#Great white throne judgment

[graceandpeacejoanne]

The End of the World

John now enters a strange, liminal space where death has coughed up its captives who now stand before an immense and gleaning white throne, while numerous volumes are opened... #Revelation20 #BookfoLife #GreatWhiteThrone #LastJudgment #FinalJudgment

Then I saw a throne, immense, white, and the one sitting upon it, from before the face of him flew the earth and the sky, and a place not discovered for them. Then I saw the dead, the great and the small, standing in the presence of the throne, and books were opened—then another book was opened, that is the life: and so the dead were judged, out of the things that had been written in the books…

[superbdonutpoetry]

Deceived

Galatians 6:3For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself. SEVENTH DAY ADVENTISM This belief is not only Calvinistic, but also begs the question: what nation (singular) do they think they are citizens of, since there are Seventh Adventists from almost every nation under the sun? Probably the “new Israel” I would imagine, as they are under the impression…

[oncedelivered]

Everyone's Day of Reckoning

This is the 22nd in a series of excerpts from What Every Christian Should Know About the Return of Jesus, released by High Street Press and available at Amazon.com.  One day, every person is resurrected and summoned before Christ in final judgment. While salvation is a gift of God, received by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone, our lifestyles reflect our beliefs. That is, our…

[joshmcgary]

ISAIAH‬ ‭24‬:‭1‬-‭23‬ ‭‬‬

“Look! The Lord is about to destroy the earth and make it a vast wasteland. He devastates the surface of the earth and scatters the people. Priests and laypeople, servants and masters, maids and mistresses, buyers and sellers, lenders and borrowers, bankers and debtors—none will be spared. The earth will be completely emptied and looted. The Lord has spoken! The earth mourns and dries up, and the…

[bibleteacher-org]

We All Shall Give An Account

Preached Sunday Morning at Riverview

Photo by Nico Siegl: https://www.pexels.com/photo/wiener-justizpalast-15686925/ 1 Peter 4:5-7 Who shall give account to him that is ready to judge the quick and the dead. 6 For for this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit. 7 But the end of all things is at hand: be ye therefore…

[afaithfulsower]

The Great and the Small

Apostle Paul wrote that it is appointed unto man once to die, and then comes judgment. What is this judgment, and who is judging? (Click/Tap below to read more)

“And I saw the dead, the great and the small, standing before the throne, and books were opened; and another book was opened, which is the book of life; and the dead were judged from the things which were written in the books, according to their deeds.”  ~ Revelation 20:12 We live in a fallen world that ranks and divides people in many ways, such as status, power, wealth, achievement, or the…

[jasonpjimenez]

Will you face the Great White Throne?

[cherubimcore]

pairing: emperor caracalla x fem!reader

author's notes: i'm in love with him, your honor

part 1

the throne room of the twin emperors was a place where decisions of life and death were made with a flick of a wrist, its magnificence designed to intimidate and impress. massive marble columns stretched to a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations, while golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the cold, intricate mosaics covering the floor. at the center of the room stood two identical thrones, one for each emperor, their backs adorned with gilded eagles clutching laurel wreaths.

it was here that you were brought, flanked by soldiers who led you through the imposing bronze doors. you entered with your head held high, your foreign features and proud demeanor immediately drawing attention from everyone. courtiers whispered among themselves, the rumors of your curse swirling in the air like smoke.

caracalla sat on the left throne, his body slouched lazily but his sharp eyes gleaming with intrigue. his tunic was dark red, a bold contrast to the opulence around him, and his fingers drummed idly on the armrest. he looked every bit like the predator you had heard about, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he watched you approach.

geta, seated to his brother’s right, was more composed. his posture was rigid, his expression unreadable, but his gaze was no less intense. dressed in white and gold, he exuded authority and calculation, his mind clearly assessing you like a piece on a chessboard.

the guard captain bowed deeply before addressing the emperors. “great caesars, this is the captive of whom the rumors speak—the woman said to be cursed by venus herself.”

caracalla leaned forward, his interest piqued. “the infamous venus’ wraith. i was expecting... more chains,” he quipped, his voice laced with amusement.

you met his gaze without flinching, your defiance palpable. “perhaps you should have brought more, if you think I need them.”

the room fell silent. gasps rippled through the courtiers, and even the guards stiffened at her insolence.

geta raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “bold words for a captive,” he said, his tone icy. “do you not understand where you stand, foreigner?”

“i understand perfectly,” you replied evenly, your voice carrying through the vast room. “i stand before men who believe themselves gods but bleed like mortals.”

caracalla laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber. “i like her,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “she speaks with the confidence of someone who doesn’t fear death.”

your jaw tightened, but you said nothing.

caracalla rose from his throne, descending the steps with a languid grace. he stopped just a few feet from you, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity and amusement. “they say any man who dares to love you meets a tragic end,” he said, circling you, reminding you a lion sizing up its prey. “tell me, venus’ wraith, do you believe this curse is real?”

your voice was steady, though a flicker of pain crossed your features. “what i believe is irrelevant. the gods enjoy their games, whether we believe in them or not.”

caracalla’s smirk widened. “i don’t fear curses. or gods.”

“that makes one of us,” you replied with a sharp tone.

geta rose from his throne, his movements deliberate and commanding. “brother, don’t let your amusement cloud your judgment. if the stories are true, keeping her here could be dangerous—not just for us, but for rome.”

“and if the stories are false?” caracalla countered, turning to face him. “what better way to disprove them than to bring her into our court?”

the two brothers locked eyes, their rivalry simmering beneath the surface. you could practically see gears turning in emperor geta's head, after a couple second with the twins staring at each other geta sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “it... would be good for rome's fame when the word spreads and the other lands find out we have the infamous venus' wraith here... do as you will. but if this said ‘curse’ brings trouble, it will be your burden to bear since you so adamantly want to keep her."

but that wasn’t all, was it? you saw the shine on geta's eyes while thinking about his brother’s proposition, he came to a conclusion… but you were sure emperor geta would keep that to himself until time’s right, he’s that kind of ruler, no one ever knew what geta was planning to do until he already did it and by the rumors you heard before being held captive it almost always envolved someone with a knife on their backs… literally and figuratively.

caracalla turned back to you, a wolfish grin on his face. “you’ll serve me,” he declared. “you’ll dine with the court and entertain us with your wit. let’s see if this curse of yours has any bite.”

your gaze hardened, but you did not resist as the guards escorted you out of the throne room.

you whispered eerily while being taken away.

"good luck then"

caracalla watched your retreating figure, a flicker of fascination sparking in his chest, ignoring your words.

geta returned to his throne, his expression dark. “you’re playing with fire, brother,” he warned.

caracalla only chuckled, his eyes still fixed on the doors through which you had disappeared. “perhaps. but, as you are very aware brother, i’ve always liked the burn.”

you expected to be brought to a regular cell, a place fitting for a prisoner such as yourself, a dirty prison made for those who the emperors deemed less than nothing, undeserving to have at least the minimum a human should have to survive unscarred, both mentally and physically, a place with little to no sunlight, no bed, only the hard cold floor as a place to rest, and food not nearly enough for a small person to survive making them start to think that the rats running around looked appetizing.

you had accepted this was your fate when the emperors decided to keep you in the palace.

after all the deaths you caused, maybe you even deserve it.

but to your surprise you were brought to the top floor of the castle, a place truly fit for royalty and royalty alone.

the marble halls shimmer in the golden glow of torchlight, with intricate mosaics depicting the victories of rome lining the floors and walls. massive columns of polished ivory and black stone support the vaulted ceilings, painted with celestial imagery to reflect the gods’ favor. every corner of this level exudes grandeur, a constant reminder of the emperors' divine authority.

‘a bit egotistical in my opinion’ you thought ‘but beautiful nonetheless’

while being escorted to one of the three rooms on that floor you tried to think of an actual reason for them to keep there. did emperor caracalla really mean it when he alluded to wanting an opportunity to test their powers against the will of the gods? what about emperor geta with the odd glint in his eyes the more he thought about his brother’s idea to make you live in the palace, you wish you knew what both of them are thinking. were you a spectacle for the court? a new deadly weapon in their arsenal? political strategy? just plain and simple curiosity? all the above?

too many variables for you to get even close to a conclusion.

but one thing you knew for sure, they’ll regret it… just like everybody else.

when the guards opened the double doors of your newest room you were left in awe, staring at the large room with your mouth wide open and eyes shining brightly as if you were a kid looking at their newest gift at saturnalia, it was something you expected in a palace but still, you never thought that one day you would be able to see it let alone live in it.

the centerpiece of the room is a grand canopy bed, draped in layers of silken fabric dyed deep purple and gold, your hands delicately touch the frame, intricately carved with motifs of laurel wreaths and mythical creatures, you recognized the two sirens in the middle of the bed and a phoenix in between them, you turned around seeing tall, arched windows, framed by heavy velvet curtains, opening them left you with a breathtaking view of the city below and the distant hills.

it was perfect.

now that you were finally left alone your stoic facade got replaced by a huge smile, you jumped on the bed, happy to finally be able to sleep on an actual soft bed instead of the hard ones you were used to in hotels you stayed, having to change every other week when people find out you were venus’ wraith.

you didn’t want to think about your past or variables and possibilities like you always had since you discovered your curse, you also didn’t want to try and guess what the emperors were thinking, get inside their heads, you had a feeling you weren’t gonna like there.

you let yourself enjoy, at least for a little bit, the comfort of this tiny piece of your new life, after a long time just feeling ashamed for something that was out of your control, feeling those awful thoughts leave your mind you fell asleep.

after the heavy doors of the throne room groaned shut behind you, the space was left eerily silent in your absence. caracalla leaned back in his gilded throne, the lion motifs carved into the armrests glinting faintly in the dim light of the torches. his fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the polished wood as a crooked smile played on his lips.

“she is… unlike anyone we’ve met before,” he mused, his voice low and carrying a trace of amusement. “bold enough to speak plainly, yet clever enough to know her place.”

geta, seated in the larger throne beside him, steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. the cold silver embroidery of his tunic seemed to match the detached tone of his voice. “boldness can be dangerous. it breeds unpredictability.”

caracalla turned his head slightly, his piercing gaze narrowing on his brother. “and yet, unpredictability is what makes her intriguing, isn’t it? someone who defies tradition, dares to enter our halls, and yet does not cower. i see why the city speaks of her in hushed tones. do you think she feels the thrill of having someone’s life in her hands for something as simple as falling in love?”

geta’s lips tightened into a thin line, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering flames of the brazier. “intriguing or not, thrilling or not, she is still an outsider. a foreigner. her presence here invites gossip, and gossip can lead to dissent. we already walk a thin line with the senate.”

caracalla could be many things, bloodthirsty, a monster, impulsive, the list goes on… but on the contrary of many think, he wasn’t stupid, of course because of his disease his mind gets cloudy every once in a while, but right now his mind was as clear as crystal, he knew his brother wasn’t telling the whole truth, maybe he wasn’t even telling the truth in the first place.

but it wasn’t worth it to confront him, geta would only antagonize him, making him believe it was all in his head, his mind would be foggy and confused, making him act and feel insane like everyone believes him to be.

perhaps they were right.

but right now caracalla wanted nothing fogging his mind, especially when it was full of you.

caracalla waved a dismissive hand, the ruby on his ring catching the firelight as he smirked. “let them talk. let them wonder. she is no threat to us here.” his voice dropped, taking on a darker edge. “unless, of course, you plan to fall in love with her.”

geta’s gaze snapped to his brother, his composure unwavering but his tone sharp. “i am not the reckless one here. whatever amusement you find in her will not distract me from what’s supposed to be our duty to rome.”

caracalla laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber like a predator’s growl. “oh, come now, brother. you see the potential as clearly as i do. imagine her in the court, an exotic symbol of rome’s dominion over even the most defiant.”

maybe if he pushed a little geta would open up about his plans, once in his life he would trust caracalla with something, anything, but of course that didn’t happen.

geta remained silent, keeping his thoughts behind the usual cold and calculating facade.

caracalla’s smirk faded, and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. then he leaned back again facing away from his brother.

well, it isn’t like he’s telling the whole truth as well.

the tension between them lingered like smoke in the air, unspoken truths and unacknowledged fears weaving an invisible web.

[novaursa]

Maybe a story with reader being the bastard son of the mad king aerys? Idk what fem characters you write for got, any of them would work :)) (maybe lyanna or elia) like aerys betroths them out of spite or as punishment(?)

Love ur work btw <3

The Bastard Prince

- Summary: Your father bethrodes you to Lyanna Stark out of spite, and sends you North.

- Paring: male!reader/Lyanna Stark

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The towering doors of the throne room loom before you, their weighty presence nearly suffocating under the shadow of the Iron Throne. Two kingsguard flank you, their white cloaks brushing against the stone floor as they lead you forward. It’s rare for the king to summon you so formally, and your gut churns with unease as you step inside.

The hall is filled with lords and courtiers, their eyes turning to you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. They know who you are—Aerys’s bastard son, Y/N Waters, a living reminder of the king’s indiscretions. You can feel the judgment in their stares, each gaze piercing through the thin armor of indifference you wear.

King Aerys sits high on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming against the jagged steel as you approach. His eyes, sharp and blazing with a manic energy, settle on you. There’s a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you sense something dreadful lurking behind it.

“Ah, here he is,” Aerys declares, his voice booming through the chamber. “My own flesh and blood, though born on the wrong side of the sheets.” Laughter echoes from the gathered lords and ladies, a sycophantic chorus that grates against your ears.

You bow stiffly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “Your Grace.”

The king rises, a rustle of fabric and metal, his gaze now shifting toward the northern delegation standing at the base of the throne. Lord Rickard Stark stands at the forefront, his face a stoic mask, but his eyes watchful. Beside him, his son Brandon, tall and proud, and then there’s her.

Lyanna Stark.

The girl is a storm wrapped in furs, her eyes dark and defiant as they meet yours. Her hair, a wild cascade of brown, frames a face flushed with either anger or unease—you can’t tell. She’s beautiful, even more so than the songs suggest, but there’s a fire in her that promises no easy submission.

Aerys gestures toward you with a grand sweep of his hand, his grin widening as he looks back at the Starks. “Lord Rickard, it is with great pleasure that I present to you my son. A gift, you might say, to seal our new alliance.”

You glance at Lord Stark, his jaw tight but giving nothing away. He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment or resignation—you’re not sure which. Brandon’s fists are clenched at his sides, his face thunderous, but he remains silent.

“And as promised,” Aerys continues, his voice dripping with mock benevolence, “your daughter, the lovely Lyanna, will be wed to Y/N. A union that will bind the North and the Crown in unbreakable bonds.”

The words crash over you like a wave, leaving you momentarily stunned. He’s promised her to you? An alliance, yes, but you can see it in the king’s eyes—this is a convenient way to rid himself of you, to send you far from King’s Landing. The North is the furthest he can exile you while still keeping you under his thumb.

Lyanna’s face is a mask of outrage, her lips parting as if to speak, but her father’s hand on her arm stops her. There’s a beat of silence, heavy and tense, and then Lord Stark nods once more, his voice steady but strained. “The honor is ours, Your Grace.”

You force yourself to breathe, your heart hammering in your chest. This is what you are to him, a piece to be moved, a pawn in his dangerous games. And now, it seems, Lyanna Stark is caught in that same trap.

“Of course, I couldn’t deprive the North of such a strong, loyal companion,” Aerys says, his gaze flicking back to you. “I’ve heard tales of your valor, Y/N. You’ll do well up there, won’t you?”

There’s a twisted delight in his words, a promise of torment to come. You know better than to challenge him here, in front of all these eyes, so you simply bow your head. “I will serve as best I can, Your Grace.”

Aerys laughs, a high, grating sound that echoes through the hall. “See that you do. Now, join your new family. You’ll have plenty of time to become acquainted before you depart.”

He waves his hand dismissively, and you’re left standing there, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. With measured steps, you move toward the Starks. Brandon’s eyes blaze with fury, and Lord Rickard’s face is as impenetrable as ever. But it’s Lyanna who holds your attention, her stare unwavering, challenging.

“Lady Lyanna,” you murmur, bowing slightly. It’s all you can manage, unsure of what else to say in the face of such hostility.

She doesn’t lower her gaze, doesn’t flinch. “Ser,” she replies, her voice steady but cold. “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

The bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, and it cuts deeper than you expect. “I didn’t ask for this,” you say quietly, though the words feel inadequate, hollow.

Her eyes flash with something unreadable, and she lifts her chin. “Neither did I.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Lord Stark speaks, his voice low and firm. “We will discuss this in private. There’s no need to make a spectacle here.”

He guides Lyanna away, Brandon following with a dark look cast your way. You watch them go, feeling the weight of the king’s laughter still ringing in your ears.

As the doors close behind them, you’re left standing in the center of the hall, alone and exposed. Aerys’s gaze is still on you, his smile lingering like a poison in the air. He’s won today, sending you far from his court, from the city that’s never felt like home.

The cold wind bites at your skin as you ride north, the chill creeping through the thick layers of your cloak and settling deep in your bones. The southern sun seems like a distant memory now, replaced by the overcast skies and vast, snow-covered landscape of the North. The journey is a long one, and the company keeps mostly to themselves. The Starks are quiet, speaking in low voices among themselves, the anomasity between them and you palpable.

You steal a glance to your side where Lyanna rides, her expression as fierce and guarded as the first time you met her in the throne room. She’s wrapped in heavy furs, her hair whipping behind her in the icy breeze, and though she doesn’t look at you, you can feel her presence like a beacon in the cold, vast emptiness.

For days, your conversations are limited to polite greetings and the occasional exchange of necessities—a stark contrast to the easy camaraderie you’ve known among your companions in King’s Landing. But the North is not the South, and these people are not your friends.

One evening, camp is set near the banks of a frozen river. The northern men build fires and huddle close for warmth, the cold seeping in as night falls. You sit alone, apart from the Starks, staring into the flames, the crackling wood a welcome distraction from the silence that has settled over the camp.

A rustling sound draws your attention, and you look up to see Lyanna approaching. She hesitates for a moment, then lowers herself onto a log across from you, her eyes steady and searching. There’s something different about her tonight—less guarded, though still wary.

“You look like you could use something stronger than water,” she says, her voice soft but carrying the hint of an edge.

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at the flask in her hand. “I’d welcome it, my lady.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and she tosses the flask to you. The burn of the Northern spirit as it goes down is harsh but welcome, and you hand it back with a nod of gratitude.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, watching you carefully. “One might think you’re not looking forward to your new home.”

“I’m not sure what to look forward to,” you admit, meeting her gaze. “Winterfell is a world away from everything I’ve known.”

She studies you for a moment, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Why did you agree to this? The marriage, I mean.”

You look at her, surprised by the question. “Did I have a choice?”

She huffs, a sound halfway between amusement and frustration. “There’s always a choice. Even if it’s a poor one.”

You think about her words, the weight they carry. “And what choice did I have? Refuse and be cast aside by my father, or agree and be sent away to a place where I’ll never belong. Neither seems particularly appealing.”

Her eyes soften slightly, her gaze turning inward. “I know what it’s like, to feel like you don’t belong.” She pauses, her fingers tightening around the flask. “I’m not like my brothers. I don’t want to be just some man’s wife, to sit and sew and bear children while the world passes me by.”

The honesty in her voice surprises you, and you find yourself leaning forward, wanting to understand her better. “What do you want, then?”

“I want freedom,” she says fiercely, her eyes meeting yours with a burning intensity. “I want to ride and fight and live my life as I choose, not as some king or lord decides for me.”

You feel a pang of guilt then, knowing you’re a part of the cage she’s railing against. “I’m sorry, Lyanna,” you say quietly. “I never wanted to be the one to take that away from you.”

She’s silent for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “I know it’s not your fault, not entirely. You’re as much a tool in this as I am.” She takes a sip from the flask, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. Or that I’ll make this easy for you.”

You can’t help but smile at that, a genuine one that catches you by surprise. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

She studies you, and for the first time, you feel like she’s truly seeing you, not just the bastard son of a mad king forced into her life. “You’re different than I expected,” she says finally.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Maybe.” She tilts her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You don’t seem as... desperate to prove yourself as the other knights and lords I’ve met.”

You shrug, the weight of her words settling over you. “What’s there to prove? I am who I am. No amount of posturing or pretending will change that.”

She nods, as if she understands that better than most. “It’s rare to find someone who thinks like that, especially in court.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence then, the fire crackling between you. The cold seems less biting now, the company warmer than you could have hoped. You talk late into the night, sharing stories—hers of the North, the wild, untamed lands and the fierce people who call it home, and yours of King’s Landing, the treacherous courts and the fleeting moments of beauty hidden within its walls.

You learn that she loves to ride, that she dreams of seeing the world beyond Winterfell’s walls. She tells you about her brothers—Brandon’s wild temper, Ned’s quiet strength, Benjen’s mischievous spirit. And you tell her about your life as a bastard in the Red Keep, the half-smiles and whispered slights, the shadow you’ve always lived under as the king’s unwanted son.

When the fire finally burns low, and the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, you feel something shift between you. An understanding, perhaps, or at least the beginning of one. You’re still strangers, bound together by forces beyond your control, but you’re no longer enemies. Not entirely.

As you rise to return to your tent, she stands too, holding your gaze for a long moment. “Goodnight, Y/N,” she says softly, her voice carrying the promise of something more.

“Goodnight, Lyanna.”

The next day, and the days that follow, she rides beside you more often. You talk, sometimes for hours, other times sharing only a few words. The others notice, Brandon especially, his eyes narrowing whenever he sees you together. But Lyanna seems unconcerned, her defiance burning as bright as ever.

You know you’re still an outsider, a southerner in a land that will never truly accept you. But for now, that doesn’t seem to matter as much. You have this, whatever it is, with her. And for the first time since the king’s decree, you feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe this marriage doesn’t have to be a cage for either of you. Maybe, just maybe, it can be something more.

[mira-s-bookclub]

Beneath a Veil of Shadows Part 2

Azriel x Reader

Note: I know one whole week is a lot of time to wait, but have in mind that I am exceptional at over working myself and getting the fattest writing block in history :(. So it is to regulate myself.

Warnings: Mature language, fighting, injury and blood, captivity, mention of torture?

Word Count: 1,9k

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

I wake in a cell; seemingly underground should the smell give any indicator. My head is pulsating with hurt and when I try to stand up, my vision whites out. “I swear to the Mother...!” I breathe out.

A figure comes forth from the darkness across from me. Hoping he comes close enough for me to- I jump forwards. Yanked back by the chains biting into my wrists, I whimper. They had locked me up.

A dark voice chuckles from across me and I look up again. The male had wings and I could bet my soul it was the man I went up against. The man, who disappeared without anything else, would be marked for an earlier death than he thought, either by me or Azriel.

“They are soldiers.”

“What?” I jerk at the voice in the dark cell, my voice breathy. “Azriel did you know this would happen? Is this some means to get inside intel?” The last part came out harsher than I intended, at once regretting ever asking. I did not think he would set me up. Himself? Probably, if Rhysand did not interfere.

“Stop it.” He hisses at me. I cannot see him, but I feel his eyes on me, nonetheless. “I had heard talk of loyalties being changed in Hewn City, people getting ready for a new, great power rising to take the throne.” I hear Azriel at ground level, most likely sitting against the wall, a soft rattling in his chains. “I did not intent for us to approach either problem, but I should have informed you, however.” His voice sounds resigned, apologetic, even. Though he is faulty of nothing. “I would never have asked Rhysand to take you if I knew, know that.”

My heart misses a beat. “You were the reason I was sent here? You asked for me?”

“I missed you.” His voice was almost too soft to hear. “Even before,” he pauses, “our falling-out. I missed something I had not even experienced with you, a closeness that never would be enough. It did not help when I create space between us, but it was easier to pretend the further away from you I was.”

“Azriel- “

“I never would have taken you, Y/n. Never. Not if I had known.” His breathing is uneven, and I can hear him ruffling his wings.

“I do not blame you, Azriel. There was no way you could have known, even if you had informed me, I would not have done anything differently.”

He snorts. “You always stick to a plan, no matter the consequences.”

“I thought that was a desired skill?”

“Not for you.” My own breathing almost faltered. “Abort the mission, Y/n, if you see the result ending up captive or dead.”

I did not know what to say to that. I did not have it in me to leave others behind. If it were not the Inner Circle fighting, then it was someone who chose to fight with me, and I could not disappoint. But if it were the Inner Circle, if it were Azriel, there would be nothing on my mind except the knowing that they must, at all costs, come out of it alive.

I shift, my chains clinking at the movement. If I think of the chains for too long; I was sure panic would cloud my judgment, making me reckless and rash.

Leaning back against the wall, I contemplate our situation. A routine check, Azriel had said, turned traitors and wars. Stuck behind enemy lines, I did not know whether to cry or laugh. I chose the latter.

“I did not know captivity could spark such a light in you, Y/n.” Azriel’s dark voice sent a shiver down my back. Sliding down the wall to the ground, I sniff. Not noticing my tears until they had made their way down my cheeks.

“I have plans with Feyre tonight.”

Azriel was quiet for a time. “I think you might have to reschedule.”

Neither of us spoke for a while after that, the seriousness of the situation weighing down on us. Azriel had estimated for this mission to take a couple of days, and it was uncertain how much time Rhysand was willing to give before tapping into resources to find us. Azriel did not enlighten me to his thoughts, but I knew what clouded my own mind; it would take days before someone would come.

The last hours had been calm and quiet, safe for the irritating drops of water falling from the ceiling. The small space was humid and dark.

At times when panic seemed to seep through my bones, I closed my eyes and wished back to the past. I have memorized the way the sun used to hit my face, how the sand felt between my toes. I am smart enough to know that the brain remembers only the selected few, happy, memories. But Mother was it happy. Thinking back, I could remember snippets of a ship route where my sleeping quarters did not look too far from this.

Right after leaving Cretea, the emissary had told me the cost of taking care of two people would result in far treacherous travels, he had been right. I might have never stepped foot on a ship before, but I sure as hell would not have been ready for that travel, even if I had. We had spent days loading cargo, sleeping in small cots, I had never really dried up during those days. But as I think back to a different time, I wonder if I would have traded places with a younger me.

I look towards Azriel, who is standing again. From the sounds of it he had looked around the cell, probably for anything of use in this situation.

“Azriel?” My voice pierces the silence, and I internally wince.

“Mhm.”

I take a deep breath. “You are more strategically inclined than me, anything on the situation?”

“Do not talk your skills down.” His voice is near, and I hear him sit by me again. I wait for a genuine answer from him, not advice I surely will not take.

“Our last council, not with Prythian, but only The Night Court, was about the ongoing threat of war. Our world is on the verge of destruction, a problem bigger than Rhysand and Amren have thought, even bigger than Elain have foreseen from her position as The Day Courts Seer.” Azriel seems to take a breath, letting the thought sink that they must go to war again, so close to the last. Resources and relocation of people would bring a whole other crisis. “This... situation only confirms my speculations that they are rearming, and that fast.

My confusion swirls again. “Who?”

Heavy steps outside our cell silence us. I can feel my heart quicken and sweat begin to form on my forehead.

“Do not say a thing,” he whispers.

I nod but feel stupid when I remember Azriel cannot see me. My chains feel cold as I caress them, trying to find out if they will unclasp with force, I find nothing.

The door opens, revealing the same male I stood up against, his wings tight against his back. The shining light coming from his torch creates a stark difference between the darkness cloaking this cell. Blinking against the light, his eyes find mine, his lips pulling into a smirk.

“Shadow-singer,” The Illyrian turns to greet Azriel, who says nothing in return, making him focus his attention back to me. “And you, I do not know the name of. Enlighten me.”

I stare at him, knowing Azriel wants me to stay quiet, though everything in me wants to question him. His motifs, his goals, who he works for, though I have my speculations.

He looks gruesome in the flickering light, and as his face consorts in anger at my silence, I know deep down we are fucked.

“Do you not know who I am, Little Raven?” His voice soft, so different from his exterior.

The only sound I hear is my heartbeat, pounding in my ears, and I think it might drown out the next thing he says, I think I might hope it does.

“I am Commander Denholm, of High King Koschei the Deathless’ armies.”

And I think I might die a little bit.

“Get your hands off her!” Azriel’s chains rattle and screech. My own chains pulled by the Gods forsaken male in front of me, hard enough to send me to my knees a second time. I seethe up at him, my anger unmatched. Separating us would mean interrogation, and I reckon this man does not do that civilized. I will not let this man get his hands on Azriel.

I balk as his hands come down to grip my chin and Azriel growls.

“Resist and your friend here die; it is not ideal, but one source of information is all I need.”

That shuts me up pretty quick. I look back at Azriel, who, based on my expression, tugs harder at his chains, knowing I’m yielding. I memorize his face, his expression desperate and full of despair. “Please.” He pleads with Denholm.

I stand on shaking legs, my mind catching up to what this means, playing every scenario to what an interrogation entail. Looking back to Denholm I raise my head a fraction. I will not go lightly, nor will I yield the information he wants, needs.

Tugging on my chains he walks me out of the damp cell; the hallway is made of dark stone, where no light would have made its way down here would it not be for the torches littering the walls. We turn a corner, and doors line every side of us. I try to picture what type of person, or creature, must be behind some of them. Were they innocent, sent here only by mistake? Or were they mad, locked in a battle of the mind, bloodthirsty and cruel?

We continue around another corner and up a set of stairs, at the end of the hallway lay another set of stairs, but he took a right corner, and I followed.

I knew we were close by the expression on his face; cold satisfaction reeked from him. At the end lay a big iron door, heavy enough that even the Commander had to push it open, I am sure it is thick enough to be soundproof.

A small sound escapes my lips, not going unnoticed by Denholm. He threads my chains through a hook in the ceiling and pulls me up just so that my toes reach the cold ground.

He has turned his back to me, ravaging through a table holding different objects I am sure Azriel could name. Reminded of the fact that Azriel does this for a living, I wonder if this is how his victims must feel. If he thinks what is happening right now is right, considering he does this too.

 My breath comes quicker, and quicker, until I’m sure I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe. The walls are moving, and they are moving inwards, closing in on me. My heart is like a finch’s. I cannot breathe, and tears roll down my face as the Commander turns around to meet my gaze. His wings ruffling and rearranging, as I have seen Azriel’s and Cassian’s do when excited.

And in his hand, appearing from his side to give me a good view, is a whip.

And a sob escapes me.

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

To be added to the Taglists, comment:

All ACOTAR - 🌹

All Azriel - 🥀

All TOG - 🌼

Tag List: @tele86 @lilah-asteria @mariahoedt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @tenshis-cake @mybestfriendmademe

[hoboblaidd]

@extravagantliar

"Ten gold says he's sent to the Wardens."

Solas groaned. They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of the notorious Livius Erimond, who stood before her in chains. Nobles from Orlais and Ferelden crowded the great hall of Skyhold, hungry for a bloody spectacle. Solas passed their reserved bottle of brandy back to Varric.

"You don't think that's some kind of justice?"

"It does have the sort of poetic irony you would enjoy."

Varric chuckled. "You got me there. But let me guess," he said, taking a drink before passing it back to Solas. "You'd execute him."

"Of course," Solas shrugged. "Be done with it, instead of letting it linger for years while he succumbs to the blight."

"Sounds like pity, Chuckles."

"Hardly," Solas scoffed. "If one is to render justice, it ought to be swift and decisive, not middling."

"Thought you'd love sending a message," Varric insisted. "The Inquisition makes a decision but considers its allies. Isn't that the sort of practicality you enjoy?"

Solas gave a noncommittal hum around the lip of the bottle. Varric had a point, so Solas did not respond. His silence was acquiescence enough.

"Besides," Varric continued. "It's not like the Wardens are going to take it easy on him. Twenty gold says he's in the Deep Roads before the week ends. That's justice, Chuckles. It's not always the easy answer. It's got to be the right answer."

-

The brightly colored ornamentation of the Orlesians flickered into something grey. Solas ignored it.

-

They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of the deposed Gereon Alexius, who stood before her in chains.

"She'll keep him on," said Varric, a seamless shift in the conversation of a judgment that hadn't happened yet at this point in the Inquisition. Erimond was months away, but Varric passed the bottle back to Solas as if they hadn't been wrenched back in time.

"It would be an unfortunate waste of his knowledge if she did not," Solas allowed, taking a drink. The feeling did not reach his fingers, as it usually did. "But it will signal weakness. It is her first such act. She should be decisive."

"He invented time travel, Chuckles. You said it yourself - you can't waste that kind of knowledge just to send a message."

"You would advise mercy."

"I'd advise justice. Your definition of it's just too linear."

-

Grief set over Alexius in a black fog that stole the warmth from the fire.

-

They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of the Duchess Florianne, who stood before her in chains.

"Yeah this one?" said Varric, reaching for the bottle in Solas' hands. "Chopping block."

Solas barked a laugh, and passed him the bottle.

-

The chill mountain wind burst silently through the doors, dousing the warm light of the torches lining the hall.

-

They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of Thom Rainier, who stood before her in chains. There was no casual bickering, no snide comments as the proceedings unfolded, and no bottle passed between them. The nobles had been escorted from the hall and the great doors closed to the freezing winds and prying eyes.

"This one hit a little too close to home, didn't it, Chuckles?"

"Yes," Solas said softly.

Rainier's resignation and Sidri's inquiries were a muted, wordless echo.

"What would your judgment have been, Varric?" Solas dared to ask, his voice no more than a hushed breath.

"I think you know the answer to that." 

Varric looked at him, and Solas closed his eyes.

-

The Inquisitor sat in judgment of Fen'harel, the Great Betrayer, destroyer of the world twice over, who stood before her in chains. Sidri sat immovable on her throne, her left arm a blinding white light. She had no face, and the light streaming in through the stained glass windows of Skyhold had no color. 

"Everyone deserves the chance to atone," said Varric. His breath was ragged where the dagger had pierced his lungs. He stood beside Solas, the bottle of brandy in his bloody hands. He took a drink, and his lips were deathly pale. 

"I held the knife," said Solas, and it rang as a confession in the empty, silent halls of the Inquisition. "And your blood is only the most recent on my hands." The ghosts of those he sacrificed for his goal hovered around them in the shape of the Titans, Felassan, Mythal, Sidri. And Varric.

"Get over yourself," said Varric, dismissing it with a wave of a hand whose fingernails had already started to turn black. His eyes were bruised, and blood seeped from the gaping wound in his chest. "We both held the knife. My blood's on my hands, too, and I'm alright with it. Hurt like hell, but I made a choice. It turned out shitty, but it was mine."

"Justice should be rendered regardless," said Solas, the cold steel of the executioner's blade stinging the back of his neck. He would almost have welcomed it, were it not for his pride. He was not finished, and no matter how just it might be, he would not stop until he'd seen it through.

"'Justice' doesn't mean death, Chuckles. Sometimes that's the easy way out. But that's what you want, isn't it?"

-

They stand on the crumbling stone of his prison, Varric unreachable at the bottom of the stairs at the ritual site. 

"You want so badly to be the villain so you don't have to face the shit you've done."

"And you want so badly for this life to follow your fanciful tales," Solas snapped. It echoed in the vast, cavernous nothing of the prison. "Justice, atonement, the narrative cleaner than the world will allow."

"You've read my books," Varric chuckled. "All my stories end in tragedy. But tragedy is the fiction, Chuckles. Real life's more complicated than that, and for the better. Everyone gets more chances."

"Even when they do not deserve it."

"Oh come on," said Varric, sitting down on the stone effigy of his body. "You going all maudlin is more boring than my romance books."

A small, fond smile pulled at Solas' face. "They were not boring."

"I'll put that glowing endorsement on the front flap next time: the Dread Wolf, elven god of trickery, bullshitting, and terrible decisions says this is 'not boring.'"

Solas huffed a laugh, the Inquisition's chains evaporating from his hands. They were not needed here. This prison was chain enough. 

"Varric..." He stalled on the apology. Not because he didn't want to, but because...Solas had built this prison. He knew its mechanisms intimately. He knew what it would take to loosen its hold. Confronting it, confronting Varric, meant the resolution of at least one regret. To apologize might mean the end of his ghost in this prison. The end of their constant, echoing arguments. The end of their fragmented dreams together. The end of these stolen moments of companionship. Death was final. Regret, at least, let the dead linger.

And Solas could not let him go.

"You should wake up, Varric."

"Thought I wasn't dreaming."

"Perhaps we both are."

"You really going to stay in there and do this self-pity spiral forever?"

At last, Solas felt a spark of life in himself. "No," he said. He looked out over the gaping chasm of his prison, and saw the silhouette of Rook begin to take shape in the stone. "I have a plan."

"Don't you always," Varric shook his head, but the shape of him was already dissipating, and their argument at the ritual site began again like the tolling of a bell.

Hope I'm not interrupting.

Solas almost welcomed it.

[coffeeman777]

Everyone reading this, this is for you. God appointed that you would see this post at this time. He has a message for you, please don't ignore it.

The message is this: repent of your sins, and believe in Jesus! This life will not last forever. Some day, maybe some day soon, each and every one of us will stand before the Lord to be judged. For those who repent and receive God's offer of pardon through Lord Jesus' sacrifice, they will obtain eternal life. Those who refuse the Lord Jesus and die in their sins, they will receive condemnation and everlasting punishment. Please, I beg you, don't let yourself be counted among the latter!

If you read this and you want to know more, please don't hesitate to reach out to me.

I love you all. I'll be praying for you!

Romans 10:9-13

"...9 because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. 10 For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved. 11 For the Scripture says, “Everyone who believes in Him will not be put to shame.” 12 For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; for the same Lord is Lord of all, bestowing His riches on all who call on Him. 13 For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”"

Titus 2:11-14

"11 For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, 12 training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age, 13 waiting for our blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, 14 who gave Himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession who are zealous for good works."

Titus 3:3-7

"3 For we ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another. 4 But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, 5 He saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to His own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, 6 whom He poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, 7 so that being justified by His grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life."

2 Thessalonians 1:5-10

"5 This is evidence of the righteous judgment of God, that you may be considered worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are also suffering— 6 since indeed God considers it just to repay with affliction those who afflict you, 7 and to grant relief to you who are afflicted as well as to us, when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with His mighty angels 8 in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. 9 They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of His might, 10 when He comes on that day to be glorified in His saints, and to be marveled at among all who have believed, because our testimony to you was believed."

Revelation 20:11-15

"11 Then I saw a great white throne and Him who was seated on it. From His presence earth and sky fled away, and no place was found for them. 12 And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Then another book was opened, which is the book of life. And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done. 13 And the sea gave up the dead who were in it, Death and Hades gave up the dead who were in them, and they were judged, each one of them, according to what they had done. 14 Then Death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death, the lake of fire. 15 And if anyone's name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire."

[daeneryxx]

HOTD S2 EP 2

everytime i think i can’t hate crispin and daemon even more i acc do. assholes.

« the white cloak is the symbol of our purity » OH BC YOU’RE PURE MISTER HYPOCRITE? 🤡

and when were YOU when jaehaerys was murdered? BANGING ALICUNT.

his hatred for rhaenyra UGH this is what happens when you reject the « nice guy ».

also i was SO glad nyra finally tells daemon what he really is and shows us his real face bc YES he’s a p€d0 who has always been jealous of her power. he used her as the easiest way to get close to this power. there was never love between them, only manipulation and grip. viserys was both afraid and uncertain he could count on his own brother.

« book daemon would never 😞 » OFC THIS SELFISH MF WOULD HELLO? he started to teach nyra abt s€x when she was like 14 in the book (started to have eyes for her in the show). he took her to a brothel at 17/18 and left her there half naked to ruin her reputation bc he perfectly knew everyone would know. and since she was already the heir well that was the ideal way of marrying her and getting closer to the crown he had lost. he’s a horrible man.

well now abt the greens, aegon and helaena DESTROYED me. their ways of grieving are so different, aegon being more violent and helaena being more … idk, in a deep state of shock and depression. her madness is slowly coming and i’m so afraid … my girl 💔 (HER HAVING A PANIC ATTACK ON THE CARRIAGE HELP).

ik aegon isn’t a good person but i think his character is so deep and interesting … he could’ve been a whole different person if someone had cared abt him in his youth and if things had been different (also i’m MADLY in love with tom glynn carney, it somewhat impairs my judgment lmao).

« my little son’s body » 💔

quite relieved to find out the parade was otto’s idea. i mean this man is monstrous, aegon, helaena and alicent didn’t want that (even if alicent didn’t really fight the idea). good thing aegon fired this creep bc « viserys was right abt you » I’M SORRY DIDN’T YOU PUT HIM ON THE THRONE WITH THE HELP OF YOUR DAUGHTER WHO CHOSE TO TRUST THE LAST WORDS OF AN OLD SENILE MAN AFTER HE PROBABLY TALKED NONSENSE FOR YEARS 🤡

aemond with the woman who r@ped him 💔 poor baby, he seemed so vulnerable all naked and curled up, regretting what happened with his nephew.

DAERON MENTIONED!!

jace opening himself abt his relationshipS with fatherS 😞

ALSO absolutely devastated abt the cargyll brothers. almost cried when they fought. erryk killing himself out of shame and honor was heartbreaking.

anyway, this episode was GREAT, get behind me asoiaf victims 🤺🤺

(i need helaena to tell EVERYONE what her mom and ser crispin were doing)

[stargareed]

Click

Summary: Dany finds something peculiar among her family’s ashes.

(Jonerys fanfic)

Dany looked up at the white, puffy clouds, which appeared to be moving quickly past the still ruins that framed them. Despite the shadow of grief that hung over it, she was surprised at how alive Summerhall was. Colorful birds were chirping without a care in the world, flying in and out of the rubble. Perhaps there were nests in the nooks and crevices they were attending to? She turned her head to see a young tree growing in the middle of the ruined hall. Dany squinted at one of the leaves. Was it a chestnut or ash? During their trip across the Narrow Sea, Tyrion had rattled off the names of a dozen or so trees she’d likely see for the first time in Westeros. It definitely was not an oak. They had those in Essos as well.

She saw a squirrel scurry across a limb out of the corner of her eye. Dany found herself envying the creature’s freedom. Collect nuts. Don’t get eaten. Success. She smiled, then furrowed her brow. Well, I guess he likely has to find a mate as well. That always complicates things. She frowned. The gray rodent stopped, as if he could hear Dany’s thoughts.

“I must needs return,” Dany whispered to the squirrel. “But I want to stay here forever, where time cannot touch me.” She had flown to Summerhall to find answers. She thought when she arrived at Dragonstone, her mission would be clear--take back the throne for her family. Instead, the opposite occurred: Dany learned that a young man claiming to be her nephew had already taken King’s Landing in the name of House Targaryen. It caused her mixed feelings. If he really was Rhaegar’s son, why was he protected when she and Viserys weren’t? Or was he only protected because his guardians sought to gain power through him? Mayhaps he truly was a mummer’s dragon? Regardless, Dany would have to treat with him sooner or later, as she would with what was left of the Lannister-Tyrell alliance, the ironborn, and this supposed “King in the North” whom Tyrion was surprisingly fond of. Gods, is there anyone Tyrion doesn’t know?

Ser Barristan had told her that Rhaegar would travel to Summerhall alone, with only his harp as company, and would always come back with a song. But it wasn’t a song she needed; it was guidance. So, Dany had spent hours combing over every inch of the abandoned castle, hoping to hear the whispers of King Aegon, Prince Duncan, or even the woods witch. But the only voices she heard were the sounds of wings fluttering and claws scampering.

But before she left to face the inevitable conflict that awaited her, Dany decided to lay out her blanket in what remained of the great hall and rest where her brother once slept beneath the moon and stars. She pretended that her white blanket was a cloud, and that she was floating amid the soft, snowy sky mountains above her. Not quite as exhilarating as riding a dragon, but far more relaxing. She ran her fingertips over the soft fabric, imagining her hand going through it like it was a ghost. Was her family proud that she had managed to do in the Dothraki Sea what they failed to do here? Or were they angry with her for Viserys’s death, and being poised to battle Rhaegar’s son? Maybe that’s why they weren’t speaking to her? It didn’t matter. Dany couldn’t worry about their judgment. If I look back I’m lost.

Her eyelids grew heavy as a soft, cool breeze kissed her cheek. Dany felt a wave of calm slowly roll over her. She hummed. She felt a tickle on the back of her hand. Was that the wind as well? Dany listened to birds and frogs serenade her, interrupted by the occasional rustling of leaves. She felt the tickling again, this time on her arm. She opened her eyes and saw a butterfly, its wings a curious mix of red, black, and white. She remained as motionless as the ruins around her, hoping not to scare her visitor. But a few seconds later it fluttered its wings and drifted away towards an alcove.

Dany frowned, but then her curiosity overwhelmed her desire to rest and before she knew it, she was on her feet, chasing after the flying insect like a fool. Dany didn’t have to go far, as the bug appeared to be waiting for her on an old chest tucked behind an arched opening. As she approached, she noticed the wood on the chest had rotted from being exposed to the wind and rain, and the metal had rusted. Even if it was locked, I could probably open it just by sneezing.

The butterfly didn’t move, even when Dany got close. It wasn’t until she reached for the latch that the insect flew away. She winced at the loud creaking sound the hinges made as she slowly opened the chest, but any embarrassment was quickly forgotten when she noticed dozens of scrolls filling the inside. Dany opened one and blew the dust off. Her eyes flitted across the page, and then rolled when she realized it was just an inventory of horses. Information on sheep, goats, and chickens greeted her in the adjacent scrolls. After about ten minutes of reading, she blew a stray hair out of her face, annoyed.

Dany dug her hands deeper into the pile of scrolls, then stopped when she sensed one was weighted. She pulled it up and a silver necklace fell out of it, into her hand. Dany shifted the chain around with her thumb and studied the pendant. It was a strange shape that had jagged edges on one side. She couldn’t make out what it was, though she noticed it had small holes in the back and bottom.

Dany unrolled the scroll the necklace had been tucked inside of. She’d never seen such elegant writing before. The letters looped and flowed seamlessly. The embellishments on the first letter of each sentence made the writing almost into a work of art. The letter read:

If it were up to me, I would have stayed with Lyanna in that tower until the end of time. But alas, I cannot hide from the Usurper forever. We are destined to meet on the battlefield. If I were to fall, I cannot stand the thought that this would pass into my cousin’s hand, especially considering who has the other half. I hope to return to retrieve this. But if I do not, I pray someone still loyal to my House will find this and return it to my love, Lyanna, with my deepest apologies for leaving her to raise our child alone. 

It was signed, “Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone.”

Dany’s surprise at finding something ostensibly written by her brother eventually receded into mild amusement. “Ser Barristan was right. He really was a lovestruck prince,” Dany muttered to herself, shaking her head and smiling. She read the letter a few more times. Lyanna must’ve lost the child when she died. A feeling of sadness swept over her as she thought of yet another child of Rhaegar who never had the chance to grow up.

Drogon’s roar broke her from her thoughts. I wonder if he was able to find some food in the Red Mountains? She stood up, shut the chest, and began walking to her child, tucking Rhaegar’s letter into her pocket. It was comforting to know that her brother also knew how she felt—wanting to stay in a peaceful place where time stood still but having to leave to face your enemies. I just hope my fate will be different than his. She clasped the chain behind her neck and gripped the oddly-shaped pendant between her thumb and forefinger. I’m sorry, Brother, that Lyanna and her child are gone. But hopefully you find me worthy to wear your necklace.

Three Months Later—Dragonstone

As the door shut behind Missandei, Dany felt more at ease. She could finally talk to Jon Snow alone without having to worry about projecting power with every sentence. Though she’d be a fool if she thought she could let her guard down, even for a moment.

“You’re fearless, I’ll give you that. Traveling to Dragonstone, not to bend the knee, but to demand I fight with you. Maybe you should inherit the name Ser Barristan has borne since he was a boy?” Dany poured them wine as she talked, only making eye contact when she handed Jon his cup. His face was ice, revealing nothing. It was also surprisingly handsome, as the Starks weren’t known for their looks. A faint scar across his eye hinted of battles fought. She was intrigued and wanted to know more. Though she’d never tell him that.

“I’m not bold, just desperate,” he confessed in a deep Northern accent, never once breaking his gaze from hers after she sat down. She was taken aback by his honesty. Or is this part of his ploy to win my sympathies? All her life men had wanted things from her. This “king” was no different.

Dany noticed him look down at her chest, and when he continued staring, she cleared her throat. He looked up at her, puzzled. Then it dawned on her what he was actually staring at: She’d been playing with her necklace without realizing. Dany then noticed the King in the North also had a necklace, though she couldn’t make out the pendant with where he was sitting.

“I see you also like necklaces. Where did you get yours?” she asked, gripping her cup tightly.

“My mother left it to me. It was originally hers,” Jon said.

She furrowed her brow. “Tyrion said you didn’t know who your mother was. You must’ve learned in the past few years? Perhaps at the Wall?” She took a sip of wine. This is getting interesting.

“I learned only recently, at Winterfell.” Jon began looking at her necklace again.

“I also inherited my necklace, in a way. It was my brother Rhaegar’s. He left it at Summerhall,” Dany explained, smiling sadly.

Jon nodded. “He must’ve left it there on his way to fight Robert at the Trident.”

Dany’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

Jon put his cup down and rose from his chair, slowly walking up to where she was sitting. He offered his hand and helped her up so they were standing face to face. “May I?” he asked, pointing at her necklace.

Dany was confused but found herself nodding anyways. When Jon gently grabbed her pendant, his fingers lightly brushed against her bare chest, causing her breath to hitch.

“I think it’s important that we combine our forces. For as powerful as we are separately, we’ll be unstoppable—” he paused, clasped the pendants together until Dany heard a click, and then released them to reveal a single larger pendant— “together.”

Dany couldn’t believe her eyes. The two pendants had snapped together into the shape of Westeros: Jon’s pendant was the North, hers was everything south of the Neck. She must not have noticed it before because her pendant was always upside down when she looked at it—the jagged edges must’ve been Dorne and the Fingers of the Vale.

Dany looked back up at Jon, a thousand questions filling her mind. “So, wait, who was your mother? How did she--?”

“She was a woman who loved your brother very much,” Jon said, a slight look of apprehension on his face.

Then she realized. “My brother, or your father?”

“Why not both?” Jon said, his stormy eyes penetrating hers. For the first time, she noticed they were almost touching; both chains were short, which left them so close she could see the individual hairs of his beard. And his scent, gods. She instinctively began to move back to get a little breathing room, eyes widening when she felt a slight tug on the back of her neck as she realized their necklaces were still locked together. For the first time, Jon’s full lips formed a smile. That arse. He’s enjoying my captivity.

“I hope being locked together with me isn’t too unpleasant. I made sure to wash my mouth out with mint this morning,” Jon japed.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just, the chains aren’t very long,” Dany said, feeling her cheeks warm.

“I’ll release the latch if you promise to help me,” Jon offered, tapping his finger against the taut chain so Dany could feel it like a pulse.

“You’re coercing me?” Dany asked, raising an eyebrow and pursing her lips.

“I learn from the best. How many times did you remind me of Drogon during our initial meeting?”

Dany sighed. “I never intended—” she began, then paused to gather her thoughts. “I’m not my father.”

“Aye, I know. But I am. Just as you are your brother. That’s why we’re going to work well together.” Jon arched his brow and nodded, waiting for her to speak.

Dany smiled. “Aye . . . Nephew. But you’ll have to release me before I can fight the army of the dead.”

Jon grinned as he pinched the back of the pendant and wiggled, unlatching his from Dany’s. Dany didn’t move. “You’re free now,” Jon said.

Dany nodded, then grabbed Jon’s pendant and latched it together with her own once again. She giggled, and then caught herself. “Sorry. It’s just very clever.”

Jon smiled. “Aye, it is. Apparently, my father had it made for my mother after the Tourney at Harrenhal. He gave it to her when they met up the next year. I never thought,” Jon began, pausing as his eyes began to glisten. “I never thought it’d be whole ever again. I thought Rhaegar’s half was lost forever.”

“Two halves, separated for almost 20 years, finally meeting again, and becoming whole,” Dany said, wondering if Jon caught her double meaning.

The way his face changed showed he did. “The singers would love it,” Jon joked.

Looks like I left Summerhall with a song, after all, Dany thought.

[joshmcgary]

DANIEL‬ ‭7‬:‭9‬-‭12‬ ‭

“I watched as thrones were put in place and the Ancient One sat down to judge. His clothing was as white as snow, his hair like purest wool. He sat on a fiery throne with wheels of blazing fire, and a river of fire was pouring out, flowing from his presence. Millions of angels ministered to him; many millions stood to attend him. Then the court began its session, and the books were opened. I…

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Daniel's Vision of the Four Beasts

1 In the first year of Belshazzar king of Babylon, Daniel had a dream, and visions passed through his mind as he was lying in bed. He wrote down the substance of his dream.

2 Daniel said: ‘In my vision at night I looked, and there before me were the four winds of heaven churning up the great sea. 3 Four great beasts, each different from the others, came up out of the sea.

4 ‘The first was like a lion, and it had the wings of an eagle. I watched until its wings were torn off and it was lifted from the ground so that it stood on two feet like a human being, and the mind of a human was given to it.

5 ‘And there before me was a second beast, which looked like a bear. It was raised up on one of its sides, and it had three ribs in its mouth between its teeth. It was told, “Get up and eat your fill of flesh!”

6 ‘After that, I looked, and there before me was another beast, one that looked like a leopard. And on its back it had four wings like those of a bird. This beast had four heads, and it was given authority to rule.

7 ‘After that, in my vision at night I looked, and there before me was a fourth beast – terrifying and frightening and very powerful. It had large iron teeth; it crushed and devoured its victims and trampled underfoot whatever was left. It was different from all the former beasts, and it had ten horns.

8 ‘While I was thinking about the horns, there before me was another horn, a little one, which came up among them; and three of the first horns were uprooted before it. This horn had eyes like the eyes of a human being and a mouth that spoke boastfully.

9 ‘As I looked,

‘thrones were set in place, and the Ancient of Days took his seat. His clothing was as white as snow; the hair of his head was white like wool. His throne was flaming with fire, and its wheels were all ablaze. 10 A river of fire was flowing, coming out from before him. Thousands upon thousands attended him; ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him. The court was seated, and the books were opened.

11 ‘Then I continued to watch because of the boastful words the horn was speaking. I kept looking until the beast was slain and its body destroyed and thrown into the blazing fire. 12 (The other beasts had been stripped of their authority, but were allowed to live for a period of time.)

13 ‘In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. 14 He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all nations and peoples of every language worshipped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.

The interpretation of the dream

15 ‘I, Daniel, was troubled in spirit, and the visions that passed through my mind disturbed me. 16 I approached one of those standing there and asked him the meaning of all this.

‘So he told me and gave me the interpretation of these things: 17 “The four great beasts are four kings that will rise from the earth. 18 But the holy people of the Most High will receive the kingdom and will possess it for ever – yes, for ever and ever.”

19 ‘Then I wanted to know the meaning of the fourth beast, which was different from all the others and most terrifying, with its iron teeth and bronze claws – the beast that crushed and devoured its victims and trampled underfoot whatever was left. 20 I also wanted to know about the ten horns on its head and about the other horn that came up, before which three of them fell – the horn that looked more imposing than the others and that had eyes and a mouth that spoke boastfully. 21 As I watched, this horn was waging war against the holy people and defeating them, 22 until the Ancient of Days came and pronounced judgment in favour of the holy people of the Most High, and the time came when they possessed the kingdom.

23 ‘He gave me this explanation: “The fourth beast is a fourth kingdom that will appear on earth. It will be different from all the other kingdoms and will devour the whole earth, trampling it down and crushing it. 24 The ten horns are ten kings who will come from this kingdom. After them another king will arise, different from the earlier ones; he will subdue three kings. 25 He will speak against the Most High and oppress his holy people and try to change the set times and the laws. The holy people will be delivered into his hands for a time, times and half a time.

26 ‘“But the court will sit, and his power will be taken away and completely destroyed for ever. 27 Then the sovereignty, power and greatness of all the kingdoms under heaven will be handed over to the holy people of the Most High. His kingdom will be an everlasting kingdom, and all rulers will worship and obey him.”

28 ‘This is the end of the matter. I, Daniel, was deeply troubled by my thoughts, and my face turned pale, but I kept the matter to myself.’ — Daniel 7 | New International Version - UK (NIVUK) Holy Bible, New International Version® Anglicized, NIV® Copyright © 1979, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® All rights reserved worldwide. Cross References: Job 33:14; Psalm 2:6; Psalm 12:3; Daniel 2:40; Daniel 4:19; Daniel 5:6; Daniel 8:22; Matthew 8:20; Matthew 24:31; Matthew 28:3; Luke 1:33; Luke 2:19; 1 Corinthians 6:2-3; 2 Thessalonians 2:3; Hebrews 1:14; Revelation 5:5; Revelation 11:1; Revelation 11:5; Revelation 11:7; Revelation 12:3; Revelation 13:1-2; Revelation 13:5; Revelation 17:8; Revelation 17:12; Revelation 17:14; Revelation 19:20; Revelation 20:10; Revelation 22:5