#*shield and sword gets put up defensively*

[idjits-areus]

Remember this scene from 10x22 || The Prisoner?

How Dean throws Cas at a table/desk during his mark of Cain influenced rage because he provoked him?

Yeah. I can guarantee that is not how Cas pictured Dean bending him over a table/desk.

[waywardsalt]

finally got around to putting together elden ring builds for the post-ph crew, and tested them out briefly, so here are the builds i came up with and all that! (absolutely a very long post, i had fun explaining a lot of my reasoning)

i'm not going to give them exact stats, just some vague idea of what they'd likely lean towards, and i can't say much to what equip load they have. when i tested these builds out i had 72 endurance. this uses exclusively base-game equipment since i don’t have the dlc and wanted to test these out for myself.

i also don’t use many spells or any incantations so the spell and incantation choices are mostly based on wiki descriptions and whether or not i felt it would fit the character.

some context is that this is with the idea that somehow these four get zapped into the lands between as tarnished, and this is the equipment i think they’d use, disregarding what is needed to access most of this stuff.

i also didn't change my tarnished's appearance for these, not that i think i could accurately replicate these four in elden ring's character creator, anyways, so you get to see my tarnished's face with all of these :)

Link:

His armor is: the highwayman hood, the blue cloth vest, exile gauntlets, and Carian knight greaves.

There's practically no green armor in this game, and what is there isn't really armor and isn’t exactly good protection. I wanted a bit of a balance between just cloth, but also some armor, as well as a headpiece somewhat like the usual hero's cap. The highwayman's hood works well enough, honestly, and I think it fits in well with the blue cloth vest; plus, I can see it being helpful in keeping dust and whatnot out of his eyes. Blue works well enough with Link nowadays, and I do think the blue cloth vest actually fits Link well enough- I doubt he'd want to wear something like a plate breastplate, so a vest like this is good.

The exile gauntlets I feel work well, they're simple and slim with some decent coverage, and the Carian knight graves not only look great with the blue cloth vest, but are also something that I believe fits Link, and the tall boots are likely decently practical in the same vein as the hood.

His weapons I chose are: The Carian knight's sword, with the pulley bow as a secondary weapon, and the Carian knight's shield in his offhand, with the academy glintstone staff as a secondary.

He obviously had to be the good standard sword-and-shield combo fighter, but I went ahead and gave him with Carian sword and shield partially because they look decently similar to what weapons he normally uses, but also because I enjoy the idea of him dabbling in magic along with typical damage types. The Carian sword does a good bit of magic damage along with standard, and the shield guards again both of those types, and the sword's unique ash of war (Carian Grandeur) is a good mix between swordfighting and magic, and actually really good to use in-game. I feel like they suit him well.

For his secondaries, I had to give him a bow, and I feel like the pulley bow is just right, especially with it's special feature of having increased range. I could see him being the one tasked with deactivating faraway traps and hunting the animals of the Lands Between for materials, and even just luring enemies with some normal arrows.

The academy glintstone staff is a solid staff (and the one I personally use), and him using magic is a good way to translate his usual versatility, though I only limited him to five spells, those being:

Loretta's greatbow, giving him what is technically now a second bow, and a pretty good spell for luring and doing some decent magic damage,

Magma shot, a good, simple fire damage spell,

Glintstone Icecrag, a good ice spell, especially for causing frostbite buildup,

Great glintstone shard, a very basic but reliable spell, and is good when cast a few times in succession,

and Thops' barrier, for deflecting magic attacks, and though I've heard it's a mediocre spell, I could see Link getting the timing down and getting some good usage out of it. I tried giving him a decent range of spells, which is a little bit easier said then done considering the actual spell variety and wanting to pick spell that I think suit Link, but I think this is a good lineup.

For talismans, assuming that all four of them have all four talisman slots open, Link gets the silver scarab, the graven-mass talisman, the erdtree's favor +2, and the companion jar.

The silver scarab, raising item discovery is... perfect for Link. It only feels right that he gets a talisman that makes him more likely to get items off enemies. It definitely works, too, while testing, I got way more items out of the gatefront ruins group than I'd ever seen before.

The graven-mass talisman boosts sorcery power, which is certainly perfect for boosting Link's versatility and magic power, simple and useful.

The erdtree’s favor +2 is just an all-around great talisman to use for the hp, mp, and stamina boost, and it feels perfect as something for Link to use, especially to increase his effectiveness and endurance in battle.

And then the companion jar, which goes hand-in-hand with him also being a pot user to further his versatility, and it’s very easy to see him doing the Jar-Bairn side quest. My choices here disregard how the items are obtained, but I could absolutely see Link going out of his way to interact with Jarburg.

Link’s standard fighter, with a balance between offense and defense and physical and magical damage with a slight leaning towards magical, and the main archer who aims to do more damage with archery, and uses pots when needed. He’s probably the one ‘leading the charge’ in that he’s suited for most situations, but isn’t necessarily the most effective in all-out combat- he is the most defensively oriented, however. He’s likely in the mid-to-light equip range, and likely mostly levels Strength and Intelligence to keep his damage up, and focuses a lot on keeping his Vigor up for a good chunk of health.

Linebeck:

His armor is: the black knife armor, the gauntlets, and bandit boots.

The black knife armor is the most important part of the set, not just for it being a nice blue, but because it has the unique effect of completely silencing your movement sounds- perfect for steal and getting in a good number of sneak attacks. It’s light, too, and so are the generally standard gauntlets and bandit boots, all put together for a general… blue rogue kind of look? It’s practicality and some looks and all put around the idea that he’s going to be sneaking around and panic-rolling out of the enemy’s way- so his defenses are a bit lacking in favor of mobility. I do think it’s a good look overall.

His weapons are: A bloody antspur rapier with the poison mist ash of war, the redbranch shortbow as a secondary weapon, and the frozen needle in the offhand.

For Linebeck's build, it was either daggers or rapiers, and the extra damage, range, and great designs for the rapier won out- and I think rapiers suit him well. This specific pair of rapiers are oriented around inflicting ailments, with the frozen needle inflicting frostbite, and the antspur rapier- specifically with the poison mist ash of war and blood upgrade- can inflict scarlet rot, bloodloss, and poison with poison mist active. With the blood upgrade, the scarlet rot buildup suffers, but with the speed of rapiers and just how effective scarlet rot can be, it's a decent trade-off for the ability to do four ailments at once. His role in the Radahn fight is to inflict scarlet rot and then run off to snipe him with the redbranch shortbow, which is a simple ranged option, and helps with further ailment inflicting with ailment arrows.

His damage would probably be pretty decent, especially considering inflicting frostbite and his equipped talismans, but he's mostly going to be heading in with everyone and sticking around until proccing an ailment, and then backing off, especially if poison, rot, or frostbite are inflicted. Plus I think dual rapiers look great and it's very easy to see Linebeck using rapiers.

For talismans, he gets the gold scarab, the assassin's crimson dagger, the dagger talisman, and the blessed dew talisman.

The gold scarab boost rune acquisition by 20%. It's perfect. It's one of my favorite talismans. I can't make an Elden Ring build for Linebeck and NOT give him the money-boosting talisman.

The assassin's crimson dagger restores hp upon successful critical hits, and paired with the silencing effect of the black knife armor, is perfect for someone who's more used to sneaking around and taking down enemies from behind- and it's good for topping off your hp.

The dagger talisman boosts critical damage- so then making sneak attacks all the more effective, and even making any critical hits he manages in fights do much more damage.

And then the blessed dew talisman gives you a very minuscule constant hp regen, about 2 hp per second iirc. It’s incredibly slow, but it's hp regen all the same, good for saving flask uses and good for some health regeneration if you back out of the main fight.

Linebeck's got a big focus on stealth and ailments, with just a bit of health regen tossed in with the talismans to help with survivability. his weapons and offhand options are mainly based around ailments, and besides the bow, he tends to use darts and other throwable items, and is often the one to pick off enemies at the edge of a group while the others go in to the handle the main group. With bosses, he's in the front lines until an ailment is inflicted, and will jump back in either if he's really needed, or if ailments are needed again. For longer bosses, or bosses immune to a few ailments, he would probably find moments to jump in and get a bunch of quick hits in, then back out and wait for another opening. Rapiers are pretty good for quick hits considering that I believe you actually get three attacks from a dual-rapier sprint attack. He’d likely have a focus on Dexterity and Arcane, with some Endurance mixed in for that good running and rolling stamina.

Damien:

His armor is; the sacred crown helm, exile armor, crucible gauntlets, and drake knight greaves.

Picking armor for Damien was a bit of a challenge since he’s still a bit of a work in progress and I usually picture him in generally casual clothes, but I knew I wanted to stick with some red clothing and put together a bit more of a practical sort of outfit. Plus this end result kind of helps me further figure out Damien’s actual design and outfit variations.

I knew I wanted to give him one of the simple footsoldier helmets, and the sacred crown helm won out with the additional detail of the little vine-looking wreath, plus the minor faith boost. It’s a nice little helmet and I think it suits him. The exile armor was considered due to the red cloth around the shoulders, and was properly decided on when I found that the helmet got rid of the cloth covering the bottom half of the face. So it’s a good solid chest piece.

The crucible gauntlets and drake knight greaves work both with color and giving him some more armored extremities, the crucible gauntlets are pretty good heavy armor gauntlets, if the crucible knights themselves are anything to go by, and the drake knight graves seem to have a good bit of practicality with the high boots and armor. It’s all meant to end up somewhere in the medium equip load area, for a balance between defense and speed, and the lighter helmet and chest piece were primarily to even out with the heavier weapons.

The weapons he gets are: the axe of Godrick, the highland axe as a secondary, and the clawmark seal.

The axe of Godrick is a pretty good greataxe with what selection there is, some good damage and a really good ash of war skill with a really good area of effect. It’s fantastic for crowd control when two-handed, and worked pretty well for me when I tested it out without having upgraded it. It’s all in all a great standard axe. The highland axe as a secondary is used partially as a faster one-hand option, and partially for the boost given by its war cry ash of war. The axe of Godrick is almost always what he’d use, but the highland axe is probably better for some specific situations. Damien was always going to end up using axes, and I think these two are pretty good and fitting.

In his other hand is the clawmark seal- scaling with faith and strength and so working well with him relying on strength, and boosting bestial incantations, of which he has one- and he mostly uses support incantations with some minor attack incantations- but he is primarily support, usually backing out of the fight to switch to casting due to usually two-handing the axe of Godrick. He gets six incantations, those being:

Heal, as a very standard heal, mostly just for himself,

Erdtree heal, a heal more intended for group healing,

Golden vow, a group offense and defense buff for a time,

Protection of the erdtree, for increased non-physical defense, which is likely useful for many bosses,

Bestial sling, which is a pretty basic but effective attack incantation, and boosted by the seal he uses, and is probably great in tandem with his axes to break an enemy's poise,

and then Dragonclaw as his final spell, a stronger and closer-up attack spell, likely for individual bosses that are lower on hp.

His offenses are standard and meant to be pretty decent for crowd control and poise-breaking, so his attack spells follow suite, while his support options are based around healing and some basic buffs. I personally do not use buffs or incantations when I play, so I do not know the nuances of a lot of this stuff, but Damien's got a good set of incantations to use.

Damien's set of talismans are the green turtle talisman, the mottled necklace +1, the axe talisman, and the bull-goat's talisman.

The green turtle talisman is a great talisman, simply increasing the speed of stamina regeneration, and it's a fantastic talisman. Very useful with the stamina drained by axe attacks and backing off to cast spells.

The mottled necklace boosts immunity, robustness, and focus, an across-the-board status boost, and I imagine it's useful for being up close with enemies and then staying alive to help with support- even if he doesn't have much in the way of ailment-based support.

The axe talisman is a damage booster, and considering his decent poise, charged attacks are pretty viable for him to be using.

The bull-goat's talisman is standard but very effective in practice (or maybe that's me being used to low poise), as it raises poise, therefore making it harder for you to flinch or be knocked out of an attack. Very helpful with a slower main weapon like the axe of Godrick.

Damien's standard all around, with pretty good damage and likely very helpful with crowd control, usually two-handing the axe for maximum damage and will back off when using incantations. He primarily uses incantations for support, and the offensive incantations are usually saved for bosses or rougher encounters- or sometimes just if he wants to switch things up for fun. He's likely going to focus on Strength and Faith, with some Mind thrown in for most casts.

Bellum:

His armor is: the altered tree sentinel armor, and the malformed dragon gauntlets and greaves.

Chosen partially for the color and because they're all heavy plate armor; meant to emulate a lot of the phantom designs, and for that yellow color, and I wasn't even aware that the malformed dragon gauntlets had a darker color until I was initially putting this together. Heavy armor fits with a desire to survive in battle, plus I think decent mobility in heavy armor suits Bellum; when I tested this out, I was firmly in medium equip load territory, plus it made for a good bit of poise to go with slower weapons. It wasn't too hard to pick out armor for him.

The weapons I felt suit him are: the blasphemous blade, the Marais executioner's sword, with the gravel stone seal as a secondary.

The blasphemous blade was practically necessary, a greatsword with the bonus effect of hp restoration on enemy death, plus the Taker's Flames skill, which also heals hp when it hits an enemy. This is was made me decide on greatswords over colossal weapons, trying to stick a bit with some ideas from the phantoms, plus the hp-leeching effects, plus it’s a pretty good weapon and I think it originally belonging to Rykard also fits pretty well; it’s Bellum’s main weapon unless he switches to the Marais Executioner’s sword for it’s specific skill. That sword is mostly chosen for it’s skill, as well as it’s origins- those bell-bearing hunters are absolute nightmares to deal with- so the two swords are kind of also picked for a sort of intimidation effect. At least the wriggling flesh on the blasphemous blade does the job well enough if someone doesn’t know the origins (which don’t practically matter). He would likely switch to the executioner’s sword for some boss fights, and its skill can be highly damaging to lone enemies- the focus with these two is on heavy damage and hp regen.

The secondary left hand weapon he has is the gravel stone seal, which boost dragon incantations, and so he only uses offense incantations, with a lot of incantations that cover a wide area and some that inflict ailment buildup. Bellum gets five incantations, all attacks (and all maybe emulating the idea that he’s a monster forced to be human in the lands between lol);

Beast claw, a pretty standard but pretty effective ground-level attack,

Unendurable frenzy, a wide range, fiery madness-inflicting incantation that, while only inflicting madness on a select few enemies (and himself) is likely more than useful for crowds and large enemies,

Rotten breath, a dragon communion incantation that is about what it says on the tin, a dragon’s breath attack that inflicts scarlet rot,

Fortissax’s lightning spear, another dragon incantation that summons a pair of lightning spears, with the damage at it’s best up close,

and Aspects of the crucible: tail, a wide-range crucible incantation, and the most fitting of the crucible incantations, I feel.

He has no issue getting up close to bosses, since he can fall back on the honestly insane hp regen he’s afforded by both his main weapon and some of his talismans.

The talismans Bellum gets are; the taker’s cameo, the dragoncrest greatshield talisman, the pearldrake talisman +2, and the godskin swaddling cloth.

The taker’s token has the same passive effect as the blasphemous blade; hp restoration upon enemy death. The fun part is that the taker’s token and the blasphemous blade’s hp regen effects stack with each other.

The dragoncrest greatshield talisman reduces physical damage by 20%, and the pearldrake talisman +2 reduces non-physical damage by about 11%. Covering just about all defenses with these two talismans.

The godskin swaddling cloth allows for additional minor hp restoration upon landing a certain number of melee hits within a short timeframe. This could be harder with greatswords, but with dual greatswords and jumping right into the action, I don’t imagine it’s at all impossible for the talisman’s effect to never trigger. As always, it’s extra effective with a larger number of enemies.

Bellum’s the main damage-dealer with a focus on staying power and lots of hp regen, using the blasphemous blade for regular battles while switching to the executioner’s sword for bosses due to the more aggressive ash of war. His incantations are more often used for crowd control, but are absolutely effect for boss battles, especially when given time to charge them up. He’s all about staying power and straightforward damage-dealing, with some decent poise to back things up despite his checking piece being altered and his lack of a helmet, and all of his incantations are a bit more bestially-inclined. He'd probably focus on Vigor and Strength, with some Faith or Dexterity thrown in for damage-dealing.

Overall, the idea is that the four of them are in the lands between like this, working and running around together, probably fighting over what bosses to go after next and whether or not to head into the catacombs that one of them just spotted. I could see them taking the time to scour the lands between for every little trinket and discussing whether or not to bother with some character's quest. Not too different from actual post-ph stuff, but it's fun to put them in Elden Ring and think on what kinds of equipment to give them and what would suit them.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I'm back with another Merlin au! This time featuring a role reversal and Merlin getting yet another job that he never wanted! Enjoy! :D

EDIT: You can find part 2 of this au here!

This au takes places during the season four finale, when Arthur gives up on being king and tells Merlin that Camelot will have to find itself another king if they defeat Morgana, since Arthur no longer feels worthy of being king.

So, Merlin leads him to Excalibur and helps him draw the sword from the stone in front of the people of Camelot, successfully convincing Arthur to believe in himself and his place as a good leader.

That night though, after Arthur confided in Merlin about his worries of Morgana's magic being too powerful for them to fight, Merlin sneaks back into the castle in dosguise as Dragoon and plants the curse that will strip Morgana of her powers the next day. However, he gets caught in the act by Morgana, who of course immediately starts attacking her sworn enemy.

Merlin is put on the defensive, putting all of his efforts into shielding himself from Morgana's attacks and fending off Helios and his fighters at the same time. After a few minutes, his spell that disguises him as Dragoon fades, as all of his magical strength is poured into his fight against Morgana.

Merlin can see the exact moment that Morgana's eyes widened with shock, and it's then that he realizes what had just happened: Morgana knew exactly who he was now.

After the moment of shocked silence passed, Morgana started cackling, finding the situation hilarious. She taunts Merlin, asking if Arthur knows what he is. Upon seeing Merlin wince, Morgana offers him a deal: join her side and help eliminate Arthur, or he can burn in the courtyard like so many of their magical bretheren. Morgana sneers at him that he'd better accept her deal, as he'd burn on a pyre at Arthur's hand even if Merlin kept fighting at his side.

Merlin, predictably, rejects her offer and continues his attack, rebuking Morgana for her cruelty and violence. At this point, their fight had migrated all the way out into the courtyard, which gave them more space to use more destructive spells against each other.

Morgana hurled fireballs at Merlin, and he responded by throwing blinding arcs of lightning at her. Morgana managed to barely sheild herself against the attack, but Helios and his men weren't as lucky and were blasted away in the attack, all of them fatally wounded.

Seeing that her backup was now gone, Morgana redoubled her attacks, franticly throwing spell after spell at her prophesied killer. As Merlin desperately shielded himself, he had an idea. The very thought of it caused guilt to well up in his throat, but he saw no other way to survive.

As Morgana renewed her constant barrage of spells, Merlin didn't defend himself with a shielding spell. Instead, he powered all of his already diminished power into a redirection spell, attempting to throw Morgana's spells back at her.

Sure enough, as soon as Morgana's spells collided with Merlin's redirection spell, they were launched right back at Morgana, who didn't have enough time to dodge or shield herself from the blast.

Morgana's own spells hit her with all of the killing intent that she had aimed at her mortal enemy, and her spells accomplished their goal: killing their target.

Merlin both shocked and horrified as he looked down at Morgana's body, as he didn't intend to kill her, only subdue her so that she could stand trail and face Arthur's justice. However, it seemed like Morgana's own murderous fury had been too strong for even herself, ultimately bringing about her demise.

As Merlin silently held onto Morgana's fallen body, just as he did on that fateful day when he poisoned her and pushed her into Morgause's clutches, he saw the run begin to rise over the castle. He quickly jolted up at the sight, his heart leaping with panic, since he needed to be back in Arthur's camp in the woods before anyone noticed that he was gone!

Merlin ran out of the castle, quickly finding his way back to Arthur's camp, and planning out what he was going to say to hopefully explain his absence. Maybe picking medicinal herbs in preparation to help anyone wounded during the upcoming battle? That would work!

But... there wasn't going to be a battle, since all of their enemies were now lying dead in the castle's courtyard, unknown to all of the fighters preparing to give their lives to retake their home. Shit, everyone would start looking for answers the moment they set foot in the castle, how was Merlin supposed to throw them off his trail?!

Merlin was so preoccupied with these thoughts swirling around his head as he ran back to the hidden camp that he didn't notice the many eyes peering at him from a certain window in the castle, with the men inside having seen everything that had just transpired.

(When Morgana had taken over the castle, she had locked all of the lords and older knights on Arthur's council in an old meeting room, planning to execute them later. She didn't plan to rule with some useless council to hold her back after all!

It was truly an unfortunate coincidence for Merlin that the particular room that Morgana had locked them in had a perfect view of the courtyard below and the unexpected battle that took place on it that night.)

Merlin, luckily, managed to make it back to the camp just as Arthur was waking up, and no one else seemed to have noticed that he was missing that morning, too preoccupied by preparations for the upcoming battle. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief when no one commented on him being gone. Maybe this would actually go smoothly!

That morning, Arthur gave a rousing and inspiring speech to his people, ready to lead them into battle. With the light shining on him and Excalibur by his side, his people ready to follow him to the ends of the earth, Arthur looked every bit the king Merlin imagined he could be. Looking at Arthur, King Arthur, Merlin's heart swelled with pride and hope. And if he had to blink some tears from his eyes, then no one commented on it.

Still, the fact that Arthur was leading them into a battle that was already won had Merlin shifting his feet with nervousness. How would Arthur react? Would anyone discover that Merlin was behind Morgana's defeat? Would they question their unexpected boon, or would they simply accept it with relief?

Merlin's anxiety heightened with each step the army took towards Camelot. While the army, along with Tristan and Isolde, were going to try to storm the castle from the main entrance (which Merlin knew would be easier than anticipated, since Morgana's army was dead), a smaller group comprised of Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Percival, and Leon were sent through the underground tunnels to launch a sneak attack on Morgana.

Merlin just put on a stoic face and nodded as Arthur outlined the plan, still trying to figure out how he could avoid suspicion after the army of Camelot realizes that Morgana and her army were already defeated.

Their small group easily makes to through the tunnels, which puts Arthur more on edge, as Merlin can see that he thinks that it's almost too easy, like they're walking into a trap. Merlin wished that he could allay Arthur's fears, but he couldn't at the moment, not without revealing that he knows too much.

When they reached the dungeons, Leon and Percival separated from them to go free Gwaine, Elyan, Gaius, and the other prisoners held down there. Meanwhile, Arthur, Merlin, and Gwen headed for the throne room, with two of them tense and ready for a fight against a formidable sorceress, and one of them tense under the weight of his own secrets.

When Arthur burst open the doors to the throne room, adrenaline rushing and ready for a fight to the death, he was ready to see his sister on his throne, mocking and tormenting him. Instead, to his shock, he found his entire council inside, alive and well and loudly squabbling amongst themselves.

Upon hearing the doors to the throne room crash open, they all froze and grew silent, turning to look at who was there. They all relaxed upon seeing Arthur, but tensed when they saw who was standing right behind him.

"I'm glad to see that all of you are unharmed, but what are you all doing here? Where is Morgana! We must defeat her at once!"

The lords' eyes grew wide as they started murmuring amongst each other in sharp tones. Finally, Geoffrey was pushed forward, seemingly appointed as the voice of the group.

"Welcome back, my lord. It is truly a blessing to see you back unharmed. However, we do bring troubling news to you. It is with a heavy heart that we inform you of these changes."

Geoffrey trailed off from there, his face grim. He seemed reluctant to say anything further, much to Arthur's frustration and horror.

"What do you mean news? What has happened? What has Morgana done?!"

Geoffrey sighed, looking every bit of his numerous years. After another tense moment of silence, Geoffrey spoke again.

"Sire, we wish to inform you that Morgana Pendragon is dead. She was killed in a battle in the early hours this morning. Her body still lies where she met her demise in the courtyard."

While Merlin grew pale and tensed even more, both Arthur and Gwen stumbled backwards with shock at Geoffrey's words, the breath knocked out of them both by the unbelievable news.

"What- How did this happen?! Who could have... how is that even possible?!"

"We," Geoffrey replied as he gestured to all of the lords and council members standing around him, "witnessed all of it from a room overlooking the courtyard. It was an unbelievable sight, one that I myself might not believe if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. A lone sorcerer called lightning down on all of Morgana's soldiers, killing them in an instant. He then proceeded to battle Morgana to the death in a duel of magic. He managed to defeat her before leaving the citadel in a hurry."

Arthur stood, frozen, as Geoffrey's words swirled around his head, almost comprehendible. Many conflicting feelings- relief, grief, shock, horror- welled up in his chest, almost choking him with their strength. He was paralyzed as he grieved his sister, celebrated his kingdom's safety from her wrath, and feared this new, more powerful sorcerer who had single-handedly defeated his sister, the most power magic user Camelot had ever seen.

Merlin, meanwhile, stood completely still, his heart beating as fast as a rabbit on the run from a wolf. They saw him, they all did. But it was dark, so maybe they didn't recognize him? Merlin hoped with everything he had that they hadn't recognized him during the battle.

Grimacing again, Geoffrey cleared his throat, apparently having more to say. Merlin's heart leapt with terror as Geoffrey opened his mouth once more.

"Sire, it is with great remorse that I must inform you of this, but there is more news. As is law, Morgana took the throne through right of conquest, as your father did in his time. Morgana was, in the time she ruled Camelot with her forces, the rightful ruler in the eyes of the law.

However, this sorcerer defeated the the ruler of Camelot and conquered her entire army. By the laws of Camelot and by the right of conquest, he is the rightful king of Camelot. Therefore, unfortunately, unless you formally challenge him for the throne and win, we cannot reinstate you as king at this time."

If it was possible, Merlin became even paler at those words, feeling woozy and sick to his stomach. Had he just sabotaged his own efforts?! He did all of this to keep Arthur as king, not undermine him!

Gwen gave a loud gasp, a look of horror on her face, while Arthur's jaw clenched in anger and frustration.

"This is preposterous! Whoever that sorcerer is, he fled! He cannot become king, nor can I challenge him, if he isn't even here!"

Merlin took a staggered step back as Geoffrey's eyes landed on him. He had the grasp at the pillar next to him for support under the old librarian's gaze. He knew.

"The sorcerer did leave after his battle with Morgana, as I said earlier, but I'm afraid that he is here right now, sire."

Merlin felt like he was about to faint. Oh gods, was he about to throw up?

Arthur's entire body jolted to attention, his grip tightening on the sword as he registered Geoffrey's words. He forced one strained word passed his clenched jaw.

"Where?"

Geoffrey motioned one of the other lords on the council forward, and he stepped forward with the coronation crown and royal seal resting on a pillow.

"The council and all of Camelot's vassal lords feel that it is in Camelot's best interest to acknowledge and formalize the sorcerer's claim to the throne at this time, as we are yet unaware of his true power or the danger he poses should he decide to attack. We unanimously agree that it would be best to not give him any reason to retaliate against Camelot, as we fear he might if we do not acknowledge his rightful conquest."

Arthur's face fell, his expression ashen and devastated. His own council had turned against him? They had chosen this unknown and potentially dangerous sorcerer to place the lives of his people in?

Arthur, Gwen, and Merlin were all frozen with shock and dread, looking on in horror as Geoffrey took the coronation crown and royal seal from their cushion and stepped forward, approaching the paralyzed trio.

"It is with a heavy heart that we crown the new king of Camelot, ascended through the right of conquest over Morgana Pendragon."

Geoffrey moved past Arthur, looking at first like he was heading for the door behind them, but Merlin knew who he was actually walking towards. Merlin flinched backwards, trying to get away from Geoffrey and the crown he was carrying, but he was stopped by the hard stone wall behind his back.

"We, the council and lords of Camelot, do declare our fealty to the slayer of Morgana, the prophesized sorcerer known as Emrys, King Merlin!"

Geoffrey punctuated his announcement by placing the crown on a very pale Merlin's head, much to the horror of Arthur and Gwen.

And it was at that moment that Merlin did faint.

That's all from this au for now! Let me know what you think of it and if you'd like a continuation of this au! Until next time!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[ixtaek]

They were all incredibly kind.

Zelda watched them as they helped the former residents of Skyloft—moving supplies, crafting tools, teaching the patrols how to defend themselves from the dangers of the surface.

The Hero of Hyrule demonstrated how to tell if water was safe to drink. “You want water that’s moving, and ideally deep.” He grinned as he ladled out of a bucket. “It’s best to boil the water and let it cool. That will get rid of any toxins and germs that might be lingering in it.” He tried to take a sip but the water poured out faster than he expected, pouring down his front as Kukiel giggled at him.

A vision flashed through Zelda’s mind, overlaying the scene. The Hero of Hyrule gripping a sword, blood dripping down his tunic as he struggled away from a monster clawing for his face. The beast cackled as the Hero tried to swipe at them while his shield arm hung limp, shield dragging—

She blinked, Hyrule’s laughter as he dumped a spoonful of water on Kukiel as well breaking through the vision. The girl squealed and shook her head to send droplets flying.

The Hero of Twilight and Time lifted a log into place, letting the builders work to secure it in the new cabin wall. The two seemed to have a bet going about who could hold it up longer. Their arms both shook from the effort of—

A boy, barely reaching her knee, breathing heavily as he shoved his shield forward to block a blow by an undead monster. The boy lowered his defense to fumble for his sword. The monster took the blow without flinching, long teeth slavering as it unhinged its jaw and screamed—

The scene dissolved into a long bridge. A snarling boar pawed at the other end, tusks stained with blood. The monster astride its back howled a battle cry, a small child held aloft on its spear. The hero to her left gasped in horror, his blue eyes locked on the child. He spurred his steed forward, sweat dripping down his face as—

“I yield, I yield!” Twilight yelped. The wall was already secured as the hero fell back, giggling. The Hero of the Wild accepted his ten rupee bribe from Time before continuing his tickle assault on his mentor.

A mere boy staggering as the lasers hit him in the chest, the side of his head gushing blood, arms still trying to hold up a shield to protect—

“Zel?”

She turned, almost falling against Link’s chest. Sky’s eyes were soft as they traced over her face. “Are you… What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She tried to smile, ignoring the wetness in her eyes. “I’m fine, Link. Just a little out of sorts.”

The divine blood in her burned. Link smiled and pulled her closer, hugging gently.

Soft hands wielding a flaming sword, lighting crackling through his body. Fighting a demon that should have been slain ages ago by the gods, by— by—

“… By me…”

“What?” Link held her at arms length so he could look at her face. “Zelda, what are you talking about?”

“All of you… none of you should have had to go through what you did!” Zelda could feel the tears on her cheeks. “Hylia shouldn’t have put you through all of that. She—I—used all of you! It’s all my fault for not defeating Demise sooner, before you ever had to step in and clean up my mess!”

She pushed away. Many people were staring now, villagers and heroes alike.

Falling from the cliffs as a giant bird became a smaller and smaller speck in the sky, the screams of his sister like—

—hounds baying in the distance, knights brandishing swords as his short legs fled—

—waves of foes overwhelming their defenses, his brothers in arms falling around him, the weapons clattering as they fell from their limp hands—

—the blade his grandfather made going flying as the blow meant for Zelda hit him head on, the wind ripping at his tunic as he heard the curse strike his friend—

She couldn’t stand it. Her feet were moving before she knew where she was going.

“Zelda! Wait!”

She kept going, the visions buffering her every which way. A mask clamping—his body fracturing—a traitor’s blade in—the island fading into—the malice clinging to his—tentacles lurching forward—his own face rendered in dark—reaching for her as a tornado sucked her away—

Zelda blinked, looking up. The impassive face of the goddess stared down, without a trace of pity. Hylia. The divine protector of her people. The holy maiden. Her.

The one who had failed, who had sent them all to—

—dark magic suffocating his split mind—sparking a flame so they wouldn’t claim his blood—the magic of the woods stripping his flesh—the dark water—the endless fighting—the intrigue—the—

“Why?!” She screamed. “Why would you do it to them? Why make them suffer?! They are just boys, and you—I—we break them down and don’t even care that we do! They must hate us for—“

“Why should we hate you?”

The voice made her wince, spinning around, covering her mouth. The heroes, all of them, stood a careful distance away, Link at the head of the group. It wasn’t him who had spoken.

The Hero of Legend ambled forward, looking up at the statue. His sharp eyes scanned the goddess, and he sighed.

“I was 11 when my uncle was killed. He held my hand as he died.” He closed his eyes, grimacing. “He wasn’t killed by Hylia, or the golden three. He was killed by a wizard called Agahnim.”

“When I was 12, my best friend got turned into stone.” Four shuffled his feet. “It wasn’t Hylia who did it. It was a sorcerer named Vaati.”

“When I was 10, I was trapped in a time loop trying to stop the apocalypse.” Time ignored the whispers by the others at this admission. “It wasn’t Hylia or the goddess of time who started that disaster. It was a demon named Majora.”

“And my sister got taken by the Helmaroc King!”

“My village children were taken by Zant.”

Legend looked at her sidelong. “And guess who was behind most of those threats?”

“Ganon.” whispered Hyrule, running a finger over his gauntlets. “It’s almost always Ganon.”

“But—“ Zelda scrubbed at her face. “But it’s my fault! Why didn’t I stop Demise before he could do that to you? What sort of goddess sends children to fight her battles?”

Time snorted, moving closer to her, careful not to invade her space till she nodded weakly. “Zelda, do you think we wouldn’t have done those things?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Ya think I wouldn’t have gone after my sister? No one had to make me!” Wind grinned. “In fact, nothing would have stopped me!”

The others nodded.

“But I saw it, the terrible things you went through! Hylia watched, and you suffered!” She gestured at them all. “What you’re still suffering! This quest—“

“Sounds to me like we have a goddess literally lookin’ out for us, even now.” Twilight crossed his arms, smirking. “Probably wouldn’t have ended as good as it has without you protecting us.”

“As good as it—“

Smiling and blushing as the newly awakened princess kissed him on the cheek—gripping the rails as the new land swung into view over the horizon—watching the reflected world bloom back into life as Lorule’s Triforce was restored—hugging the children as they rode back into the village—fields of blue flowers blooming underfoot as he rode along and watched the reconstruction—the proud smile of his father as he worked with the squadron instead of going rogue—joining Zelda and Lana as they stood before the cheering troops, Hyrule free once more—Malon looking radiant as she walked down the aisle—clutching their daughter, the first Princess of the newly founded Hyrule—

Link took her hands gently. “If Hylia didn’t care, why would she—or you—have watched out for us the whole time? If you didn’t care, why would you be so upset by what we’re going through, if our own free will?” Zelda sniffled, letting him hold her. “We don’t blame you. It’s Demise’s fault, or Ganon’s. Not Hylia’s. And not yours.”

She squeezed him, looking up at the statue. Her smile was gentle, her wings spread overhead, sheltering them all. She swore she always would watch over them.

Till the very end.

[crackersandjuice]

WAIT I JUST HAD A THOUGHT

okay so the map. the map from pvpciv. this one:

evbo is standing where the swordciv is. we know this because he refers to it at the end when talking about how new players have to reach their respective civilizations. because of that, we can reasonably assume that tabi is standing at the axeciv's location (which is wonderful foreshadowing btw).

that leaves the bowciv and tridentciv. but what about the shields? during parrot's explanation, he doesn't mention that they have a civilization. in fact, he doesn't mention them at all. so we can assume that they're not a major faction in this world.

and if they're not a major faction, and they don't have a civilization, where are they supposed to go? what are they supposed to do? at first, i assumed that the shields are in swordciv because a) they're allied with the swords or b) they're sent there as punishment like everyone else. there's also sword and shield imagery to be made there from an out of universe perspective.

but then i realized that they're probably scattered all over, regardless of whether or not the other civs are structured similarly to swordciv. swords can block most attacks in minecraft. the only trouble i could see them having are with the axes and bows, since axes can disable a shield and piercing arrows can go through them.

if they're structured like swordciv? great. keeps the players in line and enforces the system. perfect for making sure good soldiers are put out.

if they're not structured like swordciv? i can imagine there being a little trouble, but if we assume that sword are the only ones that can't have anything else in their first slot, the shields will be fine. just put that shit in your offhand and you're good.

but i'm interested in why they don't have their own civ. it's not like they can't attack other players if the shields aren't super glued to their hands, and even then items can be put in the offhand (like a flint and steel). did they just not want to? was there something keeping them from doing so?

and there's also the fact that the guards in swordciv leveled up by getting their shields hit. don't you think if hit points were a concern they wouldn't want to get hit? they have durability like everyone else, after all. i get that it might've been hard to figure out a leveling up system for an item that's purely defensive, but it's weird. it's always possible that the leveling up system is purely as swordciv invention to get guards on all the different levels. but if it isn't? if the shields do, by some freaky law of the universe, have to get hit in order to level up?

that shit's weird. the shields are weird. they don't have a civilization and they aren't mentioned as a major part in the narrative. either i'm thinking too hard and evbo_ just didn't consider them important, or there's more that's going to be revealed in season 2.

[daydreaming-in-hyrule]

★ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃’𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒, 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌

pairing: post-botw/pre-totk link x gn!reader

wc: 575

contains: domestic fluff!!! reader washing link’s hair, me waffling on various hidden scars link might have

a/n: first time sharing my writing for link! please be kind <3

“Shh, stop fussing. I’m only washing your hair.”

You tut with dramatised disapproval, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tangled mass of golden hair in front of you. You’re met with more squirms and a hand reaching up to mess with the shampoo you had tried in vain to rub into the wet strands.

“Link, I swear to Hylia, if you don’t stop moving—”

“It tickles,” complains the royal knight, the Light of Hyrule, carrier of the Master Sword sitting in front of you, a small, tickle-induced giggle escaping his lips as you smooth the shampoo in again. You chuckle softly at the absurdity of it all. “You’ve parried Guardians with a pot lid for a shield, defeated four Blights, freed the Divine Beasts, fought Calamity Ganon — and you can’t take a little tickling?”

Soft grumbles of protest reach your ears, and you observe the pointed tips of Link’s ears grow just a tiny bit pinker than they were before. Maybe a distraction would work?

“Where did you get this scar?” You ask, gently touching your pinkie to a small, puckered indentation in the skin right where the back of his ear met his head. With your other hand, you finally rub the shampoo into his roots properly.

Link shuffles sheepishly. “Uh… I was attacked by Cucco.”

You frown in confusion. “Cuccos?”

“Hey, those things are monsters when they’re in a group,” He says defensively, trying to tip his head back to look at you. You quickly cup the back of his head, gently stilling his movements so that the shampoo doesn’t get everywhere.

Link lets out an unhappy grunt as you prevent him from moving his head and, unfortunately, from seeing you. “How much longer?”

“You’re almost done. Pinky promise. Let me take off the shampoo and put the conditioner, okay?” You dip down to kiss the Cucco scar, making his shoulders drop slightly as he relaxes.

You wash off the shampoo as gently as you can, finding another scar next to his left temple, right next to his hairline. This scar is round and a dusty, washed-out shade of maroon. More an old bruise than a scar, really. “Where’d you get this, love?”

Link is quiet for a moment, trying to remember. “I think it was a Lizalfos?”

“A what?”

“You know, those weird reptile things with the boomerangs—”

“Great Hylia.” You pause your systematic weaving of the conditioner into the thin strands and stare in concern at the back of his head. “Link, how you’re still alive after throwing yourself at practically every monster in Hyrule is beyond me.”

“In my defence, I had the Master Sword,” He gives a tiny shrug and you lean forward to kiss the scar too, making him tilt his head to one side in surprise.

“Are you just going to kiss every scar I have now?” He asks with a soft chuckle. You smile sweetly, just about starting to wash off the conditioner.

“Maybe I will, who knows?”

“Well, then,” He leans his head back before you can stop him and grins up at you, blue eyes sparkling with affection. The way he’s looking at you — like you’re the most beautiful jewel he’s ever seen — almost takes your breath away; you don’t even mind that he’s put leftover conditioner from his hair all over your lap.

“I think I have a few scars on my lips too.”

[ghostsforghosts]

Gladiator!Ghost who competes against Gladiator!Reader.

TW: Blood

You're both very skilled gladiators, once of the most recognized gladiators in the city. So much so that the Colosseum is packed with regular citizens eager to see which one of you will be the victor.

Even the emperor came to the match.

As you step into the arena, you don't flinch at the sight of Ghost, not even when you see him wearing his signature skull mask. You simply grip your sword tight and make sure your shield is adequately covering your body as you move to the center, instinctively moving into a defensive stance.

You watch with wary eyes as Ghost makes the first move, you being quick enough on your feet to be able to dodge his strike. Quickly, as to surprise him, you strike back.

Unfortunately, he parries your strike, your swords clashing together. He takes the opportunity to push your sword away and moves to drive his own into the opening that he sees.

You quickly move your shield to cover the opening and intercept his strike, the crowd going wild with the show you're putting on for them. Already, the summer's heat is making you sweat.

The fight continues with both of you dodging and striking, blood dripping down onto the sand beneath your feet as both of you draw blood with your swords. Despite the blood, all of the wounds are superficial cuts, nothing that would be fatal since this fight isn't to the death.

Surprisingly you gain a second wind when it seems like you're about to lose the fight to Ghost and you quickly press forward, taking him off guard. Your blows come in quick succession, quicker than Ghost can comprehend.

Ghost ends up falling down on his ass, his elbows just barely keeping him propped up. He sees you gaining on him, feels all of the blood and he has lost during this fight, and he reluctantly yields. He slams his fist on the sand, letting go of his sword.

You lower your sword, having been in the process of raising it, your chest heaving as you take in the booming sound of the crowd cheering. You sheathe your sword in its scabbard, walking forward with your hand outstretched to help Ghost up.

He surprisingly takes your hand, letting you help him get up off the sandy floor. As he stands, he watches the referee come out of his hiding spot from behind a column, the referee walking over to you to lift your hand in the air and declare you the winner.

You look back at Ghost just as he gets taken by his trainer to go back to his training facility to be seen by a doctor. You catch his eye and nod as a way of saying goodbye, able to resist smiling when he nods back.

You stand there, relishing in the crowd's cheers until your own trainer comes to take you to your training facility. You leave the crowd behind, the noise of the crowd getting softer as you walked through the Colosseum.

You hope you get another chance to fight Ghost again, or maybe just to see him.

Banners made by @cafekitsune

[personaje-fics]

you keep watching my eyes

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon. 1.100 words. General Audiences. AO3.

…….

"Come on, attack me as if you mean it."

Merlin adjusts his footing into a defensive posture, expecting his taunt to rise something in Arthur. It does. Apart from his words, his eyes are heavy on Arthur’s, his lips red and smug, his hands clenching and unclenching, ready to cast.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. Arthur swings his sword.

Their weapons clash with a piercing sound, the force of it sends a thrill down Arthur’s arms. He laughs with exhilaration and swings again.

Little are the times when they can escape from their duties. It happened more often when Merlin was his servant, but since Arthur named him court sorcerer they never seem to have time for themselves, even though they still spend most of their days together.

That's why Arthur decided to tell Merlin to go to the stables that morning, and without explanation, he threw him the reins of his horse.

Merlin didn't complain, so he took it as a win.

The travel through the forest was surprisingly swift and uneventful. The gallop of the horses blended with the singing of birds above them, and blooming flowers announced the coming of spring. In the middle of all that nature, Arthur watched Merlin admire the landscape, and longed.

They arrived at a clearing covered in daisies, ate some of the food Arthur had brought and talked about the latest court gossip they knew. Then, when the silence grew too comfortable, Arthur had the marvellous idea of duelling, him with his sword and Merlin with his magic. The idea turned out not to be so marvellous, because he is, as expected, losing.

Merlin fends off every single one of his blows with magic. Arthur has never had more fun sparring.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Merlin taunts him, and, all right, he’d have more fun if Merlin didn’t spend half of the time mocking him.

"I'm trying here," Arthur does not whine, because kings don't whine.

"What? Is this too hard for the best warrior of Albion?"

Arthur gives him a smirk,

"You think I'm a good warrior?"

Merlin rolls his eyes and attacks again with the one-handed staff he had conjured. His eyes shine golden, like a sunset but better. Arthur gets a good few hits, trying to get closer to him. 

Arthur swings to his right, leaving his left open, and Merlin hits him with a beam of magic that sends him to the ground, landing on a bunch of daisies.

"You keep watching my eyes," Merlin points as he offers him a hand, "which is a good way of getting yourself killed."

Arthur takes the hand and gets up. He is closer to Merlin than he intended, but neither steps away. There, face to face, breathing the same air, Arthur pretends to be calm and with a grin says,

"What? Trying to kill me often?"

Merlin looks at him with something resembling fondness, but that might be exasperation. Then he puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder and gently pushes him, creating a distance between them Arthur never wants to be there.

"One last time?" Merlin asks. Arthur nods and grabs his sword from the ground.

He swings first, to Merlin's right, the sword bouncing off a golden magic shield. Merlin moves his hand down, and magic forms the vague shape of a sword that looks less solid than Arthur knows it is.

Merlin is not holding his weapon; it hovers in the air above his hand, and though it gives him agility and speed, it lacks firmness. Arthur strikes it, stepping towards Merlin, who steps back. Merlin swings, meeting Arthur's sword once, twice. He steps back again and slowly circles Arthur. He is careful to fully face Merlin at all times, though that is something he doesn’t need much practice on.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the slow dance that is fighting. Paying attention to every little one of your opponent's movements, and pointedly not looking at his eyes. Merlin raises his sword, and Arthur meets him there. Then, he lowers them both with a swift movement, and takes advantage of the lack of obstacles between them to tackle Merlin with his shoulder.

Because that is something Merlin has not yet learned. Your weapon is only an extension of yourself, and you must fight like you dance: with your whole body.

He lands on top of Merlin with a thud, and grinning, he says,

"I think I win."

Just after he speaks he realises how breathy his voice is, how his panting is less controlled than he thought it was. He notices how Merlin's chest moves against his own.

He rolls off him before their closeness makes him do something stupid, because this is something he has yet not learned: He can’t just tackle Merlin and expect to feel normal when they touch. He settles on his back, grass tickling his neck and forearms.

"You win," Merlin breathes. He then gets himself comfortable on the ground and closes his eyes. 

Sunlight filters through the tree leaves and paints Merlin with light, and Arthur wants to trace every inch of his face with his fingertips. The curve of his lips, his nose, his cheekbones. He wishes he could have the peace to see him like this every day, forever. 

"I can feel you watching me," Merlin whispers. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispers back.

Merlin's lips stretch into a smile. He turns his face towards Arthur and opens his eyes. Arthur does not have the strength to look away.

Merlin props himself on an elbow, and looking down at Arthur, haloed by the afternoon light, says,

"Hi."

"Hi," Arthur answers, unsure how to react and what to do as Merlin brings a hand to his cheek, and, ever so slowly, leans down.

When their lips touch, it’s like the sun meeting the horizon. Arthur never wants to let go. He wraps his arms around Merlin, who climbs onto his lap without breaking the kiss.

Arthur lets his hands travel to Merlin's neck, then lower to whatever warmth they can find. He can feel one of Merlin’s hands on his chest, where his heart threatens to escape from his ribcage.

"I think I win, now," Merlin murmurs against his lips.

Arthur can only manage a "hm?", his mind fuzzy.

"I'm on top of you. I win."

Arthur huffs.

"That's cheating."

"According to who?" He can feel Merlin's smile against his.

"Me." He runs his fingers over Merlin's cheek, his chin, his jaw. It feels better than he would have ever imagined. "Now stop talking."

[chaos-bites]

📯 Subtle Heimdallr Worship 🐏

Learn about/practice a method of self-defense (weapons included)

Own a ram horn - faux or real; own/craft real wool items (blankets, sweaters, scarves, etc.)

Light a bonfire; gather around it with loved ones or enjoy its warmth on your own

Decorate your space with fairy lights, a pretty lamp, or some kind of light fixture that you like

Keep a picture of him in your wallet

Get a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of him

Place a protective rune (or bindrune) at the entrance of your home or space

Invest in household security options (security camera, Ring doorbell, alarm system, etc.)

Have a plan in place in the case of home invasion or medical emergencies (legally storing a weapon in your home, learning CPR, or keeping a tourniquet in your car, for example)

Stay informed about the happenings in your area; keep up to date with world news (take a step back from it if it gets to be overwhelming for you, please)

Make sure to eat a good breakfast to start off your day; try to include meat, bread, nuts, and veggies/fruits if able

Drink something energizing at the start of your day, be it coffee, tea, or something else; dedicate the first sip to Heimdall by raising a glass in his honor

Start a collection of keys and locks - new and old (antique shops are a great place to find these)

Practice mindfulness and self-awareness; try to look at situations with a more nuanced and objective perspective

Have a stuffed animal ram, seal, horse, or rooster/chicken

Have imagery of gates, watchful eyes, ram horns, rivers, the World Tree, Asgard, rainbows, the Milky Way (some scholars believe it to be the OG representation of the Bifröst bridge), the sky, golden teeth, golden maned horses, swords, and shields around

Teach someone how to do something new; educate someone about a topic you're educated about; generally openly share knowledge with others

Be willing to learn about new things; be open to corrections from others; practice not taking constructive criticism personally

Learn about different logical fallacies; learn how to properly argue/debate respectfully with someone

Assert your boundaries with others; take time to learn what your boundaries are and where you draw the line

Ground yourself regularly; make sure you take time throughout your day to reconnect with the present moment

Stand up for what you believe in; attend protests or activism events (be safe, please)

Try to attend social events or hang out with loved ones; put yourself out there if you can

Step outside of your comfort zone; if you're scared, do it scared (reasonably, of course)

Drink/make mead; if unable, drink something with honey in it, such as a tea or warm milk with cinnamon and honey

Exercise/care for your senses; don't blast music in your ears, take breaks from looking at screens, sit in silence once in a while, etc.

Take your promises more seriously; try to always follow through on promises (and especially vows) that you make

Acknowledge your inner strength and resilience; be sure to appreciate and celebrate how far you've come; you've overcome before, and you overcome again

Take time to simply sit and observe your surroundings; listen to the sounds of birds, watch leaves fall from trees, notice the feeling of your feet on the ground, etc.

Practice different forms of divination (you don't only need tarot cards or runes for this, I've literally used Uno cards before; practice with a variety of forms until you find one that suits you)

Learn more about Norse runes; once comfortable, practice using them

Do things that benefit your future/make things easier on your future self (getting chores done ahead of time, setting money aside to save, looking into future careers/education, exercising your body and mind, etc.)

Engage in activities that stimulate your mind (reading, writing, solving puzzles, learning about something new, playing card games, etc.)

Learn to trust your own judgement and intuition; this takes time and comes with lots of practice which is ok

Practice learning when to speak and when to hold your tongue; sometimes it's better to simply listen

Practice finding your voice and speaking up for yourself; advocate for your needs

Explore things you find mysterious and intriguing; replace fear of the unknown with curiosity

Allow yourself to bear an air of mystery; try not to give away all the cards in your hand, so to speak

Go stargazing

-

This is my list of discreet ways to worship Heimdallr! I may add more in the future, but this is what I currently have. I hope it's able to give people some good ideas! Take care, and stay safe, everyone. 💜

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[trensu]

have another snippet of stasis in darkness! just 'cuz i'm bored tbh, and kinda stuck on all my wips i'm currently working on.

The seventh night:

“Has he spoken to you yet?”

“How could he when you’re here yammering my ear off every night?”

“He’s a god, I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for him to shut me up.”

“Even gods have their limits.”

“Oh, har har. The warrior’s got jokes. You didn’t answer my question.”

“...not yet,” Steve said stiffly. 

“It’s been how long now? A week?” The man hummed in a falsely thoughtful manner. “Maybe he’s just not that into you, man. Maybe he’s letting you down easy.”

At his words, Steve involuntarily curled his shoulders inward, slightly, ever so slightly, in defense. He'd been wondering that same thing earlier that day. Steve had toiled hours in the sun to fix up the shrine; to make it welcoming; to encourage a divine visit. 

He had stopped wearing his armor to free up more time to work. Putting it on and taking it off took too long, and he didn't have to maintain it as much if he wasn't wearing it regularly. He stuck to only his chainmail. He'd kept his shield stored away, too, so it wouldn't get in the way while he worked. Though, he made sure to keep his sword nearby.

He’d taken his knife and traced over the etchings of stars in the alcove that served as a backdrop to the statue. His knife had been ruined but it didn't matter. The Lord of Night would probably want the stars of his dark sky with him, he reasoned, and these had worn so thin. Sadly, it was the only detail he could bring out of all the stone. The statue’s face was so crumbled that Steve couldn’t even begin to guess what it had originally looked like.

He had discovered that the vines he chose to keep were moonflowers. They had blossomed every night since he’d removed the other more invasive plants. He'd draped them carefully so they lay across the statue's shoulders, wrapped lovingly around its torso and clung to its waist before the ends of the vines trailed off at the knees. 

The strange man might have made himself a nuisance during his visits but he never stayed the whole night. Steve had been able to get a few hours of makeshift prayers at the shrine every night. He’d done all this, yet dawn broke every day without a single sign that the Lord of Night had been listening.

“Warrior?”

Steve broke out of his reverie. He refused to look at the man. He had to clear his throat roughly before he could speak.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been rejected by someone I love." Steve tried not to dwell on his father's perpetual scowl and his mother's infinite disinterest. "I’m pretty used to my devotion being one sided by now.”

“That’s a bummer,” the man said. His sympathy was meant to be teasing, Steve could tell, but it came out surprisingly sincere. “Good thing you have a whole pantheon! Strong guy like you? Any god would take you to be their warrior in a heartbeat.”

“What are you talking about? No, I’m nowhere near done with his shrine,” Steve said determinedly. “I know a silversmith and a stone mason who’d give me a hand, and Dustin and Robin have been dying to come up here to bring him offerings. The only reason they didn’t come with me is because I had to do the pilgrimage on my own if I wanted a shot at earning his blessing.”

The man spluttered.

“Are you insane? A god rejects you and you’d come back? What kind of stupid–were you dropped on your head as a child?

“A couple times, but that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Are you sure? Have you checked? You should go to one of the gods of medicine. Owens, maybe. Have him take a look at your head,” the man huffed in frustration. "For stars' sake, why would you want to come back?"

He ignored the insult to his intelligence. For stars' sake. Steve murmured the words to himself, letting them settle in his mouth to get a feel for them. He'd never heard of that one before. He liked how it rolled off the tongue, natural as anything. 

The man waited for his response. Steve took a moment to try to sort out his words. He kept his head bowed towards the shrine as he ruminated.

“People barely remember my god,” Steve finally said. “And when they do, they remember him as something he’s not. Even if he doesn’t believe I’m worthy of carrying his crest, he shouldn't be forgotten.” 

The man said nothing. Steve took a shuddering breath before the quiet could take over. 

“Having someone forget you is…it’s very lonely. Which is the worst feeling. I…I guess I don’t want him to be lonely anymore.”

The silence that followed his statement stretched long enough that Steve started falling into that meditative state he’d learned during his many nights at the shrine. It helped dull the twisted up, unsteady sensation that lingered from the man’s prodding at his every self-doubt and fear.

“He hasn’t rejected you yet, though,” the man broke Steve's musings awkwardly.

“He hasn’t reached out to me either. It’s fine. I’ll keep coming either way.”

Another silence. It was around the time the man usually left Steve to his worship. He didn't hear retreating footsteps. Instead, the man cleared his throat, and when Steve looked up at him, the man turned his face away, shrouding it in gloom.

“Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t contacted you yet.”

“Nervous? No way.”

“He sounds like a godly weirdo,” the man said. “Maybe he’s never had a holy warrior before and doesn’t know what to do.”

“He’s the good kind of weirdo! And there’s no way he’s not had a warrior carry his symbol. He must’ve had loads back in the day. I probably don’t meet his standards,” Steve smiled lopsidedly, playing off his insecurity.

“I’m serious!” the man exclaimed. “It’s possible! Some gods never get warriors. Some never want them at all!

“Look, even if I was the first to offer to be his, he’d know he didn’t have to be nervous,” Steve insisted. "I’ve never served a god before either! I wasn’t sure I could have faith at all until I learned about him. So like, if he’s new to it then so am I, and we’d figure it out together.”

“...you really mean that, don’t you? You’d let him make it up on the fly if he took you on.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugged.

“You’d keep coming back even if he rejected you?”

“Yep.”

“But why? That’s so stupid. Nobody would do that!” The man sounded frustrated.

“I’m not really known for my smarts,” Steve said matter-of-factly. “Robin and Dustin had to translate the only book we found about the Lord of Night because I definitely wouldn't have been able to. It was a tiny book but it still took them ages to do because the language doesn’t really exist anymore. So they told me it’s possible it’s not accurate. It felt true, though, to me. 

“There was this quote, I can’t recite it word for word, but…it was something about how monsters don’t always look monstrous, and the monstrous aren’t always things to be feared.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” the man protested. Steve shook his head.

“No, it’s true! Like, I know I’ve got a pretty face and really great hair,” he smirked when he heard the man scoff, “but I was such a fucking asshole when I was younger. I went around hurting people on purpose, tearing them down for no reason other than I was hurting too, and that’s the shittiest reason to hurt anyone. I had to get some sense knocked into me by the people I call friends now. 

“My friends are the greatest people I know, and I’m really lucky to have them, but to everyone else? My friends are losers. They’re rejects because they don’t act right or they don’t look right; they talk too much or too loudly. People treat them like shit because they're different. 

“And after I noticed that, I started seeing it more even if I don’t always pick up on it. And I still mess up sometimes. I'm not a god, I can't change the world but…in the stories Robin and Dustin translated, the Lord of Night helped people like my friends because it was always the weak and rejected that try to hide themselves in the dark. I want to help those people find him again so they know they’ve got someone holy in their corner. They should know someone loves them enough to protect them.”

Steve didn’t really know where all those words came from; he wasn’t a wordsmith like Robin and Dustin. He always had a hard time verbalizing his thoughts, and he usually messed up the words. Nonetheless, these words had almost burned to be said. 

When the speech that flowed from him finally reached a natural end, he felt…lighter, cleaner. He felt like his shield and sword when they were polished to a shine. But when he turned to see his audience’s reaction, the man had gone. Steve felt strangely dejected instead.

–

The eighth night:

“Hey, it’s me again. My supplies are low and I don’t know what your thoughts about hunting on your land are so I’d rather not…I don’t want you to think I’m disrespecting you. I might have to leave soon to get more supplies,” Steve swallowed nervously. “Which isn’t an ult..ultimate…? No, damn, what is it called? I’m not trying to force you to talk to me before then, is what I mean. Not–not that I could! With you being a god.” 

Steve scoffed at his own blundering. He should’ve had Robin help him make speech notes. Cards with conversation starters. Something! He took a deep breath and tried again.

"But I'm coming back, I promise. I meant what I said about fixing up your shrine. I’ll commission a new plaque and I’ll talk to the stonemason about replacing your plinth. I don’t know a lot about sculpture, but I’ll get you the strongest type of stone and get something nice carved on it. Your flowers? Or cats? Cats are cute. Maybe your bats would be better…?” Steve trailed off.

It was quiet save for the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. The full moon illuminated the area more than ever before. The shrine must have really been a beautiful sight back in its heyday. The thought of it sent a pang of longing through his soul.

The hour came that the strange man usually showed up. Steve steeled himself for another round of questions, another jab at his faith. The hour went by with Steve alone in the clearing. Steve frowned.

“Do you think he’s okay?” 

Steve’s question went unanswered.

After another hour without seeing his stranger, Steve had finally convinced himself to round the perimeter for a quick check in case the man was nearby or in need of assistance. When he found nothing, he checked again in case he missed something. 

Still nothing. Uneasily, Steve gave up his search and returned to the shrine. He knelt before it again, head bowed. He cleared his throat.

“Lord of Night, I don’t know his name, and I know he’s been rude–annoying–but could you please watch over the man? Please keep him safe from harm for as long as the stars shine tonight. Thank you.”

He received no response, but Steve had faith. He knew he was heard. He knew his god wouldn’t let an innocent come to harm if he could prevent it.

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you’d like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[tiredkiwilol]

Of Childhood and Heroes

This is the fic idea I had awhile ago with child Hyrule and Legend!! For a bit of context, we're starting out in Hyrule POV and he's referred to as Link. Very big thank you to @gryphonlover and @rrainydaydreams for giving me advice when I first started this!!

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Link's head hurt.

His hearing came back to him slowly, muffled noises slowly becoming louder and louder.

Link opened his eyes to see a battlefield. He could see about six hylians armed with swords and shields, but he could see arrows coming down from the treetops, never from the same spot though.

Instantly wary, Link crouched down, back to a tree. He pulled out the small, albeit rusty dagger he'd found in a cave awhile back and held it defensively in front of him. It had been surrounded by broken and decayed bits of wood, likely a wooden chest that had worn down overtime.

Nonetheless how easy the dagger could give an infection to someone, it wouldn't do much good against the armed strangers fighting a small hoard of monsters. With each strike they seemed to take down more and more monsters. It wouldn't be long until they got to him.

If he could just back away out of their sights, he could make a run for it and-

"You're holding that wrong," a squeaky voice sounded from behind him.

Link swallowed a scream, opting for a less audible gasp and whirled around towards the voice.

The voice came from a small boy, maybe a few inches shorter than Link himself. He looked a few years younger than Link, and had, shockingly, shoulder length pink hair. He was in a familiar green and brown tunic, nearly identical to the one Link was wearing. The only difference was that Link was wearing a small green cap.

"Who are you?" Link asked, holding the dagger threateningly towards the younger boy.

The boy ignored his question, instead pointing towards his hands. "You're holding your dagger wrong. Your grip's all shaky! I should know, my uncle taught me how to use a sword, even though it was all wooden. He said the thing that's most important about sword fighting is your grip because if you let your sword get knocked out of your hands when you're fighting then-"

Gosh, does this boy ever stop talking? It's clearly going to get him killed one day.

"That's not what I asked. What I asked what was your name," Link pointed his dagger at the boy again, which was great form and with a good grip!

"Woah, okay little guy, let's put the dagger down and then we can talk about introductions," a new voice sounded.

Link looked up, seeing six-seven! Armed men coming closer to them, a man in armor and a blue scarf was the closest to them along with a man in a pelt with tattoos that reeked of dark magic.

Crap, he missed his chance to get away. Link looked behind him, could he make a run for it before they grabbed him? He wouldn't be able to fight any of them, that was for sure.

The two men in the front crouched down to their height, although they were still taller than Link and the boy, who had finally stopped rambling.

"So, what are your names lil guys?" The one with the pelt spoke first.

Link held his dagger towards him. "What are your names?"

"I'm Link!" The pink haired brat said, holding a hand out to shake.

Link glared at him. This boy was going to be the death of Link! Wait-

"Your name is Link?" Link asked the boy, who's name was also apparently Link. Gosh, why did he have to share a name with a boy that had absolutely zero survival skills?

The boy, he wasn't going to call him Link too, nodded, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil inside of Link's head. "Yeah, what about you? What's your name?"

"...Link. But I'm keeping that name so you need to change yours!" Link said, glaring slightly at the younger boy.

"What?!" The boy yelled, stomping his foot on the ground, "No! That's not fair, you should change your name!"

"Why should I? I'm older," Link said, crossing his arms, though still holding the dagger.

"How do you know that?"

"Well then, how old are you? I'm already eight," Link said smugly, he was keeping his name.

"I'm eight too!" The boy held up his hands...with six fingers up.

"So you're six?" Link jumped at the unexpected voice, tensing when he remembered that he wasn't alone. The person who talked this time was a short boy in a blue tunic. The wind seemed to dance and laugh around him.

"No, I'm eight!" The boy said, frustrated, but still holding up six fingers.

"He's six," Link said, glaring at the boy.

"No, eight!" The boy glared back.

"Okay, okay, so you're eight," the man in the pelt said, "and you're also eight. That means we need a new nickname for both of you."

Link glared at him, the kid was obviously lying! He couldn't even hold his fingers right!

"Nicknames?" The boy questioned, satisfied after winning his case.

"Yeah! We all have nicknames here, I'm Wind, that's Twilight and Warriors, there's Time, Sky, Four, and Wild!" The boy who the wind loved, ironically named Wind, said.

"Why should we trust you?" Link interrupted, "You're all armed strangers who we don't know and we're in the middle of nowhere. For all we know, you could be kidnappers!"

"W-What?! You kidnapped us?" The boy's eyes widened, and he hid behind Link.

"No, no! We're uh, your babysitters?" The one in the white cape reassured, waving his hands. What was his name? Sky?

"You're lying..." The boy said quietly.

Link looked behind him, the boy was looking at Sky, eyes slightly pinched. Huh, maybe he wasn't hopeless after all.

"Okay, okay we're not babysitters, we're actually here to rescue you because we're knights," The man in the scarf said, before paling, as if he had never meant to say that.

"Knights?" The boy came out from behind Link. "You're knights?!"

"Uh," all the armed men seemed to pale a little more as the silence went on.

"My uncle was a knight! Did you know my uncle?" The boy turned to Link. "Knights are the coolest ever! Gramps says that I come from the long line of Hyrulian knights too! I'm gonna be a knight when I grow up! Do you like knights?"

Link was honestly a little shocked at how fast this boy could change his tune.

"I, uh, sure?" He really didn't have that much of an opinion about knights. There weren't that many, or really any at all, where he was from.

But...it was said that The Hero of Legend, the greatest hero of all time also had knight lineage, though in the stories it always showed the knights being easily brainwashed.

Link looked across the crowd. He didn't feel any brainwashing magic, only the lingering dark magic from the man in the pelt. He felt faint fae magic too, it reminded him of home at the very least.

"Okay, we trust you, for now. What do you have in mind for nicknames?" Link asked.

--------------------------------------------------------

Okay, so that's chapter one? Maybe? Any grammar mistakes or constructive criticism is appreciated, as well as any more tips for writing. If Hyrule or Legend seem out of character I'm gonna say it's because they're young, (mostly) untramatized, I'm bad at writing, and, again, they are children. I also just think that it would be really funny if Hyrule didn't like Legend at first because he had basically no survival instincts and Legend has absolutely no clue. Also, yes Hyrule is the one with the hat for now. The eight and six fingers thing came from two siblings I met once. I asked them their ages, one said five and the other also said five, but held up three fingers. She stubbornly insisted she was five but her older sister said she was three. Wind knew that because Aryll did the same thing with his age when they were younger. I'll probably use some more experiences I've had with kids because it's funny.

[khaire-traveler]

👹 Subtle Phobos & Deimos Worship 💥

- Paired together as they often are ❤️ -

Stand up for yourself

Stand up for the things you believe in

Assert your boundaries; make it clear when they have been crossed

Get a candle that reminds you of them - one for each or one for both (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of them

Keep a picture of them in your wallet

Exercise; move throughout your day, even just stretching

Learn about self-defense; carry a self-defense weapon (pepper spray, pocket knife, etc.)

Attend a protest (please be aware of your own safety in doing so)

Have a stuffed animal bull, horse, lion, dog, vulture, or other carnivorous bird

Have imagery of weapons, shields, armor, battles, warriors/fighters, chariots, or causes you deeply support around

Face your fears; challenge yourself by exposing yourself to things you're afraid of

Watch an action movie, anime, show, etc. that you enjoy

Engage with the horror genre; watch a horror movie, play a scary video game, read a horror based novel, etc.

Gather with friends around a fire at night and tell scary stories

Try something you've been putting off; take a risk; if you're scared, do it scared

Dance/sing to music that makes you feel empowered, badass, or brave

Support humanitarian efforts, especially those related to conflicts/wars; support human rights or abuse survivor organizations

Learn how to properly use a weapon, especially a spear or sword

Carry a charm that instills courage in or protects you

Practice emotional regulation; learn to express your emotions in a healthy way, especially anger

Prioritize your own well-being; taking care of others is good, but make sure you're meeting your own needs first

Collect animal bones (please thank the animal's spirit beforehand); engage in vulture culture

Be spontaneous; do something fun and adrenaline-pumping

Find ways to express yourself, even if it's small (bracelet that represents your gender, wear clothes that make you feel comfortable, wear your hair how you want to, etc.)

Wear a scary costume; make your own scary mask (I'd wear it on Halloween or for an event, but you can wear out in public if you want! Always ask permission from stores before wearing a masked costume first)

Encourage others to be themselves; encourage yourself to do so

Eat something spicy; eat something meaty

Drink something with cinnamon in it, such as tea or cinnamon latte; drink whiskey or fireball (if able obviously)

Draw something scary or ominous; draw to express your anger or fear

Draw, decorate, make, etc. a shield with a scary face or monster on it; this makes for good protection and was a common practice; using something scarier to scare off the scary things

Practice embracing the chaos of life; life is what happens when we're making other plans

-

This is my list of subtle ways to worship Phobos and Deimos for now! I may add more to it later. I hope someone finds this helpful and that y'all enjoy this. ❤️

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[northern-loner]

If anyone wishes for something light for the night after the meltdown that was today, here's an extensive hc list on different character's fighting styles. :))

q!Bad: Despite what most think, he’s very much a throw-caution-to-the-wind type deal. Yet he’s also the closest thing the island has to a tank; stalking slowly and brutishly and taking you down with one or two bloody hits.

q!Fit: To put it simply, old school. Also the controlled vibe of military training. When he fights, he seems to drop into a sort of rhythm more than anything. You can’t really tell if he’s even thinking or just on autopilot. Slower movement, and more raw attacks.

q!Foolish: Despite his overall physique, he tends to play a more evasive angle. Constant bobbing and weaving until you start losing your composure and get sloppy; that’s when he finally strikes.

q!Philza: A silent and swift approach, always searching for a good opening for sneak attacks. Before you’d see him flying overhead and firing with ranged weapons, but now he goes for a trident as the next best thing to launch himself up and fling himself at you from above. He also looks for ways to end the fight as quickly as possible; easy opportunities to one-shot you.

q!Charlie: Strangely enough, he likes to prioritize splash potions and other projectiles more than anything. He’s also annoyingly slippery, using his slime capabilities to slide around his opponent and keep them on their toes for him.

q!Roier: Insanely acrobatic and uses precise strikes, while also knowing practicality with his opponent. One thing to remember about him is that he simply won’t hesitate, so keep your eyes open.

q!Cellbit: Playing dirty is just about second nature to him; grabbing at your hair, trying to knock your legs from under you when he’s lower. He’s also oddly calculated for someone of his caliber, takes all the time he wants just analyzing the situation before making a move. Although his way also involves getting as close to you as possible so he can get you in your weakest spot. It’s gotten much more messy since his murder spree began.

q!Pac: He tends to play dirty like Cellbit, but not to the same degree. It’s more akin to street fighting than anything. Much more insecure and unstable back in the day, but ever since the first Purgatory he’s grown into something that works for him.

q!Mike: While he may not be the strongest between him and Pac, he’s definitely the most aggressive. He always tries to nab the offensive first no matter what.

q!Etoiles: He prioritizes honor above all else in a good match. None of the dirtier tricks, just straight swords and shields and as much of his body as possible. Although you’d be a fool to mistake this as him being predictable.

q!Baghera: Real showy and dramatic, she always tries for the biggest weapons and armor she can get her hands on. Tries to make herself look bigger, and lots of heavy footwork.

q!Tubbo: Incredibly trigger happy, only being rivaled by Etoiles’ hunger for battle. He likes finding random out-of-the-box ways to do combat and even customize things with his own machinery. He’s also oddly nimble, and he knows how to use his size when close to opponents.

q!Bagi: Beautifully fast and agile, incredibly abrasive and unafraid, normally trying to opt for offense first but knowing when to stick with defense. Her size leads to her prioritizing sneak attacks and coming off as a nagging thorn in the side for her opponents, always being there when you don’t want her to be. She also knows how to improvise when at her lowest.

Feel free to add on as you see fit! <3

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-Two

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author’s Note: 8.6k words, and here we are! Sorry for leaving you on that cliffhanger. xD This chapter is extra long because our dear reader’s life hangs in the balance. Will she survive? Who knows? (I do) You’ll have to find out! Thank you so much for reading! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Chapter Warnings: brief discussions of assault, Aegon losing his marbles, pseudoscience (watch me act like I know anything about medical stuff.)

The beaches of Dragonstone were home to you. The brimstone wafting into your nose and the salt clinging to your skin felt pacifying, like finally engulfing you into your bed sheets after a particularly irritating day. Digging your heels into the sand and furrowing your thick brows, you concentrated as your father spoke.

"When you are at your lowest, stand back up, and spit in the face of your enemy. They will not take pity when they see your weakness. They will kill you. Do not let them get the chance."

You strode towards him with unwavering confidence, a surge of excitement coursing through your body. Without a hint of hesitation, you tightened your grip on the practice sword as he charged towards you. With ease, you deftly parried his blow. You could have easily overwhelmed him with the sheer force of your attacks, but you held back, not wanting to expend too much energy too soon. Then, you remembered a tactic your father had taught you just the day before and decided to put it into practice. It was a bold move, but you were fearless.

Despite having yet to master the finesse of a pressure glide, you executed it precisely, causing your blade to slide across his with a high-pitched screech.

Daemon took two steps back, surprised that you still had the energy to make a move. He smirked at your ambition, seeing a bit of himself in you. He thrust his blade forward to an undefended side, but you narrowly avoided it by dodging, the blade narrowly missing the metal of your breastplate by a hair's breadth.

Your father was unrelenting in his exercises, slicing, parrying, slashing, and countering every action you took until sweat dripped onto your brow and neck. This was the ritual—a song and dance that your father was the master of and you, the student. Risks were meant to be taken in training, leaps of blind faith, hoping whichever move you decided would be your opponent's last. The uncertainty made victory all the more sweet.

Daemon was on the attack, aggressively charging forward each time you advanced. Any moment you got the upper hand, he would effectively charge beat and break your stance into something new. You pulled out every defensive measure you could recall: avoidance, beat parry, counter parry, ducking, anything you could think of. You were exhausted from the prior hours of stamina and strength training, still feeling the heavy bags of sand on your shoulders.

Soon, your shields began to crumble. Your arms trembled with exertion, sweat stinging your eyes, as Daemon pressed your sword and opened you for a line of attack. He swung his blade into your left side, the force of it punching the wind from your lungs as you attempted to right yourself in the sand. Your father took your unguarded body to his advantage as he raised his arm, bringing the pommel of his practice sword onto your temple with an ear-ringing thud.

***

The prince found himself pacing in his rooms while waiting for your return. Aegon wanted to give you the time and distance he believed you desired, but guilt still weighed on his soul like a shroud, his last moments with you replaying in his mind's eye. He fretted to the bottom of his cup and repeated the act until his pitcher of Arbor Red was empty.

The servants readied him for bed, sponging the areas where sweat accumulated throughout the day, and even then, his sanity did not ease. Aegon had not slept alone since before he could recollect; wherever he rested was occupied with a whore, and now you. It felt empty without a body. Cold on an even colder winter night as he curled into himself.

Anxiety kept him wakeful as the candles across the Red Keep were snuffed, servants finishing their late-night tasks without the disturbance of the Court. Aegon wished you would come to him eventually, that he would rouse to you, sliding underneath his luxurious woolen sheets and wrapping your arms around him, falling asleep in your soothing embrace. But he did not.

It was the hour of the wolf, and you still did not venture into his chambers.

The idea that you willingly chose isolation crossed his mind more than once, discouraging him to near tears. You may have desired seclusion, but he did not, so he departed his rooms, exiting through the passage he used many times at this hour, save there was no wish for fulfillment this time. He only wanted to know if you were all right. He would sleep on the floor if you did not want his presence in bed. He would move across the room if you did not want him so near.

Aegon would take whatever you gave, even if they were mere crumbs.

The prince finally arrived at your quarters and unlocked the painting behind which he had hidden. As he entered, his violet eyes immediately went to your bed but found no sleeping lump under the blankets. The candles had burnt down to the wick, adding to his confusion. His countenance showed a pout as he continued walking further into the room.

Perhaps you were in the Godswood? It was not uncommon to uncover you nestled within the roots of the Heart Tree, head resting against the blanched bark. But it was much too cold for that. Frost dusted the windows and sparkled on the grass. If you were out there, you would undoubtedly catch your death.

As he got closer, he noticed two glasses and a flagon of wine on your dining table and was taken aback. He couldn't help but wonder who you were sharing a drink with. Suddenly, he stumbled over an object and nearly lost his balance. Seeing a boot carelessly discarded on the ground irritated him, and he couldn't help but wonder where the other one was. It was highly unusual to see your belongings scattered about like this, especially given your maids' reputation for being so diligent.

Blood drained from the prince's face at what he saw mere steps away from your carelessly jettisoned boot. At first, it was your stockings, wrinkled and tossed aside with your small clothes, a sinking feeling in his gut. Then, your foot, blanched and lethargic, your legs barren of any coverings, and a puddle of liquid glistening around you on the stone floor.

His heart plunged, terror rising in its place as he rushed over to you, a pile of vomit and red saliva next to your crown. Aegon did not know what to do, panic and illogical thinking racing in his mind as he gathered your listless frame in his arms. He brushed the black strands of hair stuck to the dried cruor on your cheeks, roaring a feral howl of agony.

This couldn't be. This couldn't be. You were dead. You were dead, he shrieked.

No guard came rushing in to answer his cries, his sobs of injustice as he brought your forehead to his. Aegon never felt so helpless, so worthless, as he held you in his arms. The one he loved, the only person who loved him, now lifeless.

Was this divine punishment? Had his sins against the Seven finally caught up to him in the form of a dead loved one? It was what he deserved, yes, but not you. You were innocent and good. You cared for others even when they did not merit it. You instructed him to be a better man, husband, brother, and father. It should be Aegon who lay with a gaunt, emotionless expression, eyes shut to the world around him.

But then, he felt it. It was but a feather caress of your breath on his cheek. Weak, a whisper against his skin, but still there, Aegon released his hold and placed you carefully on the floor, your head lulling loosely to the side. It was as if the Heavens opened up, an angel taking pity on the poor leech and answering his silent prayers.

The prince ran faster than ever into the Keep halls, screaming for help—for someone, whether a servant or a lord, to hear his cries and save his beloved.

A guard rounded the corner, responding to his pleas, the footsteps of several others following distantly behind as Aegon babbled nonsensically to save his love's life. He did not care if they thought him mad. You were dying, clinging onto the string of life with barely a finger.

The knight quickly ran to Maester Orwyle first, alerting the slumbering man that a royal family member lay barely respiring on their chamber floor. Then, to the Lord Commander of The Kingsguard, Ser Harrold, as they hastily went to the Tower of the Hand.

They awoke Lord Hightower, who begrudgingly answered the door, aghast at the news, mind already reeling at the future. He hurriedly dressed himself into his day clothes, not overlooking to place the pin of the Hand on his left breast. Otto was genuinely alarmed at the notion that someone attempted to murder the princess, not because he worried for your safety but what the threat to your life would bring.

Rhaenyra's wrath was not a care; it was Daemon's. You were Lady Flea Bottom, yet he treated you as the favorite. Any lord or lady would learn that fact simply from how he looked at you. What gnawed at the back of his senses as he went to his daughter's room was what would happen should your father find out.

Otto Hightower was sure he would be dismissed from his position as the King's hand. Despite having carefully planned and strategized for decades, everything he had worked for would be in vain due to the death of a bastard. However, as a proud and stubborn man, Otto would not let this obstacle ruin his plans.

The Queen followed her father to your chambers, her nightgown replaced with an elegant emerald green and gold dress. Alicent nipped her fingers as she tasted the metallic tang of her essence, but she did not stop.

“We must keep this within these walls," Otto declared, his pace brisk as he gestured to Ser Harrold.

The Lord Commander abruptly broke out of his distressed musings. His forehead creased with anxiety as he glared at the Hand. "My Lord," he objected firmly, "the King and his family have an absolute right to know what has transpired here. It is my duty, and I have solemnly sworn an oath."

"You have a duty to follow the word of the King. When he is not present, you will obey my commands," Otto stated firmly, dismissing any notion of objection to his plan.

"I, too, am afraid of what will become of my husband's health should he learn of the news. The girl's father will surely complicate more things should he arrive," the Queen interjected, simmering the knight's dissent.

Truthfully, Alicent wilted at what Daemon might do to Otto once he arrived. He already had much disdain for him and was frightened at the thought that he might sentence her father to death. The Queen could recall the stories of the Rogue Prince in the Stepstones, the bloodstained, traitorous acts he committed, wearing their bones as a crown. She would not give him the benefit of the doubt. And Rhaenyra, her friend from long ago, the woman who ordered Alicent's son to be sharply questioned after her child stole his eye, would allow her uncle to do as he saw fit.

The Hand, his daughter, and the Commander of the Kingsguard entered the hall to your quarters, seeing a small gathering of servants spying on the scene. Ser Harrold ordered them away and to keep their mouth shut before anyone could instruct him to, threatening that their pay would be cut and that they would spend a sennight in the Black Cells should they refuse to listen.

The three of them pushed their way past the guards that surrounded a wailing Prince Aegon, screaming and weeping with you in his arms as the Maester attempted to examine you.

Alicent released a gasp of horror, her father groaned in disgust, and Ser Harrold muttered a 'Gods be good' under his breath. Your body was inanimate in Aegon's embrace, a mix of vomit and blood in your hair and flesh, his lips pressing into your temple as your arms hung limply at your sides.

To all others, you appeared to be dead, and the Queen wondered for a moment if her son had gone frantic with grief and convinced himself of your consciousness. Still, Maester Orwyle nodded, assuring everyone around him that you were alive, although barely.

"Her drink was spiked with poison," Aegon declared, his words thick with anguish. Orwyle glimpsed at him, perplexed about how he could be so confident, keeping steady fingers on your pulse point. "The table! The wine!" he stammered, pointing at them in distress.

Everyone turned in time to see what he said, two goblets filled with the princess's favorite Essosi wine resting on the oak table. The Maester quickly went to both drinks, observing and smelling each one to see if it could give him any indication as to what could be afflicting you. The second one he sniffed appeared as normal as the other, but the faint stench of nose urine, one people knew well in the castle, slightly wafted from it. Orwyle deeply sighed as he turned, a grim facade and gaze distraught as he spoke to the Hand.

"I fear there is nothing we can do but pray," he conveyed solemnly, Aegon's bleary vision directed to him. "At most, all I can do is give her charcoal to help absorb the poison, but I cannot guarantee the Princess will recover."

"Then fetch it!" the prince screeched at the Maester, his voice broken.

Orwyle stared at the Hand and the Queen, seeking permission from both, but each hesitated, glancing at one another as they weighed the outcomes in their mind.

"What is it?" Alicent finally questioned, her brown orbs never leaving the discarded shoes and small clothes on the floor.

"Poison Hemlock," Orwyle answered with a lowered head, "there is no antidote."

Aegon wept at the revelation, burying your face into his heart as his tears dampened the collar of his tunic. Otto's acquiescing nod was accompanied by a firm command to the Maester to fetch whatever was required to assist you. You needed to survive, as was also the Queen's wish. The Blacks would be at a significant disadvantage with one less dragon rider, but they understood Daemon would undoubtedly return with a vengeance regardless of the outcome.

It wounded Alicent to see Aegon so mournful, crying the same fat tears he did as a babe. She went to comfort him; after all, he was her son, but Aegon roughly shoved her away, bringing your listless figure closer to him.

"Stay away from her!" he sneered, lifting you in his arms and taking you to the bed. "This is your fault. You wanted her gone, and now you seem to have granted your wish."

Alicent's lips thinned, and she inhaled with muted disagreement as she ordered the rest of the guards and Ser Harrold out, swearing them to secrecy. "You know this is not what I wanted," she proclaimed, her voice pointed and somber. The consequences of this far outweigh any benefit."

Otto glanced at his daughter, a grey, golden brown eyebrow raised. He felt proud of Alicent for taking the initiative to eliminate you. However, he wished she had included him; perhaps this spectacle could have been avoided.

Aegon scoffed, reeling around to face his mother with heated regard. "You speak of her as if she is nothing but an object. You were the one who summoned her here!" he argued willfully. "To prevent the shame that I bring wherever I set foot! You are a wretched woman, mother."

A smack of skin-on-skin contact rang through your chambers, silencing everyone until they could only hear your inaudible, ragged breathing. Aegon touched his cheek where his mother struck him, noiseless outrage written on his face as he stared at her, seething. 

He was used to this. This was the mother he knew, the woman who raised him with the rod to be who he was today.

"You continue to disappoint me even when there is nothing left." Alicent shook her head, her loose auburn curls swaying at her waist. "You are not the son I bore."

He had heard this line before, and it had previously caused his amethyst eyes to well with tears, but now, they only hardened him with a scathing acrimony.

"I am what you made me," he snarled, ordering Ser Harrold to enter the room as he dragged a cushioned chair to your bedside.

Alicent had no rebuttal, a rapid of insults and pleas all begging to be said aloud, but she could not move her quivering mouth. She crossed her arms as Maester Orwyle entered moments later, her chestnut orbs trained at her slippered feet. The Queen decided there was no more use in convincing Aegon of his mistakes. Her son was too far gone, sick with the illness of your inamorata. The Queen clenched her jaw, her plump lips pouting as she turned to leave, ignoring the condescending stare of her father.

Ser Criston was waiting for her when she left your chambers, striding alongside the Queen as she encircled her arms around her torso. Alicent knew who was behind this. She had seen this play out successfully before.

She did not desire Ser Harwin and his father to perish in a fire. She only wished for Rhaenyra to learn that she could not flaunt around the realm, siring bastards without consequence.

Alicent should have learned this would be the outcome. Larys was a vindictive and wicked man. His words were like an ill-made balm to a wound, soothing the compromised area only to wake the following morning with it infected and oozing with pus.

Alicent was fatigued of continuously being a piece on the board, the men in her life moving her as they pleased. The first man, her father, who was meant to care for and protect her from the world's vices, used his young daughter as a political pawn, placing her within the King's chambers under the guise of comfort. He only thought of furthering his lineage, unconcerned about how he affected those he used. Otto and Larys were the same—ambitious men who exploited others to their advantage.

As the Queen reached her door, nails picking at the dead skin of her lip, she turned to her sworn protector. They shared a long look of understanding, the Dornish man tilting his head and lowering his brown eyes. He left Alicent wordlessly, the only sound being the clank of his armor as he went to fetch the Master of Whispers.

Alicent refused to be an object wielded by men any longer. She would take her life within her own hands. In the end, she was all she had.

***

Aegon had migrated from beside your bed to in it, his arm draped across your weak frame, head resting in the crook of your neck. He would only leave your side to allow the Maester to tend to you. Orwyle stared at him blankly each time he saw the prince clinging to you but did not order him to move, for it was not his place.

Aegon assisted the maids when summoned, attached with tears in their sights. He washed the gore from your hair, blood, and saliva from your cheeks but chose to respect the older servant's request to leave the intimate areas for them. He went to protest, of course, but thought better of it, keeping the modesty of your relationship in mind. He chose the nightgown you dressed in, observing how the two women lifted your limp form, limbs moving like the ragdoll Jaehaera played with.

The younger maid gathered your feather pillows, her freckled face red with barely withheld tears as she propped them under you. The elder went to your dressing vanity, retrieving a silver brush and comb as she made her way over to your unconscious body.

Aegon oversaw her remove the pins hidden within your midnight hair, pulling the strands out of the ratted style until they hung loosely over your shoulders and onto the sheets. He realized then that he had rarely seen you with your hair free, having either styled it in tight braids that stuck to your head or pulled it partially up to keep it away from your face. Aegon wished you wore it like this more often. He couldn't help himself when he hooked an ink-like strand onto his digit, watching it drag like silk across his knuckle.

He motioned wordlessly to the older servant to give him the brush. The woman gazed skeptically but passed it nonetheless as Aegon moved behind you, resting his back against the mountain of pillows, raking the bristles through your snarled hair.

You were his little princess, though you loathed the name. He would ensure you were cared for till your last breath, and even then, he would still be at your side.

The two maids looked at Aegon with confusion, as if puzzle pieces were slowly falling into place in their minds. They finally understood why you were so arcane about the marks on your neck and bruises on your hips that Fiora and Jeyne noticed while bathing you. Although they knew you must have been involved with some lord or knight, they never suspected it would be a prince. It became clear to them why you had chosen to keep it a secret, even though you were so transparent about everything else.

Jeyne never liked Prince Aegon, especially after the drunken assault he committed on Dyana. She praised the Mother that the Queen walked in before he could fully traumatize the girl, and she was unsure if you would've continued your affairs if you had. Jeyne believed you made a terrible choice in lovers—first, Ser Dalton Greyjoy and now Prince Aegon. Prince Aemond, despite his hot temper and lack of forgiveness, would never defile a young girl. But as she and her companion observed Aegon gingerly brush the knots in your hair, concentrating on not tugging harshly, she thought that perhaps he was different now.

Jeyne recalled when the prince was a child, how he screamed and wept until the Queen gave him affection and then, as he became older, turned the longing into dangerous afflictions. Perhaps, after years of internal torment, Aegon found someone who would desire him as much as he did them.

No one was truly evil, just as no one was wholly good. Aegon was no different.

"What are your names?" the prince asked, unwavering in his movements. "You've cared for the Princess since the day she arrived, and I've yet to know them."

Fiora glanced at Jeyne wearily, searching for guidance with reddened eyes swollen from tears. She nodded to the girl, who was never without a smile and placed a calloused hand on her lower back.

"Fi-Fiora," the young maid answered with snivels. Her throat became thick again as she looked at you and gave a stiff curtsy.

"And I am Jeyne," the eldest followed willfully. Her chin remained high even as Fiora hiccuped beside her, ignoring the itch in her nose. "We also had Dyana, for a while, but her skills were better spent caring for the little prince and princess."

Aegon's gaze flickered up to Jeyne's, and she saw the recognition in his violet eyes. She wanted to clarify to the prince that she knew about his dishonorable actions against your former maid. Jeyne understood that you would be furious if you found out, and she was not afraid to speak up. The prince swallowed and quickly looked back at your shiny hair, knowing that Jeyne was not one to be silenced.

"I see," he despondently replied. His brows raised in displeasure as he continued to dote on you, ensuring no hair was unmanageable. "When in service to the royal family, loyalty is paramount. It is not only your job to ensure they have whatever they need, whether it is certain teas, oils, dresses, or food, but you also must protect them. Yet, you failed to do so."

Fiora released a throaty sob, unable to stifle her shame and agony with the palm of her hand. Jeyne bristled as she fisted the hem of her crimson skirt, quelling the snarky comments she wanted to spew.

Loyalty? What did the whore prince, who had his cock in every working woman and man in Flea Bottom, know about loyalty?

"Tis an honor to serve my lady," Jeyne bowed her head in reverence toward your expressionless facade, trying to appear impartial to his words. “I would gladly put myself in her place, die if need be, so long as the Princess was safe and well."

Her words were weighty, more sincere than the vows one took at the altar as she held her gaze firm. Aegon flicked his sullen face toward the two maids, letting them stew in the silence to see if they would waiver. When neither did, he sighed deeply through his nose, pulling the front of your dark strands behind your back as he ran his fingers through them.

"Good," the prince shook, nuzzling his nose into the rose-scented locks. "You will help me find who did this. I know the servants see everything and hear everything. The walls have ears and eyes, and you will be mine."

Fiora bobbed fiercely without a second thought, wiping away the snot that accumulated above her pink lips as Jeyne stiffly tilted her head in acquiescence. "For the Princess."

"For the Princess," Aegon repeated as he dismissed the two women.

***

Lord Larys Strong sat within the Queen's chambers, his chin resting atop his fist on the firefly of his cane as the candlelight flickered across his pale skin. The scene reminded him of a memory from long ago when the curse of Harrenhall had taken away his brother and father. 

He knew why he was brought here.

Alicent scratched at her chest weakly, needing an outlet to channel her horror. Her blunt nails created red welts on the delicate skin. She did not know where to start, terrified of the mousey man who sat before her. Her instructions were explicit to Lord Larys; there was no way for him to misconstrue them. The Queen wanted you to return to your family.

"What are children but a weakness?" inquired the Lord, interrupting the young Queen's thoughts. "You may think you've cheated the darkness of its victory, but it will always persist in some form or another."

Alicent remembered these words. They haunted her every time she saw Larys, watched him stroll through the halls with discerning calm, yet she knew of the atrocities those hands committed.

"But for them you will surrender what you should not. You may know the right thing to do, but love stays the hand. Love is a downfall," the Lord swallowed, shifting his body to where the Queen stood, staring his cold and piercing eyes into her watery ones. "I said that to you once after the death of my brother and father. I do not believe you heeded my words."

"She's dying," Alicent declared, her voice wavering. "You've passed judgment once more on things you had no right to. Now, my son sits in anguish next to a girl who might not make it through the night."

Larys tilted his head to the side, wetting his lips as the Queen threatened to burst with anxiety. "My Queen made a wish," he stated with the quirk of his unruly brow, "who am I to leave it unfulfilled?"

"I," the Queen hiccuped, words stuck in her throat as she gestured to herself. "I did not wish for this. I wanted her sent back to her family."

Larys hummed, tightening his lips into a displeased yet proud line. "And so I have."

Alicent could no longer bear the sight of him, arms swiftly hugging at her sides as tears of disgust that lined her lashes began to fall. It was directed at the man before her and herself. She should've anticipated that Larys would twist her intentions to fit his agenda as he had done before, but a part of her who desired to have a connection, a true sense of trust with another person, hoped that he would not.

Despite being at the heart of Westeros's most densely populated city and in a high position of power, the Queen's life was lonely. She had no friends, no companions she felt would not betray her trust. The ladies at Court provided superficial conversations with no genuine sincerity, happy to say whatever Alicent wanted to hear that would benefit them the most.

Despite her father's betrayal, she refused to be a victim. Otto was a malicious man, but she was his cherished daughter, his only daughter. She owed him nothing for elevating Alicent to the highest position of power that a woman could ever attain.

Women were sold into marriages of lesser importance with husbands who took them by force and beat them bloody. She should be grateful.

"You have gone too far," the Queen stated, finally finding the will to speak again. "What you did to her," she turned, hand clutching her neck, her voice unable to say his atrocities out loud, "was most heinous. You defiled the princess while she was incapacitated."

Larys sighed, using his sturdy cane for support as he stood, body hunched and icy stare boring into the disheveled Queen. "As you've said, your grace, she is a bastard, too arrogant and undeserving of her place here at Court. She was born in sin. 'Tis only fitting she shall die in sin."

Alicent gasped demurely, appalled with his callousness, delicate fingers covering her raw lips as briny tears damped her cheeks. She was religious, finding comfort in the divine from a gray world filled with suffering. All beings deserve life, and Larys' complete disregard for it repulsed her. He looked down on those who endured remarkably through their love, seeing them as ignorant and impuissant compared to his genius of apathy.

And now, a young girl lay with labored breathing, assaulted and permanently scarred should she survive—another victim in the line of his detached ideology.

The Strong Lord bowed, parting with 'your grace' for his improper farewell. Alicent's wet lashes fluttered with regret, panting as she struggled to regain composure. She swallowed a lump in her throat, guilt weighing heavily over her head as she leaned on her writing table for support and stifled her wet sobs with the back of her hand.

***

If one entered your chambers, they would not be met with the usual smell of roses and lavender; instead, it would be that of a sick house—the type of scent that carried wherever those infected with illness went.

Smoke hung in the air. Different incense was placed throughout your apartments, herbs at various points to ward off spirits that ailed the soul. Maester Orwyle had created a workshop in your bedroom, tonics, salves, tinctures, and ingredients scattered throughout the different tables. Aegon stood over him impatiently, playing with his fingers as he watched the Maester create a concoction with a bag of gray dust and some thick paste.

"What is that?" the prince questioned, unable to keep the bubbling anxiety at bay.

Orwyle hummed, acknowledging that he heard Aegon as he concentrated on measuring water and slowly pouring it into the mixture. "It is a paste that will draw out the toxins. It is made of charcoal and clay," he answered, stirring the mixture in a small bowl. I must ensure I do not add too much of one ingredient, for it could diminish the efficacy."

The prince grunted. The science behind the Maester's actions was beyond him, but he trusted the man and his judgment. He would try anything. Aegon would offer up his blood if it meant you would survive.

Once Maester Orwyle finished the mixture, he took a brush, walked over to your unconscious form, and mumbled a prayer under his breath. He removed the blankets, the cold air causing your nipples to involuntarily pebble underneath the fabric of your nightdress, pulling the hem up to reveal your stomach. Aegon quickly moved the sheets to cover your modesty, uncomfortable with the notion that another man, Maester or not, would see you in your small clothes.

The Maester began to paint the charcoal and clay onto your abdomen, all the way to under the crease of your breasts. When he finished, he recited another prayer, asking Aegon to join him in hands over your fighting body.

"We pray to you, Father, Mother, Maiden, Smith, and Crone, to take pity on this innocent sinner. She has no control over the vices of men, and we pray to you to ask for the forgiveness of her sins so that she may live another day."

Aegon mirrored Orwyle, clasping his sweaty palms together as he bowed his head, eyes trained on the rise and fall of your chest.

He was never a devoted follower of the Faith, forced by Alicent tooth and nail to attend service when he was older. One of Aegon's first memories was in the Sept of Baelor, him not nearly reaching the height of his mother's waist yet as she knelt, lighting a candle to pray. He remembered watching his mother's lips move in noiseless reverence; her dark brows knitted together as he copied her, sitting on his knees, his forehead just reaching the top of the altar.

Aegon asked her then what she was praying for, his voice soft and violet eyes wide as the scent of frankincense drifted in the dim chamber. He understood now why his mother hesitated in telling him. He was too young to comprehend the troubles of adulthood, but she placated her curious tot with words and hopes for the future. That one day, she and his older sister could finally make amends and be companions once more.

"Protect your daughter as she fights this atrocity against her soul, bring the man responsible to your divine justice, and guide this lost girl into your light," Orwyle recited, brown skin laced with nervous sweat. "And to the Stranger, may you spare her one moment more from eternal sleep."

They ended the prayer with a solemn nod, the Maester pacing toward his table of supplies to make another concoction. Aegon still knelt at the side of your bed, fists clasped until his knuckles turned white as the paste on your stomach dried and hardened.

He believed there would be more time for you and him together, that you would grow old by each other's side and share the woes of life hand in hand. His existence felt like a great tragedy told of in storybooks—the kind where the hero goes through the trials of loss, pain, valor, and internal conflict only to have the love he was trying to save die in the end. It felt like Aegon's two decades of suffering were for nothing; his trials were for naught.

The prince understood, with a sullen look, that his grandfather and mother wanted you gone. He knew his grandfather would go to lengths to ensure his schemes went unobstructed, but Otto was the type of man to go about things much more delicately. The Hand played the long game, maneuvering pieces of the board without one realizing to get what he desired. Aegon did not feel he was behind this, for this was much too gauche for his proper standards.

However, his mother posed an uncertainty in his mind. She greatly desired that you leave King's Landing, and the prince was unsure how much she truly wished you gone. He did know, just as he knew the sun would rise on the morrow, that Alicent was involved in this somehow.

"My prince," Orwyle said tentatively, holding a rag and the same bowl of charcoal and clay in his wrinkled palm. "I must remove the paste from her abdomen."

Aegon nodded in understanding, peeling himself from your side, though he did not stray far. He would privately speak to his mother about this but not go to her. The Queen would have to come to him. Despite Ser Harrold stationed outside your doors, he was on edge. Aegon was frightened at the notion of the assailant returning to finish his duty and trusted no one but himself to watch over you.

Maester Orwyle turned to the prince, holding the ashy mucilage in the bowl with a brush. "This must be applied every thirty minutes or until it hardens and cracks," he explained, the necklace of the Seven Pointed Star glinting in the candlelight.

Aegon tilted his head, eyeing the bowl's contents in agreement, as he took it from his hand. "Thank you, Maester."

Orwyle sighed, gaze lowered as it flickered over to you, lips in a grim line. He felt helpless, knowing there was something more he could do, but the risks involved outweighed the benefits in his mind. There was still a chance your body could fight off the poison. Not many survived the effects of Poison Hemlock, and those who did were left with permanent symptoms, which often left them wishing for their death.

"Your grace, I feel I must tell you, not as a servant of the Crown, but as a man, a human with a living and beating heart." Aegon eyed the Maester wearily, painting your stomach gray. He inhaled deeply through his nose, bracing himself for the prince's impending reaction.

"What I am doing with her now are only superficial treatments. She needs to get rid of the poison from the inside out, but I am afraid by doing so, bile might fill her chest, from which there is no escape."

Aegon swallowed audibly, finding his mouth had become impossibly dry. "What is it?"

The Maester tucked his lips into a thin line, wringing his book-worn digits. "We will place a metal funnel with a tube of thick leather into her throat and pour a water mixture of charcoal into her stomach. It will induce vomiting, but if the princess's muscles are paralyzed, it will go into her lungs and she will suffocate."

Aegon stared at Orwyle, terror-stricken at the idea of the barbaric tactic, and ceased his actions. Shoving a tube down your throat to force vomit was pure barbarism. Indeed, a tactic of torture was used within the Black Cells to force prisoners to confess. He would not subject you to such a thing. It would not be what you desired.

"There is a chance it won't travel there, and she will survive, but I must warn you, those living with the after-effects of Poison Hemlock sometimes wish they did not," Orwyle stated in forewarning, mahogany eyes anywhere but the prince.

"Are you suggesting we just continue to pray to invisible Gods in hopes that she survives?" Aegon barked, rising from his hunched place at your side to his full height.

"No, my prince. I shall do whatever I can to ensure her survival. You'll need to inform her family of what has happened here." Aegon's stare was intense, his face firm and filled with barely hidden rage. "The Hand has ordered all ravens titled for Dragonstone barred. Gold Cloaks are placed within the rookery in the Keep, and I am unable to inform them."

The prince huffed. Of course, his grandfather would do something like this. He would not put it past his mother either that she was complicit in it. They knew what havoc it would wreak on their schemes, the ones they tried so hard to convince Aegon of since he could read. The Rogue Prince and possibly the heir to the Iron Throne arriving in the Red Keep would indeed prevent them from placing Aegon on the throne when his father passed. He did not care.

To hell with his mother and grandfather. To hell with the plans they made without Aegon's consent. To hell with the future. If you did not survive this, he would not be willing to live a life.

The prince did not thank Maester Orwyle for his knowledge, too far gone within his rage to extend the courtesy for the man who had done so much to save his love as he exited with a bow, going to his quarters for much-needed rest.

***

Aegon tended to you with the precision of a Maester, applying the charcoal remedy and wiping away your sweat as he mulled over his subsequent decisions. He trusted only his unassuming sister-wife to aid him in his efforts. When your sworn shield came to relieve Ser Harrold and urged Aegon to rest, he vehemently refused. The prince hurled a barrage of insults at the knight that had Helaena covering her ears. Her lilac eyes burned with intensity as she watched over your listless body, attempting to lose herself in her thoughts. 

He shrieked with the fury of an enraged bull, belting to Ser Arryk that he would have his head, that he would geld the man and impale him on the same battlements that rested the crowns and bodies of traitors. Aegon's actions were nothing short of deranged. He would lash out at anyone who even glanced in their direction, accusing them of contributing to the decay of the life he dreamed with you.

During Aegon's bout of madness, he accused Ser Arryk of conspiring to murder his lover. He claimed the knight let the assailant inside because he could not bear his envy towards his love. Arryk was appalled by this, for he felt nothing but revulsion at your coupling.

The knight denied having any part in harming the princess, desperately beseeching a manic Aegon that he was not at his post when it occurred. He realized the error of his words when the prince became eerily silent, staring at Arryk with a heaving chest and dark eyes.

It was a moment before Aegon yowled, a brief eery quiet that seemed to halt time as he lurched forward with bared teeth and scratching nails, beating the Kingsguard senselessly. Only at the screech of a frightened Helaena did Ser Harrold intervene, prying a howling Aegon off Ser Arryk, who could not defend himself due to the prince's status.

The Commander of the Kingsguard scolded Arryk for not being at his post and failing to perform his duty, turning to Aegon and asking him what punishment for his crime would please him.

"He is to be stripped of his armor and taken to the Black Cells," the prince seethed, "where he will await his sentence until the princess wakes. 'Tis her right to decide what level of treatment this cowardice deserves, though I fear she will be kinder than me."

Harrold confidently nodded to the prince, knowing this was one of Aegon's most merciful decisions. With a deafening sound, he swiftly ripped off Ser Arryk's white cape, causing Helaena's body to shudder. The Commander forcefully yanked the ties to Arryk's armor, leaving the knight with no choice but to accept his shame.

He broke the vows he had kept steadfastly for years. Within a matter of hours, Arryk was an oathbreaker and an unwitting accomplice to your murder. He felt the unseen eyes of the Gods upon him, bearing witness to his failures and sins with curled lips. The knight was lucky that Ser Harrold took pity on him and did not parade him to the other members of the Kingsguard. 

The Commander felt that the embarrassment of having a lecher wastrel prince attack Arryk in front of Princess Helaena was enough, so he continued to throw piece after piece of silver armor onto the stone floor, the metal ringing out with each drop.

Helaena could not stand the rhythmic clanging, each noise vibrating her bones as she observed your breath, attempting to dissociate inchest'shest's hypnotizing rise and fall. She thought of bringing the twins to see you. They greatly missed you, and Jaehaerys began questioning where you had been the past weeks.

Helaena was no fool. She felt it in the marrow of her bones that you and her brother made amends. The heaviness that lurked about in her mind had lifted, and her womb began to feel the effects of growing life. Foreign movements within her gut became more frequent, causing Helaena to have a hand pressed to her stomach nearly every moment, absentmindedly stroking it whenever her eyes fogged and her ears whispered words she couldn't understand.

She felt drawn to the table littered with medicinal supplies, violet orbs flicking over the different bottles and salves. She stopped at a bowl with ash-colored paint, dipping her fingertips into its contents and rubbing it with her thumb. It had no smell and was cool to the touch, liquid smooth as she curiously eyed the mixture dripping onto her wrist. Helaena felt the urge to gather more, scooping her digits down to the second knuckle in the gray paste as she turned to your bed.

Her movements were otherworldly as she carried herself across the mattress on her knees, hand positioned so as not to spill a drop. Helaena uncovered your body from the sheets and lifted the hem of your nightdress to the middle of your breasts. She straddled your thighs as she began to apply the ashy mucilage. Aegon's movements were delicate as a skilled painter, ensuring each space was covered evenly, but Helaena's were possessed, puppeteered, her arms jerking as she rubbed her palms across your abdomen.

"Hand turns loom; spools of green, spools of black. Dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread," she mumbled, smearing the paste down your torso. Helaena's words were not hers, as if something had taken control, her mind not within her body. "Beneath the boards, rats bite. The drink of fools; a sacrifice of her blood, peace reborn in flames."

Aegon abruptly turned to his sister, face etched with concerned annoyance at diverting his attention away from the humiliation of Ser Arryk. His sister was hunched in her turquoise dress, which seemed nearly splintering as her spine stretched the seams with her movements. Helaena's thoughts were incoherent, mumbles of words only she comprehended as Aegon nervously watched her smear the prescribed charcoal and clay on your stomach. 

He barked for Ser Harrold to take your sworn shield to the dungeons, concern for his sister at the forefront of Aegon's mind. He approached Helaena like a frightened deer, as if she would flee into the depths of the dense green forest, never to be seen again. As the prince came closer, he noticed she was no longer applying the mucilage, her tiny, lithe fingers drawing symbols above your womb, flesh peeking between the gray. They looked familiar to Aegon, like something he saw within the misty years of a childhood he could never recall as Helaena's body swayed.

The intensity of her actions churned fear in his gut, and he worried that she was reverting to one of her states. Aegon tentatively placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and stole Helaena from her trance. She flew into a fit of rage, eyes wide, snatching his wrist with her dirtied hands as she glared into his startled eyes.

"The poison takes root in her womb, bringing peace with fire and blood," she declared, a fierce glint within her vision.

Aegon stared in bewilderment, his nostrils flaring as he fought Helaena's ironclad grip before she was again brought within her body. She recoiled into her dreamy-eyed self and released her brother, sighing as she slumped over your body.

Aegon wet his pink lips to speak, voice raw and sore from his fist of screaming, but Helaena ceased his struggle, gazed trained on the symbols painted onto your skin.

"She will grow old in love with you. I shall not," she plainly expressed, no hint of sadness in her tone. He went to protest, but his sister silenced him once more. "We never desired to marry one another and only created children out of duty. Your union to her will be of love, and the children will love her as if she bore them from her blood." Her words were wistful, never looking at her brother to see his reactions as if she already knew.

"Helaena," he interjected, reaching out to seek comfort you could not give, but she brushed him away.

"The dragon has three heads." Helaena pulled your nightgown to cover your bosom. "Aegon spent ten nights with Rhaenys for every one he spent with Visenya," his sister stated, leaning up your body to gingerly stroke the frame of your face. Her brother glared at the cryptic statement, unsure of what she meant, unexpecting the sudden history lesson of his namesake. "But you will spend every night with her."

"Helaena, I love you. You are my sister," Aegon protested as if he was being attacked by an unseen predator and needed to defend himself.

"Precisely," she responded with a faint smirk of her thin, peony lips, kissing your cheek before she nuzzled herself into the curve of your warm side.

Aegon stared at his sister in confusion, unable to discern what she was saying as he sat in the chair beside your bed. It was all too much to process at once, his mind exhausted and thoughts a maelstrom. He could not find the ability to digest all that had happened in the early morning hours. Now, it was midday, and he suddenly realized he had not slept. The empty spot beside you looked inviting, but he refused to impede on you and Helaena's space.

Observing the two of you brought a suffocating wave of guilt he had never felt before. Aegon fucked whores and spent countless nights away from his wife and felt not a shred of remorse for his actions, yet observing his sister lay next to the woman he loved pushed all the consequences he buried deep within, now festering in his soul.

Helaena was too precious to be tied to a man such as him, too good for the world she was born into, and at the realization, Aegon's nose began to burn.

"Brother, won't you come lay with us?" she asked lightly, her words slightly muffled against your skin.

The prince did not protest. He was too tired and too weak to fight anymore as he slotted himself on the other side of you, arm snaking its way across your chest. He felt at peace. All Aegon had wanted was to sleep beside the one he loved, and now that he did, he was finally at peace, intertwining her fingers with his as they locked in an understanding embrace over your slowly rising breasts.

His eyes trailed from their connected fists, gazing at the symbols that now cracked with your breaths. Aegon wracked his already mushed head for the meaning, the answer scratching at his mind when suddenly his sister's rambles finally made sense, connecting the words to the drawings.

They were not illegible scribbles of a distressed woman but were the glyphs of his ancestor's near-extinct language, a tongue only the privileged few spoke.

The word 'peace' was inscribed into the gray paste on your womb in High Valyrian, the strokes and slopes Helaena made on your skin near perfect, and at that actualization, Aegon could finally rest.

Masterlist of Series

Fun Fact: Hemlock is a broad term for various plants closely associated with each other, and they are an invasive species in North America. One plant within the family is called fool’s parsley because its leaves resemble those of the herb. You can eat a plant that looks close to the poisonous ones called Queen Anne’s Lace, and you can eat it. I wouldn’t recommend it because it’s nearly identical to the bad stuff. 

P.S. Are we excited to have the return of a certain zaddy in the coming chapters?

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[a-dauntless-daffodil]

There were probably other reasons for giving Vaggie a spear VS Lute with her sword, but it still makes me so very very very happy, from a character angle

Spears get called the king of the battlefield for pretty good reason- when you’re on a battlefield specifically, a long pointy stick is VERY good at killing people without letting them get close enough to kill YOU (extra useful if you’re not tall and don’t have much built-in reach). It’s also great for formations, a weapon that that becomes TERRIFYING when it’s a in a group. If a row of spears holds their ground, keeps their nerve, and TRUSTS each other, then they can break a cavalry charge (and WHERE did Vaggie learn to trust people...?)

Spears aren’t infallible tho, obliviously. Get past the pointy part and you’re pretty much golden… if the spear person isn’t holding a shield in their other hand

(Charlie with her shield covering for Vaggie in the finale battle my beloved…!)

Swords, they’re a more diverse group. Lute’s falls into the Versatile category- it can do many things fairly well, but not as good as something specifically dedicated to the task would be, while being easy to carry around. It’s even got a nice bit of hand protection! For dueling or personal everyday defense Lute’s sword is a great pick.

But for the battlefield? It would normally be a back-up weapon. Normally, getting that close to your opponent while carrying NOTHING ELSE would be a bad idea if, say, your opponent might be carrying a spear, or a longer sword, or any combo of side arm + shield. If on the other hand you don’t expect your target to put up much of a fight- because they’re terrified and running from you- or armed with weapons that can’t hurt you- If, in effect, you treat this like a HUNTING trip, and all you need to do is deal the killing blow… then a sword like Lute’s makes perfect sense.

What I’m trying to say is:

Vaggie uses a weapon that says she took fighting alongside her fellow exorcists SERIOUSLY, as a GROUP activity, and she was focused on being as effective as possible. (one of Adams best girls, out there in front where a spear belongs, killing thousands)

And Lute? Lute’s weapon only makes sense in a fight that’s PERSONAL- or in a battle that’s already tilted in her favor.

(bonus: in terms of metal needed and skill required, a sword of Lute’s type will generally be Much More expensive to make than a spear would be. In that sense, it’s a more ‘elite’ weapon, while a spear is more… shall we say.... Replaceable.)

[cdroloisms]

some c!dream fics don't take into account his flaws and make him like a little bit out of characther bc while he was traumatized by the prison and it affected his way of thought in much aspects he was still able to bit your hand if you looked him bad and got more focused on his revenge and after his plan. He's a more morally grey characther and sometimes people who try too hard not fell into the c!inniter caricature ended up making him unable to literally even hold a sword when that isn't true either

"revenge" lol

to be fair, c!dream was deeply affected by the prison and absolutely got nerfed like hell fighting wise. the difference between his fight with clingy before and after the prison is insane--not to mention how scrapped lore had him so damn triggered by the sight of the cell replica that c!quackity and c!sam could get him down pretty much without a fight. las nevadas five has him running away from the fight at the first main sign of danger (and then successfully being followed by c!tommy without noticing) and the scene with c!sapnap and c!george with aimsey had him barely fighting back at all, cowering behind his shield against a wall, and running away and using arrows of harming to get himself distance. like, sure, he can definitely still fight, but he was absolutely played as losing a lot of his fighting ability (c!dream's fighting style is nothing like cc!dream's--it was absolutely a deliberate character choice to have him act like this)

all that being said, i get what u mean--ooc c!dream is everywhere in every flavor. i definitely like c!dream written with a little bit of bite, especially when he's on the back foot, as you said. c!dream's declarations of revenge (as is especially evident in LN5 and daedalus, boy what the fuck is torturing a country supposed to mean IT'S A COUNTRY) are also very evidently ... often defensive in nature? c!dream bites and shows his teeth as a back off back off dont fucking touch me don't try to fuck with me gesture because he's scared moreso than angry, tbh, and i think playing with aggression due to fear is something fun to do with c!dream in fic in general bc of the ways that aggression can be perceived and then responded to

a lot of what i like about post-prison c!dream is that ... despite an alleged focus on revenge (which took him months. and fucked him over, with scrapped lore, and was badly executed both times with quackity and put him in a lot of danger and involved a hell of a lot more trying to get through to sam than actual revenge in daedalus) and The Plan (which involved ... killing people? and then he repeatedly. does not kill people?) is that he does feel quite directionless. he's still in the prison, still caught in that limbo. he's doing research (i guess) and he's letting the prison (his home base) rot around him. he's staying there and barely leaving for weeks at a time. all while he's focused on the plan, guys, #trust, he's fine, he's still moving forward moving on ... just. Just.