#* verse: { and the dragons danced. }

[bigdaddydaemon]

@worthyheir liked for a lyric based starter!

" 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 bones and drive your young mind crazy . " a pause from the king consort , his indigo eyes glued upon the earth beneath his feet. he absentmindedly kicks a pebble a few feet ahead of him , his heart TORN to shreds in his chest.

[worthyheir]

"You're getting better." / @volcre (Rhaenyra) sent a MEME

"Well, I've been practicing." Jace was pleased with himself, the compliment definitely helping his confidence. He had asked his mother years ago to help him learn to dance, but he was not exactly the best at it. His skills had gotten better over the years, but there were still dances that caused him to stumble, trip over his own feet, or his partner's, or worse, step on his mother's feet. Those moves led her smacking him upside the head, not painful, but a smile on her face as she let him lead her out again - gone now were the years when he had had to let her lead.

"Can you show me again, though? I would hate to step on your toes, as you might hit me again." He said, a smile on his face, though it had been quite some time since he had managed that. "Please?"

[myrc3lla]

@worthyheir x hotd verse.

House   Lannister   had   seemed   to have pledged   to   the   Greens.   Same   with   House   Baratheon   and   yet,   both   of   her   sides   matter   not   to   her   mother,   who   upon   the   realization   that   Prince   Aemond   was   to   wed   one   of   her   cousins,   Myrcella   was   a   likely   candidate   for   a   possible   bride   for   Aegon,   if   anything   were   to   happen   to   Heleana   (   why   her   mother   speaks   of   such   things   is   beyond   her   but   the   idea   does   not   sit   well   with   her   mother   ).   The   idea   is   enough   of   a   bother   to   her   mother   and   grandsire   that   they   pledge   Tywin   Lannister's   secrecy   and   banners   in   spy   work   and   council   if   Myrcella   can   take   a   place   on   the   throne.  

It's   in   poor   taste,   for   Prince   Jacaerys   is   to   wed   Princess   Baela,   and   yet,   her   mother   had   send   her   there   as   if   her   presence   alone   could   make   the   prince   fall   in   love.   Despite   what   her   mother   said,   Myrcella   simply   does   not   have   it   in   her   heart   to   earn   a   man's   heart   through   deception.   "You   are   aware   of   my   grandsire's   plans,   My   Prince,   are   you   not?"   The   lady   speaks,   hands   on   the   back   of   her   dress   as   she   walks   on   the   cold   corridors   of   Dragonstone,   toward   the   dragon   lair.   She   was   curious,   but   she   was   told   not   to   go   on   her   own,   for   she   is   no   dragonseed   or   rider.

  "They   think   you   can   be   persuaded   to   push   aside   your   Targaryen   bride   for   me."   It's   amusing   to   her,   for   Baela   Targaryen   is   as   fierce   as   she   is   beautiful.   Myrcella   lacks   that   type   of   strength   she   admires   in   Baela.   Her   strengths   is   into   names   and   castles   and   politics.   Emerald   eyes   set   on   the   prince   with   a   glee   on   them,   amused,   her   lips   turn   into   a   smile.   "I   told   them   the   match   is   not   ideal   and   that   the   Queen   is   just   entertaining   the   thought   for   the   sake   of   holding   my   grandfather's   expertise,   but   Mother   thinks   you   will   indeed   fall   to   your   feet."

[warlordfelwinter]

distractions

some celeste/asmodeus backstory nonsense just cause i've been thinkin about them. asmodeus trying to sort what it is about celeste that's caught his attention

--

The aasimar was vexing him.

Asmodeus would almost be certain he was doing it on purpose if it weren't for the fact that he didn't seem smart enough. Several weeks had passed on Toril since their last encounter. It had been an accident, same as the first time they had met, though much less sudden.

Part of him wished he had just killed Celeste then. He would have deserved it, after slamming Asmodeus to the pavement and not bothering to grovel or beg forgiveness and mercy. And if he was dead, he wouldn't be occupying that corner of Asmodeus' thoughts.

But he wasn't.

And as Asmodeus walked the hall of his palace, the vast majority of his mind busy controlling his avatars elsewhere in the Hells, a tiny part of his mind was thinking about Celeste. Just enough to be distracting.

He wasn't inherently special. Perhaps, from the perspective of a mortal, he could be. Those with celestial blood were fairly rare. From the perspective of a god, however, he was simply another mortal. The thing that nagged at him was how this one had acted around him.

It was rare for mortals to recognize his avatar, though his look was not a secret. Those that did always had one of a few reactions. Terror, or some form of religious fervor – either delight or rage – also born from fear.

Rare, incredibly rare, impossibly rare, were those who simply weren't afraid of him. Celeste seemed to be one of those rare few. He couldn't immediately remember the last time he had encountered someone like him.

He must want something.

It didn't matter. Asmodeus shouldn't care what he wanted. He didn't. He just wondered why the aasimar wasn't afraid of him. It was an unknown. He didn't like unknowns.

He also didn't like coincidences. He had looked into Celeste, after the second time they had run into each other. The first had been outside of Waterdeep. Seeing him again at that gala in the Sea Ward had made him suspicious. As far as he could tell it was a coincidence. Just like the fact that his firm in Waterdeep happened to be handling Celeste's estate. Too many coincidences.

But his investigations had turned up little. Celeste Zasti was no one. He was a moderately wealthy Waterdhavian, a casual worshipper of Lliira, the sole survivor of a Bhaalist massacre, and worked as a professional dancer both through the entertainer's guild and freelance. Once again perhaps he was somewhat unique as a mortal, but in the grand scheme of things? He was no one.

Asmodeus sighed, settling down onto his throne, and parceled off that corner of his mind, casting it up into a projected image.

He opened his eyes in an alley in the North Ward. He had appeared somewhere near Celeste's home, but in a place he suspected would be empty. The image he had chosen was nondescript, an elven woman who wouldn't appear out of place in this neighborhood.

He loitered around, most of his focus back with his avatars in the Hells, attending to business. Eventually, Celeste came outside, locking his door and flouncing off down the street. Asmodeus followed, at a distance, acting perfectly casual. Not that it mattered. The aasimar was clearly so lost in his own world he wouldn't have noticed a dragon following him.

He stopped for breakfast at a bakery and ate it on the way to the market where he bought a few things, taking his time, before heading back home.

Asmodeus had no idea what he had expected to learn, and dismissed his image in irritation.

***

He kept coming back.

The aasimar was a puzzle he wanted to solve so he could be done with it. Through a handful of more observations through projected images, Asmodeus learned very little about Celeste. He seemed to be an incredibly boring person. He spent most of his time at home, alone. He had very few friends, mainly his neighbors. He worked infrequently, only taking one job during the time that Asmodeus was observing him. He knew from his files on Celeste's estate and finances that he didn't need to work often to maintain his lifestyle, but didn't he get bored? The night of dancing and drinking after the gala in the Sea Ward seemed clear now to be an outlier. Despite his sunny appearance and seemingly friendly attitude, he kept to himself and seemed to keep everyone around him at arm's length.

It wasn't hard to guess why. He'd read the reports about the Zasti family massacre and knew Celeste had been the one to discover their bodies. Mortals were sensitive to events like that. Though many years had passed, it was clearly still hanging onto him like a shadow.

If he had to guess what Celeste hoped to get from a devil, it would be that. His family returned.

And yet...

As far as Asmodeus could tell, Celeste had not sought out another devil after their first meeting. If his lack of fear around Asmodeus was due to wanting something that badly, why wouldn't he try to find someone else to make that deal with?

It just didn't make any sense.

At the moment, he found the aasimar lingering outside the gates of the City of the Dead. He stepped into the shadows, shifting his image to that of Patience, and headed over, as if he simply happened to be walking by.

"Celeste?" he called, from several meters away.

It took a moment for Celeste to register his voice. He turned, his halo brightening when he spotted Patience.

"Patience, khaire! Hi!" he said, flouncing over, shaking off the strange mood that had been lingering around him at the gates.

Patience flicked his gaze toward the cemetery, tilting his head slightly. "Visiting someone?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Just thinking." Not exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth, either.

"About death? That seems a bit dour for you." He turned away slightly, continuing in the direction he had been walking. Celeste kept pace, laughing with that breathy, musical laugh of his.

"I guess so. I try not to think about things like that. What's the point, right? Better to just enjoy life while we're here."

Patience smiled. Celeste was lying, again. He was good at it, for a mortal. Well-practiced.

"Anyway, what brings you here?" Celeste asked.

"Work," Patience said, taking a turn onto a street that would lead to his office.

"Right, you're... a solicitor," Celeste said, almost a question. Patience nodded. "That must be interesting."

He chuckled. "What a polite way to say 'boring'."

Celeste laughed. "I'm serious. I'm sure it's interesting. What kind of things do you do? I don't know very much about solicitors, but I know they handle all sorts of different things..."

"Money, mostly," he said. "People hire my firm to handle their estates or businesses, resolve disputes about inheritance, that sort of thing."

Celeste's eyes widened. "Wow... You must have some really expensive clients, then."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, you work in the Castle Ward and I met you at a party in the Sea Ward. Normal people don't get invited to those."

Patience angled a smile at him. "You were there."

"I was hired to be there," Celeste laughed. "And I'll try not to take offense at you calling me normal."

He chuckled. As they walked the rest of the way to the business district of the Castle Ward, they talked about nothing in particular. Celeste skillfully deflected any prying personal questions, keeping the conversation light. At some point, without him noticing, Patience stopped trying to learn things about the aasimar. Their conversation was a certain level of mundane that was mind-numbing in a pleasant way. Though the vast majority of his mind was focused on other things on other planes, this little corner of it was relaxingly empty for the time that it took for them to reach the office.

The moment he realized it, his mind sharpened again, trying to figure out how Celeste had done that.

"Here we are," he said, as they reached the non-descript building.

Celeste looked up at the window, his eyes flicking over the engravings on the glass. Patience is a Virtue - Soliciting Services - 'We're real Lords of Law'

The name had been his idea, the tagline was Grace's – a succubus who worked here full time, maintaining their influence in Waterdeep. He thought it was a little over the top but she found it hilarious.

Celeste laughed. "I love the name," he said. "And, thee mou, don't you have a lot of titles?" he commented, his voice oddly soft. The reason for his lowered tone became clear when he glanced mischeviously at Patience. "Lord of Law, Lord of the Nine, Lord of Lies," he murmured. "What aren't you a lord of?"

Patience tensed, ever-so-slightly.

Celeste saw it and grinned. He winked. "Have a good day at work," he said, skipping past Patience, back toward the North Ward. "Ta leme!" he called over his shoulder.

Patience watched him go, eyes narrowed. So Celeste wasn't as stupid as he acted. He sighed, feeling unsettled and strange, and turned, walking through the door of the firm and dismissing his projected image.

[realmscruelty]

[ 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] : as sender is about to leave, receiver grabs them by the wrist. / daemon | @king7doms

an ARGUMENT , fueled by grief , by the PARANOIA that steadily trapped her in its web. she’d hurled venomous words at her husband , insisting that he had LUSTED after her crown , that he could not STAND the idea of her father loving her more than his own brother. it was a ridiculous notion , for there was not a single soul more LOYAL to their family than daemon targaryen. her words were meant to hurt ──── to claw away at his insecurities , shredding him to pieces ; to take out her own negativities on someone closest to her ( thus , her husband , for she would never do such a thing to her boys ) .

rhaenyra idly toys with her wedding band , twisting and pulling it as she watches her husband storm toward the door. exasperated at the situation , at herself , she reaches out to grasp her husband’s wrist. her fingers make purchase , and she is surprised to find daemon stopping in his tracks.

lilac eyes cast their gaze downward , focusing on nothing in particular , if only to AVOID the hurt in his eyes. “ if i COMMAND you to stay , as your queen . . . ” would you stay ? are the words that hang in the air. however , she swallows her pride and meets his gaze. “ as your wife , i will ask you to stay. please. ”

[iedarperzys]

who gonna romance her now that she is a free woman.

[boregrief]

@dioica said, ❝ green is the color of earth, of living things, of life. ❞

alicent had been proud of the emeralds and pines and sages she dons, once. they are the colors of her house, a distinct separation from the blacks and reds of house targaryen she was suffocated by in the early years of her marriage. but as of late, the queen dowager finds that she tires of it . . . even so far as to feel a tinge of dread she must swallow in the mornings, when she is dressed. green has become the color of war. bannermen carry a golden dragon on a green field when they ride to battle, while the very same sigil gleams on their helms or breastplates alongside hightower's own. vhagar, the great dragon of war herself, burns green underneath the sun when aemond flies upon her.

her attention settles on the girl curiously, pondering her words like a strange taste on her tongue. this netheera, a young woman from the summer isles who has claimed a dragon in her own right without a dash of valyrian blood -- a revelation that has changed everything, an improbability they could not let go unattended. and now a loyal squire of ser criston. she does not seem to let her mind be impeded by the borders many of their own people have fabricated ( this war is built upon age - old grudges ), and a part of alicent finds she respects that. envies it, even. ❝ it can be that, and many other things, ❞ she assents, gaze dropping to the intertwining of restless fingers for a beat. ❝ it is better associated with those things, i think. i have not seen living green often as of late. ❞

[tolimorghon]

she seemed so broken, seeing her by his funeral pyre, trembling. he wish he had had the chance to say goodbye, that they had not been separated by this.

it was different, moving through the castle on dragonstone as a ghost, following her back to her chambers; desperately hoping she would catch a glimpse of him in any reflection.

@lcveblossomed clicked the heart for a thing from ghost!luke for Rhaena

[blossomhcir]

SENTENCE MEME STARTERS; ACCEPTING  @dreamtfyres​ asked  ❛  💬 !  ❜

“Your eyes…A most remarkable shade of purple. And yet somehow, they shine even brighter when you are kind.” When she had first come to court, Adelaide had been unnerved by the characteristic purple eyes of the Targaryens. The shade seemed all too unnatural, uncanny. As a creature in the wild might signal danger. That was until she came into the service of the princess Helaena. She was violet and lavender, petal soft and lovely to behold. Her eyes brought to mind fields of wildflowers. Oh, how she loved violets.

[bigdaddydaemon]

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖕 , 𝕯𝖆𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓'𝖘 𝖌𝖆𝖟𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖕 - 𝖘𝖔𝖓'𝖘. he say not a word , only STARES at the young man , arms folded across his chest , wearing a look of DISAPPROVAL upon his face. " i hear CONGRATULATIONS are in order , " the king consort sneers. " a wife of your own choosing ──── how WONDERFUL. "

𝕿𝖔 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖑 𝖙𝖔 𝕭𝖆𝖊𝖑𝖆 . . . it is difficult to comprehend. he had been forced into a marriage in his youth , to a woman he LOATHED ; and rhaenyra , she had been forced to wed a man who could not love her as a husband should , to no fault of his own. he did not want that for either of his girls , nor did he want such a thing for his step - sons. but daemon had been ELATED at the betrothal of rhaenyra's boys to his girls ──── and who would not be ? had daemon had his choice of candidates , he would pick jacaerys and lucerys every time.

𝕭𝖚𝖙 , 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘. baela would have been FORCED into a loveless marriage ; forced to deal with a man whose heart belonged to another , as her mother had before her. and though he had loved laena , she had always known that she had not been his first choice. but for his step - son to take matters into his own hands , to wed another without even speaking to either daemon or rhaenyra . . .

𝕳𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 , 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖊𝖞𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖌𝖆𝖟𝖊 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆. for a moment , he is silent , the waves and the screeching of dragons overhead the only sound. the prince clenches his jaw , a muscle twitches at his temple , and he looks back to the prince of dragonstone. " why didn't you come to me ? "

a plotted starter for @worthyheir

[worthyheir]

∗ 41﹕ sender  twines  their  fingers  with  receiver’s . / @twndrgn sent a MEME

Jacaerys was so tired of not being taken seriously. He was fairly certain Baela felt the same, the pair of them giving the most sound plans during council meetings and being overlooked each time (even when their suggestions were what came to fruition in the end). They both should have a stronger voice in these meetings - he was the Crown Prince, and she was his betrothed, not to mention a dragonrider herself, and a Princess of the realm - and they were trying, vocalizing even when their opinions were scoffed at.

He did not hold his temper as well as Baela did, and he admired that about her, amongst a variety of other traits. While he would complain to either her or his mother about it, about how they were discredited in the council, she did not do as much of it as he did. He had just left his mother's chambers, annoyed at her dismissive attitude towards his concerns. It was what led him to the library, flipping through a book he had plucked at random, not a single word registering in his mind.

While he is often aware of his surroundings, she has integrated herself so well into his world that she is able to seat herself next to him, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers, placing it on her lap. He looks over at her, trying and failing at mustering a smile to his face. "It's late, you know." He says, which is obvious by the darkness of the skies outside. "What are you still doing awake?"

[rosethroned]

@reachregent &. WILLAS // 💚

❝ Do you believe they truly have a chance to  win? ❞ If anyone will be truthful, it will be her brothers; and when it comes to strategy, 'tis the eldest who shines most brightly. Big brown eyes, more clever than sweet, wait for the reaction upon his face ( but the fidgeting with her necklace gives away the worry her serene expression belies ). ❝ The Greens, I mean. ❞❝ Rhaenyra has more dragons, and her father's favor besides, ❞ Deceased though the old king is, now, vows had been sworn. They were bound to have some weight when it came to alliances, no matter how little stock some put to them. Highgarden had said the words too, and yet father now chose to support Rhaenyra's enemies. They are kin to Alicent and her children; cousins to some degree through mother's side. Not that it matters. Father had chosen who to fight for based on the crown that would make her Aegon II's queen. Grandmother had called him a fool, and Margaery can only think she is right. ❝ Aegon is said to be quick to anger and little interested in ruling. I might be able to bend him, perhaps, but — ❞ we cannot fight dragons.

[crimson-phantom-designs]

Um...

Well I have been writing a series of notes for a potential Francis in OFMD universe(Eb is in this universe too but it is after they separated leaving Francis extremely bitter about it and bent more toward his brutality. A parallel to Blackbeard post Stede). I didn't mean to do anything with all this but I have a story where Francis met Ned Low in a one shot just to see what happened and they... hit it off really well which suprised me. (More on Francis end, Ned was a flustered mess just excited to meet someone with similar taste in music and... other facinations...)

Then I read this...

Fuck. The real Ned Low had a friend named Francis and they were close for awhile. Now I have to do something with these notes eventually- shit, its hauntingly accurate.

Did I mention Francis signature is setting ships on fire with its crew held aboard? What similar to Ned's blend of music and torment, Francis plays a violin in exchange of his pianoforte to the screams off it as the ship sinks...

I'm not sure I will write it entirely(I have too many AUs dammit!) but the idea keeps returning to me. I have set art ideas for it but I can share a short plotline that started from a one shot in my drafts where Francis and Ned meet while on dock one night at the Republic of pirates. Ned is drawn to the beautiful music of a violin along the pier coming from a beautiful ship. A tune so well played and unfamiliar in quality normally found around pirates. Ned grabs his violin and rushes flustered to join this stranger which he is welcomes to and they continue the song. They play well and even share a conversation, all where it leads to why Francis is there having to clean up what his crew could not. He's looking for someone as Ned remarks the same thing. Ned goes pale; however, as he discovers its the same man as a wanted poster is thrown at his feet to see its Blackbeard. Same man but different reasons that intertwine, Ned for revenge of his record being broken and Francis for his 30 freight ships under his corsair contract Blackbeard seiged in order to break it. Francis is also looking for Stede Bonnet, someone Ned doesn't recognize or really care to but he obliges for the assistance in tracking Ed down.

Then months later, as the story direction is changed for this, Francis finds Stede adrift in his dingy lost at sea and rescues him- or so Stede thinks...

Against Stede's ruse of a fake name, Francis on approach, knows exactly who Stede really is; however, alike how when he met Ned low, Francis is using Stede just as much as he is using Ned to find the Revenge. Ned, who Francis treats much like a pet ironically, happily goes along with whatever Francis tells him because he feels he weilds more influence than he truly does in this arrangement, all whilst Francis picks at Stede's mind to pull information about himself, his ship, everything that fascinates him about this odd bird at sea. What Francis uses all his skills at his disposal to retrieve, including his knowledge of mixing custom pharmaceuticals blends to fit his needs from his days as a refined surgeon.

When he's not using concoctions, Francis, being a man masterful at manipulation, one seethingly charming and well cultured from his wonderous explorations that streched far beyond his days permanently at sea, works like a charm on Stede. Stede who is immediently drawn to that comfort zone of aristocraic behavior while being more so put at ease with how kind and generous Francis is to him. Since Stede was rescued, Francis has provided him the nice cloths he longed for and treats him to fine dining, whatever Stede wants essentially... except to leave. Not that Francis has openly stopped him, more an alluded persuasion if Stede gets restless; "Why would you want to muck it out there isolated and all alone? You could run into anyone out there... Someone that could seriously hurt you if you crossed them... Just think what could have happened had I not found you first barely clinging to your dear sweet life... There's alot of dangerous men out there..."

While Stede truly believe Francis is trying to help him reunite with his crew, Stede isn't completely daft. He is wary and picks up somerhijgs not quite right as he tries to be careful what he shares, at least about Ed. He's mainly worried where all this generosity could lead and remains guarded but polite because... he's also despirate with no other options. He pacifies Francis as much as he can for now yet Stede doesn't realize just what he's gotten himself into and with who... What will all come to a head when Francis meets back up with Ned one night to celebrate their crews reunion with own twisted version of Calypso's birthday that make Francis intentions become abit more clear to Stede when the ruse is dropped completely.

Meanwhile with Ned back, Ned sees all this and knows the plan, but he's too jealous and spiteful by how Francis fawns over Stede. How Francis always keeping Stese so close. Ned wanted that to be him. Them... Ned has finally found someone who 'understands him' and will be damned if some minor rich boy playing pirate takes that from him while Stede would love to actively assure him how incorrect he is and how badly he wants to leave.

While all this happening, Ed learns what is going on and who Stede has been seen with as they have monitored the ship from the security of distance in night travels. What, thanks to Izzy, who knows all too well what the dread Black King Osman is capable of, knows just how much danger Stede is in. Ed now sets his bitter resentment from Stede leaving him aside and sails to London. He is heavily outmatched in means to attack Francis on his own, but with a well placed raid along the Thames River, he plans to level that playing field with a counteraction of his own capture.

[sigilsongs-a]

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 ... HOTD and AGOT AUs + verse tags

𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐮, 𝐈.

Helaena, upon the approach of her marriage to her brother Aegon, suffers a breakdown; her Dreaming suddenly plaguing her with visions of death, a dragons piercing roar of grief, of bones crumbling to ash, and the sensation of plummeting towards endless, horrifying darkness. Utterly overwhelmed, beyond any point she has ever been before, Helaena flees the Keep; disappearing into the night like a pale spectre. She lives alone in the wilderness, avoiding people and interactions, save for an eventual purchase of a horse she names Shrykos. Helaena fades from some memory, though rumours and questions hang in the air of how the Princess could have vanished, and the Dance unfolds. She becomes a nomad, a pale ghostfly Dreaming under the moonlight, some wary and some believing she is a harbinger of prophecy. She wanders freely, curiously, quietly, craving peace. [ Unless plotted otherwise, she had not bonded with Dreamfyre ]

𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐮, 𝐈𝐈.

An assumed bastard-born who was intended to be a companion to the newborn Daenerys Targaryen, she was abducted or lost in transit to the Free Cities; left with only a three-headed dragon sigil from that time. Her abilities as a Dreamer foretold her potential sale as a bedslave, her selective mutism forestalled her fate for some time — no one wanted a silent whore. Now often called Elaena (her name misheard and then rarely used), she became an invisible, all-but silent attendant to the pillowhouse, its' workers, and its' patrons. Around the time her once-cradlemate is wed to Khal Drogo, Elaena is purchased by the Pentoshi Magister Illyrio Mopatis as a slave within his manse, wherein she begins to learn of the tales of Viserys & Daenerys Targaryen.

[myrc3lla-a]

"Mother   said   I   should   not   attend   a   tourney   but   father   said   every   lady   should   attend   at   least   once."   And   even   with   the   power   her   mother   had,   what   her   father   said,   that   was   what   it   was   done.   "He   said   he   will   participate.   Never   seen   my   father   fight   in   anything.   Is   it   as   bloody   as   I   heard   it   is,   Your   Grace?"

  A   small   pause   as   Myrcella   plays   with   the   favor   she   had   been   making   all   week   in   order   to   give   it   if   she   was   approached   by   a   knight,   the   prospect   of   courtly   life   was   exciting   at   best.   Rhaenys   Targaryen   was   a   cousin   of   her   father,   or   so   she   read,   but   for   her,   thats   enough   to   call   it   family.   "I   speak   too   much,   do   I   not?   I   apologize.   Never   been   outside   of   the   Stormlands." @korzion

[vesperzyr]

@belayadeath asked: He will pay a heavy price for his doings.

The king knew he was acting behind his council's back, but none of them shared his rage, his desire for vengeance. He would show everyone what it was like to cross a true king, the dire punishment that awaited them.

The task for the sellsword was beyond all wars; it was deeply personal. Daemon Targaryen would die by his sword.

"But remember, I need him alive. I'll take the pleasure of killing him myself... although I wouldn't be bothered if he missed a few parts along the way," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.