adds an ironic what qualifies as kinslaying tragedy, others find it excessive and that it takes away from theon organically thinking about smallfolk and feeling regret unbefitting of his once-place on the social ladder.

ah what an honor to be mixed up w my friend @wormlips 🪳🩷🪱 who did btw answer this question here:

ok i will give you my first headcanon which is that ramsay's mom and the miller's wife of acorn water are the same woman. this is directly refuted by canon because theon's part time lover lives in acorn water while the woman roose rapes lives next to the weeping water stream. but genuinely idc. maybe she moved!! i think this being the same miller's wife adds a perfect layer of abject horror onto a very tall layer cake of abject horror after abject horror so this is a part of my belief system.

also sorry i think the theory that the miller's wife's children are theon's is ridiculous. maybe george can't do math but i can. and in this particular instance so can george, actually.

the boys theon killed were of an age with bran and rickon in acok. that would make them around 9 and 4, respectively. theon in acok is 19, so for both of them to have been his that means that he would have impregnated the miller's wife at age NINE and sixteen. that's bananas. this man was not banging the neighborhood milf at NINE. he would have JUST gotten to winterfell and more importantly he would have been NINE YEARS OLD.

i also don't think it's really implied at all. in fact in adwd theon even says that he's no kinslayer because he didn't really kill his baby brothers, bran and rickon, just some miller's sons...

and does this underscore the class divide in westeros? yes. but ALSO: ramsay was actually the one to kill them and cut off their faces otis driftwood style. and who is actually a kinslayer and has murdered one half brother already? wams. so i think it makes narrative sense if those kiddos that theon passed off as the corpses of bran and rickon were wams' half brothers. which he also would have known.

because like. i know "the cycles are cycling" is this website's full time greek choir chant but it's truuuuue. that's like rams' whole... thing. he is the culmination of roose's scorched earth cruelty. he will be the end of house bolton. he was made by the man he is destined to destroy. he will devour every last trace of this once great house. every prodigal son. every swaddling babe. every new bastard and every new heir. utter desolation. and he serves as the same kind of mirror to theon as he does to roose!! reflecting theon's cruelty, sexual violence, and lack of self back at him x1000. he is a reflection of the father and of his fellow rejected/abandoned son. he is the culmination of both of their mounting cruelty it's SO GOOD it's such a rich vein in the narrative 🥰

AND ADDITIONALLY it feels in character that wams-disguised-as-reek could have seen his mom when she sold ser rodrick hay on their way from the dreadfort to winterfell and she would not have said anything about wams being her child, roose bolton's bastard, for TWO reasons:

1. canonically, everyone and their dog and their dog's cousin and their dog's cousin's third aunt saw ramsay with his PIERCING WHITE SCLERA LENS EYES and BOTTLE BLACK HAIR after he was captured from THE FOREST SURROUNDING THE DREADFORT and thought "ok well that could mean anything" (can i just say. theon gets a lot of shit for this. which he deserves. but NO ONE ELSE GETS ANY SHIT AND I THINK THEY SHOULD. COME ON, GUYS. FUCK YOU IN PARTICULAR SER RODRICK.)

2. if she did recognize him (i think she would have) and she was his mama (i think she is) she would never ever ever ever give him up. she would have stayed silent.

why would i say so? because i really only have one thing to say about wamsay's mama which i've said before and which i'm never not thinking about. ramsay's mom, like cersei, has had everything taken from her. and the only way she can indirectly reclaim agency in this world is through what is given to her son.

she knew exactly what kind of man roose bolton was. she probably knew better and more intimately than most!! but she did not protect her son from him. just the opposite, she insisted that he claim him as his child. that he recognize his own. IT'S SO ROSEMARY'S BABY, LIKE.... BEAR WITNESS UNTO THAT WHICH YE HAVE WROUGHT, ROOSE!!!!! and then roose knows, of course. roose knows as soon as he sees that little boy that the child is his and he also knows exactly WHAT ramsay is. he knows that child will be the death of his house. but he also cannot refuse him!!! no man is so hated by the gods as the kinslayer!!! roose is bound to ramsay by blood!! chained to his own undoing by nature of being its creator!!

and then what does roose do?? puts a known murderer + serial rapist in charge of raising his own flesh and blood child. another thing that ramsay's mama does not protect him from. another thing she encourages, actually, because molding ramsay into a monster means he is more likely to get his due. her due. what is owed to him as the son of a great house. what is owed to her as a woman who had everything taken from her and no way to get any of it back. ANNIHILATION!!!

this got a little more word-vomity than i intended but i get too excited when i talk about this. it's like. good and interesting and important to me that ramsay's mama is not a blameless innocent victim who was brutalized and then did her best. she was brutalized and then she did everything in her power to make sure roose bolton got exactly what was coming to him. and she sacrificed her rape-baby to do it.

tysm for your question!

[tanoraqui]

okay so this is actually @aragornsrockcollection​‘s fault for suggesting that Sauron/Mairon/whatever is the Maiar of math, because I like math, I really unironically like math. Now I have to like Sauron a little, or at least mourn Mairon and Annatar a little more, and daydream about What Could Have Been. So here’s how my “the Gwaith-y-Mirdain sink Númenor, Leverage-style” AU would happen 2k of silvergifting AU building up to, but not actually including the Gwaith-y-Mirdain sinking Númenor, Leverage-style:

Backround:

The turning point was, Annatar went to Mount Doom to forge his One Ring and he found that it was...lonely. Control, yes, he needed control, and power, yes, he needed power, because without these he couldn’t create the ordered world he dreamed of. But it was just...it’d been pleasant, working with the Mirdain these last 400 years. It’d been a memory of the glorious company in creation that he had once upon a time in Aulë’s forges, before he found greater purpose. It’d been disordered, yes, but now and then the hammers struck in time and the ideas shouted across trestle tables clicked together, and a butterfly flapped its wings and the world changed... 

And at the center of it was Celebrimbor, who was, well...

His One could wait, he decided, turning away. At least until they’d made Three for the Elves - and why was he risking upsetting a power base he already had? This was Fëanor’s grandson and a city of Noldorin crafters. A dwarf had convinced Celebrimbor to include stylized Silmarils in the city’s ornate front gate! He - Gorthaur, Mairon, Sauron, Annatar - had spent so long building trust and power in Eregion…it’d be easy to point it in a more useful direction. (And maybe, at the center of the pattern he was building, instead of One there could be Two rings, in perfect synchronous orbit?)

He got back to Ost-in-Edhil and sought Celebrimbor out first thing, as had become his habit. He found him in the large jewelsmithing workroom, and he couldn’t help but smile as he walked in, because it was pleasant indeed: the strike of hammers and the tested tensile strength of wires, the rhythmic rise and fall of voices, the flash of lights on faceted gems. There was order in a well-practiced group as much as in a hierarchy - though there was a strongest chord in this symphony, for there in the middle of it was Celebrimbor, just where he ought to be (that’s a beautiful thing about math, and where it can easily be twisted into evil: that every single part has a specific place it belongs in a greater order). Annatar (as he was here) couldn’t help but smile with the perfect satisfaction of homecoming.

That evening, Celebrimbor invited Annatar to his rooms and said, “I should tell you-  I’m sorry, I should’ve told you earlier - well, I barely could have! But I could have been less paranoid, and waited...”

“Tyelpe,” Annatar said, amused, “what are you talking about?”

(Tyelperinquar was usually an insult, because Celebrimbor chose in Nargothrond how he wanted to be called, and anyone who did otherwise was now throwing an epithet of kinslayers in his face. His childhood nickname was used affectionately by maybe five people in Middle Earth.)

Celebrimbor said, “You’ve been stranger than usual recently, and you’ve never been honest about why you are here. So I did not trust you - maybe I still shouldn’t! But I saw your face when you came into the workshop today, so it’s really only fair that you know, that while you were gone, I...”

He reached into his pocket and drew out three rings of power, clearly Celebrimbor’s own work and his alone, and Annatar didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed them before because, revealed, they blazed.

Annatar (Sauron, Mairon) burst out laughing. He put his hand over the rings in Celebrimbor’s open palm, because how could he not reach for such beautiful, powerful, marvelous things? and kissed the most beautiful, clever, alarmingly insightful, astonishingly (divinely) creative, blindingly bright-burning thing in the room on the lips.

.

The most beautiful, clever, alarmingly insightful, astonishingly (divinely) creative, blindingly bright-burning, allergic to the concept of conquest, or even some LIGHT coercion and usurpation, thing in the room. In all of Arda, possibly. The most he could convince these stubborn elves to do was share their arts and crafts more freely with neighboring kingdoms, earning respect and winning some power in the others’ dependence on trade!

.

Maybe there were points where he could have tried harder... But trade was no petty thing, to those who understood it, and being the center of invention only enhanced that power, and that translated easily into the spread of culture, an even subtler but arguably greater power... The building of empires is one of history’s great patterns, and it need not always be done with force. 

Though force certainly helps - as the Númenoreans increasingly proved, over the years. But even the Númenoreans used lamps and compasses and medicines from Ost-in-Edhil, fashioned jewelry in this style or that...including a particularly precious Ring or two, functioning just as intended: enabling great works and easy communication between far-flung peoples. War was so messy anyway. Without it, neat fields and orchards grew where there once had been wilderness - there was finer, minuter order in Yavanna’s and Oromë’s domains, too, but Annatar didn’t have enough time for such refinement yet. Any sort of growing thing was wild enough. Then some of the Mirdain started taming lightning on a large, mechanically useful scale, using a combination of magnetism and Fëanorian techniques of light-collection, modified to transmute between different forms of energy...

Celebrimbor remained uninterested, from a combination of natural inclination and determined principle, in open seizure or even expressions of power, and out of what was definitely just raw stubbornness he continued to defer to Gil-galad in matters of governance. But he also helped Annatar rearrange Ost-in-Edhil’s entire street pattern, and roads across Eriador, into something more satisfyingly geometric and facilitating of trade, including adjusting the watercourse of the Gwathló and all its tributaries. So Annatar was content enough with their progress.

.

“Would you like to marry me?” Celebrimbor asked, exactly one millennia after Annatar’s first arrival in Ost-in-Edhil.

YES! screamed approximately 95% of Annatar’s being - greedily, triumphantly, in glory. He had long-since decided that two central, entwined Rings was the optimal way to rule - he wouldn’t be able to fully master the Three without Celebrimbor, as Celebrimbor alone had wrought them! Annatar hadn’t been the one to propose - he just wasn’t sure Celebrimbor was ready yet, ready to embrace the destiny that was clearly theirs for the taking. But if Celebrimbor was the one asking, was the one offering himself to Annatar’s glorious vision... So much was already in place, they just had to reach out - together! - and take it - 

The other 5% knew that Celebrimbor had a natural apathy toward power enhanced by a fear of holding it inflicted by his traumatic early life, even if the end goal was obviously good. And that he still mourned Finrod Felagund and felt guilt over his own small part in that universally embarrassing affair. And that, above all, while Celebrimbor had long-since guessed that Annatar was no true messenger of the Valar, and in fact that he’d had...a hand in Melkor’s glorious conquest of Beleriand...(the resident Maia of the Bruinen had shouted several arguably complimentary things about the “despoiler of my brother Sirion” before Annatar managed to discorporate her)... Ost-in-Edhil was a city of second chances, thrice-kinslayers carved stone alongside survivors of Doriath and Sirion. But Celebrimbor was as proud as his forefathers and only a little less prone to temper, though he controlled both far better, and he trusted by choice rather than by instinct, and he was going to be so angry if Annatar didn’t tell him the truth at LEAST of his plans, before their spirits were welded together in eternal harmony. Celebrimbor didn’t crave control, but nor did he like to be drawn into situations that were out of his. Worse, if anyone would react to intimate connection to an Ainu by immediately prying at their entire knowledge of reality, including personal history, it was Celebrimbor. And if anyone could then, in fury at perceived betrayal, invent a way to defy Eru Illuvatar himself and divorce said Ainu, it would also be Celebrimbor.

100% of Annatar loved him so, almost inconveniently, much. An equal 100% of Annatar refused to chance either losing or fumbling this chance.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “But we’ll have to go out of the city to do it, somewhere with nobody else around - Melian’s technique wasn’t just chance.” (True, even! Fixing himself into a permanent(ish) body to marry an incarnate was going to be...interesting.)

.

“There’s something I should tell you,” he said, alone together in a starlit glade in the southern Misty Mountains. He thought about the Rings and clarified, “Two things.” He thought about the discreet realm of orcs still tucked into Mordor, kept carefully in stasis except for weaponry advances for the past several hundred years. “Three things.”

.

“WHAT?”

.

When Melian stole her Elvish would-be-husband away to a secluded glade, she got to spend 200 years making slow love him, Annatar thought sourly. He got alternately yelled at and violently ignored for a whole year, and nearly stabbed several times, and only enormous persuasive arts kept Celebrimbor from storming back to Ost-in-Edhil before they’d finished this completely unnecessary argument.

.

Celebrimbor still liked him, though.

“Fuck,” Celebrimbor said aloud, which really failed to express the depth of his feelings about this.

.

“...You did stay, though.”

Annatar blinked at him (he’d gotten so accustomed to incarnate expressions already). “Of course I stayed.”

“You could’ve left at any time these last six hundred years since I made the Three; forged your One and started your monstrous empire.”

“My goal isn’t empire,” Annatar snapped, not for the first time. “And I am older than the concept of time. I can spare a few centuries to achieve my ends. And as I have explained to you at length now, Tyelperinquar, I don’t want One central Ring - I want Two. I want you, at my side.”

“Well, I...don’t.” Celebrimbor looked tired, yet as mithril-hard self-determined as he ever did. “Annatar, I’m never going to want that.”

“Well, I’m not going to do it without you!”

“...”

“Fuck.” 

.

Annatar spent three years wandering. He went back to Mordor, and it was so unspeakably dull without the infinitely elaborate, naturally developing patterns of sparking electricity and brightly curious minds.

.

“If you really don’t mind taking the longer path, you won’t mind continuing as we have been, until this world is as blissful as that which we left behind - and better! Like we always said! Is that nor ordered enough?”

.

“Also, we are recalling all of the Rings, and destroying them. I will not be party to this - I will not even be party to this temptation. Including the Three.”

“I will not let you harm yourself like that, Celebrimbor.”

“I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t take me for my grandfather! I will be fine.”

“You will not.”

“...I will hurt but I will be fine. What would’ve happened if your precious planned One was destroyed, anyway? Or your ‘Two’? Did you ever think of that?”

.

“I still plan to change your mind,” Annatar informed him.

Celebrimbor said tenderly, “I can honestly think of no way I’d rather spend eternity than trying to change yours.”

Annatar kissed him.

.

“....we’ll tell Galadriel after Gil-galad,” Celebrimbor conceded.

.

About a year later, Celebrimbor and Annatar, missing from Eregion for five years now, arrived without warning in Lindon, and requested a private meeting with the king immediately.

“First,” Celebrimbor said, “I would like to formally announce to my king, and also personally announce to my cousin, that we got married. No, don’t congratulate us - you’d only regret it in a moment. But please note, however it may matter, that I married Annatar after hearing what he’s about to tell you.”

He turned to his new husband and said pointedly, “Annatar?”