#Historic Queens

[relaxandtakealoadoff]

I know this will make me look like a salesman pitching sales for a show but I’m not. I’m just very much into history of Kings and Queens and The Medieval Era.

Anyway right now there are 2 seasons of this show to view for free- normally it’s like 15 dollars a season. If you love Medieval history and kings and queen this is a must watch. The only other film I consider great are the 2 Elizabeth movies with Cate Blanchett as Queen Elizabeth I. I mean I love history so almost all the things Ive seen are somewhat great but this show is the epic thing to watch! If you do watch it let me know what you think.

[maked-art]

So, I saw this image on Facebook, and it was supposedly showing what Queen Nefertiti would have looked like in real life:

Now, I thought this AI generated garbage was just truly terrible on a number of levels; first off, she looks wayyyyyy too modern - her makeup is very “Hollywood glamour”, she looks airbrushed and de-aged, and as far as I’m aware, Ancient Egyptians didn’t have mascara, glitter-based eyeshadows and lip gloss. Secondly, her features are exceptionally whitewashed in every sense - this is pretty standard for AI as racial bias is prevalent in feeding AI algorithms, but I genuinely thought a depiction of such a known individual would not exhibit such euro-centric features. Thirdly, the outfit was massively desaturated and didn’t take pigment loss into consideration, and while I *do* like the look of the neck attire, it's not at all accurate (plus, again, AI confusion on the detailing is evident).

So, this inspired me to alter the image on the left to be more accurate based off the sculpture’s features. I looked into Ancient Egyptian makeup and looked at references for kohl eyeliner and clay-based facial pigment (rouge was used on cheeks, charcoal-based powder/paste was used to darken and elongate eyebrows), and I looked at pre-existing images of Nefertiti (namely other reconstructions). While doing this, I found photos of a 3D scanned sculpture made by scientists at the University of Bristol and chose to collage the neck jewellery over the painting (and edited the lighting and shadows as best as I could).

Something I see a lot of in facial recreations of mummies is maintaining the elongated and skinny facial features as seen on preserved bodies - however, fat, muscle and cartilage shrink/disappear post mortem, regardless of preservation quality; Queen Nefertiti had art created of her in life, and these pieces are invaluable to developing an accurate portrayal of her, whether stylistic or realistic in nature.

And hey, while I don't think my adjustments are perfect (especially the neck area), I *do* believe it is a huge improvement to the original image I chose to work on top of.

I really liked working on this project for the last few days, and I think I may continue to work on it further to perfect it. But, until then, I hope you enjoy!

Remember, likes don't help artists but reblogs do!

[laurenillustrated]

I started drawing the Ever After High girls in random historical fashion eras… why? I have no idea

Raven Queen in 1890s, Apple White in Italian Renaissance.

Briar Beauty in 1920s, Madeline Hatter in 1880s

No particularly reason for the eras, just the vibe I get from the characters and their designs!

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Elizabeth Taylor - Cleopatra (1963)

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 4,801. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23, @leathesimp. —the lost queen series masterlist. — ko-fi

Chapter 20

The march was an ordeal for all involved. The scorching summer heat punished soldiers and animals alike, making each step a monumental effort. Armor gleamed in the merciless sun, and the air seemed to ripple with the heat rising from the arid ground. The mood was almost palpable, a shadow that followed the ranks like an unwelcome companion. Yet everyone knew that they would rather face the scorching sun than face the icy winter winds that chilled them to the bone.

The destination was Babylon, a journey that would take months, according to the strategists' calculations. The army, vast in number and presence, advanced slowly due to the chariots, tents, and supplies that accompanied it. This slowness irritated Alexander deeply. He was completely focused on his goal: to rescue his wife, no matter the cost.

He was Alexander, and he would raze cities, enslave people, and send men to the sword until he recovered his wife, his Queen.

His wife and child were waiting for him. Alexander missed (Y/N) terribly. The moments they spent together, few but significant, did not make up for the emptiness in his chest due to his wife's absence. Nothing could fill the void that was eating away at him except having her in his arms once more, and this time he would be sure that no one could take her away from him again.

Impatience was eating away at him. He ardently wished to have wings like Icarus, to take flight and cross the sky to the gates of Babylon. Each day that passed seemed like an insult to his desire for action, an affront to his restless spirit.

It was then that he made a strategic decision. To speed up the advance, he decided to divide the army in two. He would lead the vanguard, accompanied by his main officers and the elite of his soldiers. The rearguard would be under the command of Parmenion, an experienced and trustworthy general. It would still take time to reach the city, but the movement would be faster with fewer men and baggage at the front.

Alexander would naturally lead the first group. His eagerness to advance as quickly as possible was almost tangible. Part of him wanted to mount Bucephalus and gallop non-stop to Babylon, ignoring all the risks of the road. However, reason prevailed over impulse. He knew that abandoning his army would be foolish. The path was treacherous, full of possible ambushes and challenges that would require his command and leadership. And he could not simply leave his own people behind.

As the sun set, dyeing the horizon red and gold, Alexander rode at the head of his troops, his gaze fixed on the east. Babylon was far away, but in his mind, he could already visualize the city gates, the imposing walls and the reunion that fueled his spirit. Determined and tireless, he advanced, guided by passion and the promise of victory.

Soon, he promised himself, (Y/N) would be back in his arms and he would never let her leave his side again.

"Alexander, please. The soldiers and animals need to rest." Hephaestion insisted, his voice thick with concern. He watched his friend closely as the men set up their makeshift camp for the night. The sky was already painted with shades of purple and gold, announcing the end of the day, but Alexander remained restless, almost oblivious to the exhaustion of everyone around him.

If it were up to him alone, Alexander would have continued the march without hesitation, ignoring the approaching darkness and the limits of the human body. But he knew that leadership was not just about giving orders; it was also about understanding the needs of his men. As much as he wanted to force them forward until their feet were raw, he needed to be wise.

"Fine," Alexander replied with a heavy sigh, finally giving in. He removed his sword from his belt and placed it at his side, as if the act symbolized a brief surrender. His eyes, intense and determined, fixed on Hephaestion. "But tell them that tomorrow, at first light, we will march again!"

Hephaestion sighed deeply, a mixture of relief and frustration. He knew Alexander better than anyone, and knew that this was as much of a concession as he could get. "I will," He replied with a slight nod, before walking away to relay his orders.

The camp soon came to life, filled with the sound of the soldiers' tired voices. Some drank wine around the campfires, their hoarse laughter mingling with the crackle of the flames. Others ate in silence or tended to their wounds, enjoying the brief respite of a night without marching.

Inside his tent, Alexander secluded himself. Sitting on a simple rug, he opened his copy of the Iliad. The epic poem was more than just reading material for him; it was a refuge, an anchor in the midst of the storm that raged within his mind. His eyes scanned the words greedily, absorbing the stories of heroes and battles that he so admired.

Alexander could not help but make the inevitable comparison. Once again, he saw himself as Achilles, the hero he so admired and whose legacy he aspired to equal — or even surpass. Hephaestion, ever loyal and ever present, was to him what Patroclus had been to the legendary warrior, a friend, a soul brother, someone he trusted more than himself.

But there was a third figure in this epic narrative that shaped his life. (Y/N), his wife, was his Briseis. Just as Agamemnon had torn Briseis from Achilles, breaking the hero's trust and inciting his fury, (Y/N) had been taken from Alexander. Not by a superior commander, but by Perdiccas — someone he had dared to call a friend.

Perdiccas' betrayal was an open wound in Alexander's heart. A man he had trusted had now allied himself with the Persians, keeping his wife captive. The memory of (Y/N)'s face, her beauty, her grace, her laughter, fueled his determination. He refused to accept that she would remain out of his arms, held captive like a trophy of war.

Thoughts boiled in his mind as he clenched his fists. He knew that, like Achilles, his anger and pain would drive him. But unlike the Greek hero, Alexander would not let anger cloud his mission. He would use his intelligence, his skill as a strategist, and his unbreakable willpower to get her back. He has to.

No matter the price he had to pay. No matter how many men or how many miles separated them. He would cross deserts, face armies, and defy even the gods if necessary. Because (Y/N) was not just his wife; she was his heart, the part of him that made him human amidst the divinity of his dreams.

And just as Achilles had gone after Briseis, Alexander would go to Babylon to seek (Y/N). But unlike his favorite hero, he would not let anyone stop him. Perdiccas would pay for his betrayal, the Persians would fall, and he would bring his wife back. No matter the cost. No matter the time. He would get her back.

And everyone who got in his way would be killed.

"Do you really think capturing Babylon right away is a good idea?" Nearchus's voice cut through the crackling of the fire, carrying the drawl of someone who had had a little too much to drink. He swung his wine cup slightly, the dark liquid reflecting the flames.

The other generals looked up, some with impatience, others with amusement. The firelight illuminated their battle-scarred faces, creating shadows that made them look even more worn from the campaign. Alexander was in his tent, lost in thought or reading, as usual, and none of them dared disturb him. As for Hephaestion, they all knew he was busy with his endless duties, and though he had been invited, he had politely declined.

So that left just them. As always.

"Do you want my honest opinion, or would you prefer a more optimistic one?' Ptolemy replied, his mocking smile shining in the firelight. He held his wine with the same casualness of someone going about their day, though the irony was evident in his tone.

Nearchus wrinkled his nose, clearly dissatisfied with the answer, but he didn't bother to reply. He simply took another sip of his wine, perhaps as a way to distract himself. Cassander, as was typical of him, rolled his eyes dramatically and muttered something unintelligible that seemed to include the words "idiots" and "waste of time."

Cleitus, on the other hand, laughed. The sound was low, almost infectious, and it made the others look at him for a moment. He seemed more relaxed than usual, warmed by the wine and the rare camaraderie they shared in the midst of war.

"You may be a bunch of blockheads," He said, gesturing with his free hand, "but oddly enough, I like being here with you."

There was something genuine in his words, though the alcohol certainly helped. No matter how much they had their differences —and there were many — there was an unbreakable bond between them. They could tease each other, argue, and even fight, but when it came time to fight, they trusted each other as friends, as brothers, perhaps.

"Don't get all emotional now, Cleitus." Cassander's mocking voice echoed through the circle of generals, thick with irony as he arched an eyebrow. His green eyes glinted mischievously in the flickering light of the fire, ready to provoke.

"And don’t get all bitter, Cassander," Cleitus snapped back without missing a beat, his tone sharp but with a hint of humor. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing the final blow. "Tell me, is your bed really that empty?"

Cassander's face hardened, his mouth already opening to spew a sharp retort, but before he could fire off his retort, Ptolemy held up a hand, interrupting him with a tone of restrained exasperation.

"Now, no more arguing, huh?" He grumbled as he tilted the jar to refill his cup, the red liquid glistening in the light of the flames. "We're having a decent time, and we don't need two bickering children to ruin it."

Cleitus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he finished his wine in one gulp, not caring when a few drops escaped and stained his dark beard. He looked pleased with himself, relaxing back into his makeshift chair.

Cassander, on the other hand, looked indignant. He shot Ptolemy a sharp look, clearly annoyed at being compared to a child, but decided not to prolong the argument. With an expression that was a mix of irritation and disdain, he just snorted, muttering something unintelligible before picking up his own wine cup.

Nearchus, already visibly drunker, resumed the conversation, his voice carrying a note of sincere concern, albeit slurred. "But seriously, I don't think it’s a good idea to attack Babylon so immediately. The Persians have probably already received the news. They must be preparing, and honestly, another siege is not at all pleasant. We will lose more men than necessary."

The words hung in the air, and Ptolemy sighed, placing his wine cup on the floor, his gaze distant and thoughtful. "Yes, you are right. But what can we do? Alexander is determined. And.... She is our Queen."

The mention of (Y/N) brought a brief silence between the men. The light of the fire seemed to shine a little brighter in each of their eyes as they thought of her. Although the time they spent with her was limited, (Y/N) had earned a special place among the Macedonians.

She was not just Alexander's wife; she was a singular presence, able to touch even the most hardened hearts from years of war. Everyone remembered how she had saved Cleitus from certain death in a previous incident, defying orders to ensure he received medical care, how she had saved him with her own hands. Her kind heart and dedication to every soldier, regardless of rank, were rare qualities.

"She's different," Cleitus murmured, breaking the silence. He stared into the wine in his cup, as if the words had come out of themselves. "She didn’t have to, but she cares. About all of us."

The others nodded silently, even Cassander, who usually maintained a cynical air, seemed lost in thought.

Besides all that, (Y/N) was a good influence on Alexander. Where he was fire, she was the water that balanced him. She brought humanity to the king, reminding him that leadership was not just about conquest, but also about care and responsibility.

That was why they marched. It wasn't just for Alexander, or his glory, or the empire he sought to build. It was also for her, their Queen, someone who didn't deserve to be held captive. They would bring her back, not just out of duty, but because she had become part of the soul of the army.

Cleitus rose from his seat with a determined movement, his eyes shining in the firelight. With the firm stance of a warrior and the conviction of a man who knew what he was fighting for — or in this case, who he was fighting for — he raised his cup of wine.

"For our Queen!" His voice rang out loudly, full of respect and devotion.

For a moment, silence fell, but then, one by one, the other generals followed suit. Cups were raised to the starry sky, almost as an offering to the gods, the glow of the fire reflecting off the red liquids that danced within them.

"For our Queen!" They repeated in unison, their voices mingling, full of fervor and loyalty.

The wine was drank, but the true toast had been made long before that moment. It was in their hearts, in their determination. They would march for Alexander, for the empire, for glory — but above all, they would march for her.

And they would not rest until their Queen was free. And until everyone involved in her kidnapping was dead.

A few days before the march,

Roxanna moved restlessly around her room, unable to contain the anxiety that was eating away at her chest. She felt her servant's fingers sliding through her long black hair, gently combing it, but not even the repetitive gesture could calm her. Her thoughts were far away, swirling around a single name.

"Leave me alone." Her voice was firm, but without emotion. She did not deign to look at her servant, who obeyed immediately, leaving her with her whirlwind of thoughts.

Her father's visit a few hours earlier had only served to heighten her uneasiness.

"Seduce him, Roxanna. Make him marry you. For our people."

His words repeated in her mind like a crushing burden. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was an order. A mission.

She sighed, her eyes lost in the reflection of the bronze mirror before her. Yes, Alexander was a handsome man. An unbeatable warrior, a powerful king. He could offer protection to her people, he could give her a position no other woman in Bactria had ever held. But she wasn't sure if it was the right choice. Not while another woman stood in his way.

Alexander's wife.

Her disappearance should have been a boon to Roxanna, but instead it seemed to only strengthen the bond between them. She knew it was common for a king to have multiple wives, mistresses even. But this.... This was different. Alexander had taken no mistresses — at least not that she knew of — and he was desperate to find her.

In any other circumstance, Roxanna might have found it romantic. A king's devotion, his unbreakable loyalty to one woman. But not now. Not when she wanted to be the only one.

She clasped her hands tightly, her heart pounding.

If she had Alexander's son, he would have to be the heir. The only legitimate heir.

But for that to happen, (Y/N) needed to disappear for good. She might be Darius' captive, but she was still alive. And that was a problem.

Roxanna sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands wrapped around her head as she tried to organize her thoughts. Her fate depended on her next decision, but the path ahead seemed foggy.

Before she could delve any deeper into her worries, her doubts, a loud sound echoed through the room — a firm knock on the door. She jumped, her heart racing in alert. She wasn't expecting anyone.

She frowned, straightening her posture and composing herself before answering.

"Come in." Her voice was firm, though it carried a hint of hesitation.

The door opened slowly, revealing an unfamiliar figure. Roxanna held her breath.

The man who entered was unusually handsome, exuding an aura of mystery and sophistication. His dark, deep-set, attentive eyes seemed to carry the weight of worldly knowledge. He smiled kindly, but something in his posture revealed that this was no ordinary visitor.

His dark hair fell softly over his forehead, and his rich, ornate robes were clearly Persian.

Roxanna felt her body stiffen. Who was he?

"Who... Who are you?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she kept her gaze fixed on him.

The man inclined his head slightly in a respectful gesture, a smile still playing on his lips.

"Aslan, at your service, my lady."

The name sounded strange to her ears. It wasn't Greek. Nor Persian. At least, not from a place she knew.

And that made her even more suspicious.

Roxanna felt a shiver run down her spine as Aslan took a step forward, his smile remaining enigmatic.

"Why are you here?" She tried to keep her voice steady, though a hint of nervousness betrayed her composure. "It's not proper for a woman to be alone with a man, I—"

Before she could finish, he interrupted her.

"Don't worry, little star. I'll be quick."

The nickname took her by surprise, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Aslan was already moving closer. His movement was fluid, confident, as if he was in control of everything around him. Roxanna took a step back instinctively, her muscles tensing in alert.

He laughed softly, a low, melodious sound, without a trace of threat.

"You don't need to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you." His voice was soft, reassuring. His dark eyes, which had seemed enigmatic and unfathomable before, softened.

Roxanna blinked, feeling her own heart slow down. The irrational fear that had gripped her seconds before began to dissipate, replaced by a strange calm.

She didn’t know why, but somehow... She believed him.

"I heard that you might become the second wife of our dear King Alexander." He began, his gaze roaming the room as if he were analyzing every detail.

Roxanna didn't bother to hide her displeasure at the title “second wife.” Her lips tightened, but she remained silent, just staring at the stranger.

Aslan smiled, as if he had already expected this reaction.

"And something tells me you're not happy with this arrangement." He continued, looking directly at her again. "Of course, nothing has been declared yet, and I doubt Alexander will marry you while sweet (Y/N) is still under the Persians. But the possibility exists. After all, it would be a beneficial alliance, especially since Darius' daughter, Stateira, is not yet of marriageable age. You would be the most obvious choice."

Roxanna felt a chill run down her spine as Aslan spoke, his words laced with a seductive yet dangerously calculated tone. She arched a dark brow, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Where was this conversation going?

Then Aslan tilted his head slightly, his gaze gleaming with something between amusement and intent.

"You see, little star," He murmured, his voice a soft, almost hypnotic purr. "I am a man of many talents. And I can make your problem disappear."

His smile widened, and Roxanna felt her stomach turn.

She knew exactly what problem he was talking about.

The silence that followed felt heavy, as if fate itself awaited Roxanna's decision.

A part of her, the rational one, screamed that this was a terrible idea. Nothing came for free, and Aslan was clearly no mere benefactor. But another part — the ambitious, desirous, dreamy part — was filled with excitement.

The idea of ​​being the only queen, the mother of the future heir, the woman at the great Alexander's side...

The thought warmed her chest like fire.

Aslan noticed her hesitation and kept his smile patient, as if he already knew what the answer would be.

"All you have to do is ask me, and I will rid you of your problem." He said it casually, as if he were offering something trivial.

A shiver ran down Roxanna's spine. She swallowed hard. She wasn't naive. She knew that nothing was done without a price.

"And what do you want in return?" Her voice was firm, but her heart was hammering in her chest.

Aslan smiled broadly, his dark gaze glittering.

"Don't worry about that now," He purred. "But I promise it won't be anything too far from your reach."

Roxanna felt her body tense. Every fiber of her being told her this was dangerous. But the promise of what could be... The chance to have everything she wanted...

The excitement, the desire, the dream took over her young mind.

And before she could think twice, the words escaped her lips.

"Do it."

She had just sealed a pact — and she didn't even know the price.

Present day,

Your eyes widened, your heart pounding in your chest as Aslan's words echoed in yoor mind.

Back to your own time?

Was that really what he was saying? Was it possible?

You had never really considered this possibility. You had always assumed that, because you were pregnant, you would be trapped in this place, that the babies inside you were an anchor preventing any return. But now... He spoke as if it were simple, as if everything could be reversed with a snap of his fingers. And maybe it could.

"Are you serious?" Your voice came out shaky, little more than a whisper, filled with disbelief.

Aslan smiled, that feline smile that never fully revealed its intentions, and nodded slowly.

"Yes."

Your heart raced even faster. The chance — if it was even a chance — to go home. To your family. To your time. It was a dream that seemed increasingly distant as you adapted to this strange Era, this reality you never chose but that had somehow become yours.

But why now?

Why was he offering you this choice now, after everything you had been through? After so long? After he himself had sent you here without even asking if that was what you wanted?

Your eyes narrowed, and your voice was firm, thick with suspicion.

"Why?"

Aslan shrugged, as if the answer didn't matter, his smile widening even more.

"Because I think it's time for you to come home, (Y/N)." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was something about it that sent a cold shiver down your spine. "You've spent too much time here. Your time is up."

Instead of feeling relief, joy, or hope, something else burned inside you.

Fury.

It took over your body before you could stop it, hot and uncontrollable, and before you could even think about the consequences, your hand came up and slapped Aslan across the face with a loud crack.

The impact stung your palm, but you didn't care. Your chest rose and fell heavily, your breathing ragged.

Aslan stood still for a moment, his head turned slightly to the side. Then, slowly, he turned back to face you.

And smiled.

A dangerous smile.

Aslan raised one of his hands and lightly touched his own cheek, where the red mark from your slap was beginning to appear. His dark eyes shone in an almost amused way, as if he found your reaction amusing.

"Well, that was an unexpected welcome." He murmured, his carefree tone contrasting with the intensity of his gaze.

You still felt your hand tingling, but you didn't regret what you had done. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, anger still boiling inside you.

"You have the nerve to show up here and simply tell me that my ‘time is up’ after bringing me here against my will?" Your voice shook, but not from fear — from indignation. "After making me live through all of this? Making me get attached to people, getting married? Making me get pregnant?! You have no right to do that!"

Aslan tilted his head slightly to the side, watching you as if studying your reaction. Then, he sighed.

"You've always been so full of spirit, haven't you?" He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice. "That's why I like you."

Your stomach churned in disgust.

"I don't give a fuck what you like." You spat the words out, your fists clenched at your sides. "I want to know what's really going on."

Aslan finally abandoned his relaxed posture and took a step closer. You forced yourself not to back away.

"Listen carefully, (Y/N), because I don’t like repeating things." His voice was lower now, more serious, and suddenly, the entire air in the room seemed heavy. "You came to this time for a purpose. Something that needed to be done. But now that purpose has been fulfilled."

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest.

"F-Fulfilled?" You repeated, the word sounding strange in your mouth.

Aslan smiled slowly.

"Yes. What had to happen, happened. You are no longer needed here."

The words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

You were no longer needed? As if your life was a simple object that he could discard as soon as he was done using it? As if everything you had lived here had meant nothing?

You felt an immense urge to punch him.

You gritted your teeth, blood roaring in your ears.

"What if I don’t want to go?" Your voice was low, but full of defiance.

Aslan smiled again, but this time, there was something dark in his expression.

"Oh, my sweet (Y/N)..." He whispered, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Who said you had a choice?"

The ground seemed to disappear beneath your feet, as if the world around you was disintegrating. With each breath, the air became heavier, harder to hold. You tried to stay upright, but the feeling of disorientation grew, your body starting to shake. Your eyes met Aslan's again, and this time, there was something different in his gaze — no longer just the calculated distance or the amusement of a manipulator. There was a touch of longing, as if he were looking at you with a sadness you didn't understand, something deep that was beyond your reach.

The chaos inside your mind intensified, thoughts tumbling over each other, conflicting feelings taking over your heart. How could he look at you like that, with a mixture of affection and... Farewell? Why all this? He was doing this to you, dragging you to a place where you no longer knew who you were, and now, he seemed to be saying goodbye for now. But why?

Before you could ask any other questions, a feeling of weakness took over your body, as if all of your energy had been drained. Your eyes began to close, your vision becoming blurry and hazy, while the weight of your own body seemed to become unbearable. Aslan’s words echoed in your mind like a distant whisper, even though he was there, standing in front of you, with the enigmatic expression as always.

"Don’t worry, (Y/N). We'll see each other again." He said, his words so soft that they seemed like a low, comforting chant. But what was comforting about all this? How could he say something like that with such certainty? "But don't worry, you won't be alone when you wake up."

Those words... You wanted to believe them, you wanted to feel that there was some truth to his promise, but the feeling of abandonment, of helplessness, was overwhelming you. Your vision grew increasingly blurred, as if the darkness itself was approaching, taking over your entire being. The last vestige of clarity in your mind disappeared, swallowed by a deep, cold abyss, and soon silence took over everything.

The last thing you felt was a strange sense of calm, as if, somehow, the darkness was a kind of refuge. And then, everything went black.

— lady l: I know it took a while to come out but my life has been a mess lately :( It hasn't been an easy start to the year but I'm here. We're entering a new phase of TLQ! Also, don't hate Roxanna! She's young (technically 16 if we are going really historical) and she doesn't know on what she's getting into. She'll come around, guys. 😉

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was longer than usual, but important. Forgive me for any mistakes and I'll see you soon! I love receiving feedback and comments! ❤️❤️

If you want to support or ask for something, my Ko-Fi/commissions are always open!

Bye for now!! ❤️

[eve-to-adam]

Elizabeth of York, fashion character design, c. 1479.

[val-of-the-north]

Renna's identity and more Caria stuff

I think we have finally come to a satisfying conclusion on the identity of the Snowy Crone, aka Renna.

This came from a conversation with Qamarmoon (not on Tumblr, but check out the Blusky account [x]), who pointed out an interesting bit about her and the two sisters Rennala and Rellana. Together they appear to follow the triple deity format: Renna being the Crone, Renalla being the Mother, and Rellana being the Maiden. It's also worth pointing out that each facet of this Triple Goddess is also connected to moon phases.

It was also correctly pointed out that Snowy Crone must have known the Dark Moon if she was capable of teaching Ranni about it.

But the only ones we have seen capable of such contact with the moons appear to be part of Carian royalty.

The one exception may be the Nox... however, they seemed to have owned the Moonlight Altar in the past, as the Cathedral of Manus Celes shares architecture with the Church of Vows, an old Liurnian ruin intimately connected to the Nox and their rituals.

(My friend @katyspersonal also believes the Nox's Black Moon might have simply been an imitation they created, as it seems to have worked differently than the other moons we know of. For example, it wasn't just one person envisioning it, but multiple. It was also physically present underground and was even broken apart by Astel, while these other moons seem much more distant. It's not necessary to believe this in order for the whole theory I'm proposing to work, but if it's true it would certainly strengthen it lol)

In any case, Qamarmoon also posited that the three sisters might have indeed referred to Renna, Rennala and Rellana, and that Seluvis' Rise wasn't the only one that got its name changed, but Ranni's too, leaving Renna's as the only untouched one. Interestingly enough, it's also where you find the Snow Witch set.

The whole convo made me suddenly remember something I had always taken for granted... the Ice Crest Shield.

This small shield, found in Caria Manor, has a snowflake design that was said to be the crest of a Carian princess. Now, I had always assumed this was referring to Ranni, but I realized something. If it were, it wouldn't have been vague about it. When symbols and insignias are relevant to a specific Demigod or important person they are never spoken about like that... and besides, the crest should be found somewhere else related to Ranni herself if it was hers.

But it's not, and what really seals the deal for me is that Ranni's connection to the cold wasn't something well-known, as it came from her secret mentor, the Snowy Crone.

Ranni, for all intents and purposes, was a moon witch like her mother, earning the title of Lunar Princess.

Even Blaidd's blade was imbued with frost only when he vowed to never leave Ranni's side no matter what, walking that dark path with her. The cold seems intimately tied to her secret grim fate.

Even more damning, is that the Glintstone Sorcerers of the Lazuli Conspectus, a Carian-affiliated branch of the Academy of Raya Lucaria, wield the Ice Crest Shield.

However, the Conspectus more than likely predates Ranni by a long margin and seems to have no connection to her overall. Furthermore, the colors of their robes, while likened to the hues of a Full Moon, do contain white accents reminiscent of the Snow Witch set, which was Renna's before it was Ranni's.

So then, could it be that Renna is the Carian princess mentioned on that very shield? Maybe even Rennala and Rellana'a older sister! There seems to be quite a bit of evidence for it!

But, I understand if you are skeptical. After all, why wouldn't she be the Queen of Caria if she was the eldest daughter, or even mentioned at all? Better yet, how would it work if Caria as royalty was established by Rennala herself as stated by her Remembrance?

Let's start with the latter. I do not believe that statement is proof enough to come to such a conclusion. Don't get me wrong, it would be, if it weren't for the fact it's the only instance of this, and it's contradicted by so many other descriptions.

And you may say it's not true. The Stargazer Heirloom also implies the same. After all, it speaks of a young astrologer finding the Full Moon and becoming queen.

It does sound a lot like Rennala, right? But two small bits prevent it from being the case. The first one is the fact that it's engraved with a "legend". The only other heirloom with this description is that of the Two Fingers. Meanwhile, the two heirlooms depicting Radahn and Malenia, prominent figures of the current Lands Between, are said to be depicting "a scene from a heroic tale". Legend implies a certain degree of antiquity, which Rennala does not seem to possess.

The other detail, which is even more weighty, is that she is referred to as an astrologer. Astrologers were ancient people situated on the Mountaintops of the Giants and were once their neighbors. So close was their bond that they created a sword to honor it.

Some of the Carians, like Rellana, even believed that Fire and Moon should always be together, which is part of the reason she followed Messmer during his Crusade.

So the astrologers are the ancestors of the Carians... but they are not the only ones who descend from them. All Glintstone Sorcerers are descendants, in fact!

After all, it was an ancient astrologer who once envisioned the Founding Rain of Stars, basis of all Glintstone Sorceries and the foundation of the Academy of Raya Lucaria.

If Rennala had been that very astrologer girl in the legend, then she not only would have been incredibly ancient by now, but it would also mean she enchanted the academy immediately after its founding, since they'd be part of the same time period. This would leave them no room to develop the opposing beliefs that created the current friction between the two factions, which doesn't seem to be the implication.

The woman in the heirloom is most likely just Rennala's ancestor, who envisioned the Full Moon and changed the trajectory of her branch of astrologers forever.

This isn't the only thing against the idea Rennala is the sole founder of the house of Caria as well as its one queen! Counter-evidence comes in the form of several descriptions mentioning long-standing traditions involving princesses and matrimony... which wouldn't make sense if Rennala had been on the throne child-free with only her little sister for god knows how long...

In fact, another point towards the idea that Rennala was a princess herself once is her use of a particular ability, said to be employed by Carian princesses specifically. And she's the only Carian character to ever use this technique...

My very last bit of evidence is the fact she is also known as the "last Queen of Caria". A title given to her by her own daughter Ranni.

Now, there would be no point in making such a specification if she had been the ONLY queen of Caria up to that point. What makes more sense, coupled with everything else we have already talked about, is that she is the last queen in a long line of queens...

Simply put, I don't believe the Remembrance implies that she is the sole founder of the House of Caria. It is already considered a "house" after all, so it had the status of nobility at least, and noble houses, as you may know, aren't always in charge as rulers. Several houses contend for sovereignty, and it's often a cyclical thing.

Perhaps Rennala was simply the one to bring Caria back to its former heights by discovering the very same Full Moon that once uplifted her people long ago... this also means that multiple people can witness the same moon, which fits nicely with both Renna and Ranni envisioning the same celestial object.

This leads us back to the question of "what happened to Renna then, and how can she be the older sister if she didn't inherit the throne and Rennala did?".

I think the answer lies in the moon she had discovered. @katyspersonal proposed an idea some time ago, that the moons discovered by the Carian royals sort of foreshadow their eventual fate (It's mentioned in this post here [x] though it's mostly about a hypothetical Moon Goddess as a counterpart to the Fell God). It's something Qamarmoon also concluded independently, so I wouldn't say it's a nonsensical conclusion to draw.

The gist of it is that Rennala's Full Moon foreshadowed her union with the Erdtree, as the full moon is the result of its surface being bathed in the light of the sun, Rellana's Twin Moon foreshadowed her fate intertwining with Messmer, their two powers standing together, and Ranni's Dark Moon foreshadowed the lonesome occult path she'd have to walk to "obscure" the light of Grace.

The theme of celestial objects controlling the fate of all individuals is something quite prominent in the setting, so I'm pretty sold on this concept personally!

So yes, I believe Renna simply walked an occult path that led her to obscurity, maybe even of her own volition. To renounce her birthright in pursuit of something different... it's exactly what Rellana had done in an attempt to stand by Messmer's side.

It's also quite common for prominent figures to completely vanish in the Lands Between, as odd as it is to say. For example, we know that all the Demigod children of Marika who did not survive the Night of the Black Knives (minus Godwyn of course) have all but disappeared from history. We only know they existed, not what they did or accomplished. It's bizarre, to say the least...

Not to mention the entirety of the Land of Shadow, obscured and forgotten as an endless war is waged. Rellana too has had any mention of her having existed seemingly scrubbed from history, at least in the Lands Between.

Furthermore, it's exactly what Ranni did as well, erasing all of her steps and seemingly vanishing without a trace.

But what became of Renna then? Perhaps her insistence that Ranni fears the Dark Moon is from experience, and she doesn't want her to commit the same mistakes...

The two most prominent traits of the Snowy Crone are the blue skin and the four arms, features that remind me of the accursed followers of the Royal Revenants, often known as Wraith Callers due to the bells they use to attract vengeful spirits.

Interestingly enough, Liurnia has the biggest concentration of these guys out of all locations in the game. Most prominent for this theory is their large numbers in the Moonlight Altar, a place that's very relevant to all Carian royalty.

These beings are said to be all cursed, explaining their spectral, twisted forms. Now, I don't think Renna became like the ones we find in-game. They don't seem to hold any connection to the moon and ice, but rather to curses and wraiths. However, she might have died and been cursed in a similar manner, twisting her into a form closer to that Ranni's body is based on.

It's also worth pointing out that Ranni is the one who hands the Spirit Calling Bell to us, which is basically the good version of the Wraith Calling Bell that the Revenant Followers use. However, it's unclear why she wants to give it to Torrent's new master, so it might have not belonged to the Snowy Crone originally.

-

So in conclusion... the idea that the Snowy Crone was actually a princess of Caria named Renna, sister of Rennala and Rellana makes a surprising amount of sense! It neatly explains the crone's knowledge of the Dark Moon, the existence of the Three Sisters in general, the identity of the princess the ice crest was a symbol of, the suspiciously familiar name of Renna feeling just like she is part of the Carian family... it just works so well I think!

Finally. It's a conclusion I am satisfied with... Elden Ring feels very complex regarding most of the unseen people in the cast. Gently waiting for the day we can finally understand the Gloam-Eyed Queen too in such a satisfying manner. Then I will know peace lmao.

---UPDATE---

Ok, so this line from Iji was brought to my attention in the comments, mentioning Ranni as the "first heir in the Carian royal line".

This almost makes it sound like there weren't any heirs before her, which would invalidate literally everything I've said so far about Rennala not being the first Carian queen.

So I decided to check the Japanese script [x], and this line is as follows there: "カーリア王家正統の王女たるラニ様の、運命もまた同じはずです". The part we are gonna focus on is the one I've highlighted.

That doesn't translate to "the first heir in the Carian royal line" but rather "the legitimate princess (正統の王女) of the royal house of Caria (カーリア王家)".

This means that my argument is still safe and sound. Ranni is simply a legitimate heir to the throne, not the first one to be heir. There's also a possibility they didn't mean it to be taken literally, but you are never too sure with these decisions... so yeah, just thought I'd make an addendum so it's addressed in the post itself. I mean, not everyone reads the comments after all!

Okie, addendum over.

[artist-ellen]

The Queen of the North

Potentially random illustration but I had the idea in my head and a new brush I wanted to try out…. So… here we are (*´▽｀*). Keeping with my theme of revisiting parts of previous designs and adding them to backgrounds/scenes. I also want to keep challenging myself, and going for more painterly styles is very much out of my comfort zone. What do you think? I had a bit of fun, learned some things, tested some things out, maybe I’ll try more in this style? (And before you ask yes I know there are supposed to be weirwood leaves, I didn’t have the energy to include them, that’s just the way it is).

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram.com/ellenartistic or tiktok: @ellenartistic

[starzknight]

So back to my "semi historically accurate disney princessess" we have elsa!

[rubyof-thesea]

look all im saying is if the real life queen charlotte could make her husband grant a famous lesbian couple a pension so they could live their lives together in peace, the bridgerton one can do the same

[pastlivesfinery]

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays ✨🎄💖 - The Queen, 1873 ✨

[gulnarsultan]

Hey I was wondering if you could write yandere edward iv of england headcanons with his wife and if they were to have kids

maybe nsfw but only if you feel comfortable

Hello dear. I will do my best. I hope you like it.

Yandere husband Edward iv of England headcanon.

~ Political and alliance marriages were not surprising. Because many high-status people resorted to this path to get more. As a Princess, making a political marriage for your country and people was your destiny from the day you were born.

~ The idea of ​​arranging a marriage between you and the young King Edward, who had just ascended to the throne, was his mother, Cecily Neville. She could not tolerate her son marrying Elizabeth, a widow and a lower-status woman. So she immediately started writing to your family and trying to convince them of this marriage. Soon, the decision was made for you to marry for the good of both countries.

~ At first, Edward was angry, sad and disappointed. Even if he fought with his mother, there was no way back. Even if he married you, he was determined to always love Elizabeth and even make her his mistress. If he had to make a marriage he did not want, then he would not leave the woman he loved.

~ You traveled to England. You had many soldiers, maids, servants and assistants with you. Your robe was really big and magnificent. You had heard the rumors that the king loved a woman. In fact, you were very upset that you had to marry a man who did not love you and was cheating on you.

~ You finally managed to reach England. Everyone was ready to welcome you. You took a deep breath before entering the hall. And you made a promise to yourself. You would never let anyone hurt, upset or humiliate you. The first person to greet and admire you was your future mother-in-law. Everyone was speechless when they saw your beauty. When Edward looked at you, it was as if his heart was about to jump out of his chest. He looked at you with a few snaifs of forgiveness. He came to his senses when his mother called him and came to you immediately.

~ In fact, your future husband was as handsome as they said. In fact, you accepted that you were lucky in this regard. Edward wasted no time in trying to chat with you and get to know you better. You had lost track of time. Edward was spending all his free time with you. His mother was happy that her son was no longer going to that widow.

~ You got married in a short time with an expensive and fancy wedding. Your wedding dress and jewelry were very expensive and perfect. It was the kind of wedding that would be talked about for a long time. You were known as the most beautiful bride in history. Edward was very gentle on the first night.

~ (Nswf) Edward was never ashamed or hesitant to show affection to you in front of others. He was obsessed with touching you, especially when he was around other people. He really wanted you to get pregnant and carry the proof of your togetherness in your belly. He never neglected to take care of you after sex. He was more dominant and harsh when he was jealous. He likes to leave marks on your body.

~ He likes to spoil you with gifts and acts of love. No one can try to harm you, insult you or humiliate you. You are his precious wife, Queen and the mother of his children. So if someone becomes your enemy, Edward will be their worst nightmare.

~ You have more than one healthy child. Edward is the best father in the world for all of them. He is a protective father for his children. He will not allow anyone to harm his family.

[queenalexandraofdenmark]

White ball gown with blue satin stashes worn by Alexandra, Princess of Wales, 1864.

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XIX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily. — genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 3,364. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23. — the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 19

"This is madness, Alexander, and you know it!" Cassander exclaimed, his voice thick with indignation as his eyes flashed with barely contained anger. He fixed his gaze directly on the King, his rigid posture conveying both courage and a dangerous streak of recklessness. In the tent, lit by the flickering flames of the lamps, shadows danced across the fabric walls, reflecting the rising tension.

Alexander looked up from where he sat, his imposing posture, even in repose, exuding authority. His eyes narrowed like blades, and a dangerous expression shaped his face. When he spoke, his voice was low, but filled with a restrained fury that rumbled like muffled thunder.

"Do you disapprove of me, Cassander?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The generals gathered in the tent exchanged uneasy glances, aware that the situation was about to escalate into something irreversible. The air seemed heavier, and the crackling of torches became the only sound that dared to break the tense moment.

Everyone was still much more wary of Alexander after the incident with Cleitus, and for a moment it seemed that Antipater's son remembered that.

Cassander swallowed, instinctively taking a step back. His confidence wavered for an instant, and he seemed suddenly aware of the fatal mistake he had made in confronting Alexander in this manner. The color drained from his face, but his eyes, though hesitant now, still held a hint of defiance.

How stupid.

Before the atmosphere could explode into chaos, a tall, composed figure stepped forward. Hephaestion, the only one capable of calming Alexander’s nerves, intervened with deliberate calm, his voice cutting through the stifling air like a much-needed breeze.

"Alexander," Hephaestion began, his voice firm but tinged with caution. He shot a warning look at Cassander, who returned it with a mixture of anger and humiliation. "What I believe Cassander means," he continued, choosing each word carefully, "is that this decision... Is unwise. Attacking Babylon in this manner, without adequate preparation, could result in catastrophe."

Alexander turned to him, his eyes still shining with fierce determination. The king took a deep breath, as if absorbing Hephaestion's words, but there was no sign of hesitation in his posture. He stood, his imposing figure now completely dominating the space.

"I will not abandon my wife," He declared, his voice brimming with passion and authority. "Our queen is in danger, and every second we wait is an affront to my honor and my love for her. I will not wait another second."

Alexander's words echoed through the tent like an absolute decree. The silence that followed was heavier than ever as those present absorbed the king’s unwavering determination. Hephaestion, though worried, said nothing more, only nodded, knowing that when Alexander made up his mind, there was no force in the world that could change his mind.

Ptolemy, who had remained silent until then, stepped forward, his thoughtful features carefully hiding any trace of doubt. His voice, hesitant but controlled, cut through the tension that still hung in the tent like a suffocating fog.

"All right," He said finally, after a moment of consideration. His hand slid to the central table, touching the maps spread out with an almost reverent caution. The parchments were covered in markings, tracing borders, routes, and fortresses. He studied them briefly before looking up to meet Alexander's fervent gaze.

"Where do we begin?"

Ptolemy's calm tone contrasted with the simmering fury still emanating from the king, but there was a pragmatic acceptance in it that seemed to bring a slight sense of focus to the room. The surrounding generals relaxed slightly, realizing that at least one of them was willing to follow the course Alexander had decided, even if it defied prudence.

Alexander leaned slightly across the table, his fingers pointing to a route plotted along the Euphrates River. His determination was palpable.

"We begin here," Alexander said, his voice firm. "We will march swiftly down the valley, using surprise and speed as our greatest weapons. Babylon will not be expecting a direct attack — and that is why we will win."

Ptolemy nodded slowly, but his expression still held a shadow of doubt. He knew that defying Alexander would be futile, but he also knew that the success of this endeavor would depend on more than bravery and speed.

"Then we need adequate supplies and logistics," Ptolemy stated cautiously. "If we are to move quickly, we will need experienced scouts and a plan to keep the troops supplied. We cannot afford to fail due to lack of resources."

Hephaestion, who was still nearby, crossed his arms and looked at Alexander, as if waiting for the king’s response to Ptolemy's sensible suggestion.

Alexander straightened, his expression unchanging, but there was a flicker of respect in his eyes. He knew he needed men like Ptolemy and Hephaestion at his side, those who could temper his impetuosity with practical wisdom.

"Then see to it that you arrange it, Ptolemy and Hephaestion," Alexander ordered, his voice still thick with authority. "Make the necessary preparations. But know this: we will not hesitate. I want the troops ready to march at dawn."

Ptolemy nodded again, this time with more conviction, and began studying the maps with renewed attention, along with Hephaestion. The room was filled with a mix of movement and tension as each of the generals took their turn in preparing for the campaign.

May the gods be on their side.

Dawn was slowly creeping in, bringing with it an uneasy silence that seemed to extend throughout the royal tent. Alexander sat in a chair near the table, a glass of wine in his hands, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the flickering candlelight. The dark liquid swayed in his cup as he swirled it absently, lost in thought. Anxiety weighed on his chest like a suit of armor he could not remove, preventing him from giving in to sleep.

The solitude of the moment was interrupted only by the occasional crackle of the flames and the soft sound of footsteps in the distance. He knew he should rest, prepare for the imminent march, but his mind would not give him a break. His wife’s face haunted his thoughts, and every second that passed without action felt like a personal defeat.

It was then that the uneasy tranquility was broken. One of the guards at the entrance to the tent appeared, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect before speaking.

"My lord, there is someone who wishes to speak with you." The guard announced, his voice low but firm.

Alexander frowned, irritated by the interruption, but his curiosity was piqued when the visitor's name was revealed.

"Aslan?" He repeated, his voice thick with suspicion. He leaned back in his chair for a brief moment, considering his options, before waving his hand, indicating that the man could enter.

Aslan was an enigmatic figure, and Alexander did not trust him for a moment. There was something about his presence — perhaps the furtive glances, the measured tone of his voice, or the way he always seemed to know more than he should — that made him deeply uncomfortable. There were many rumors surrounding Aslan, and Alexander was not naïve enough to ignore them.

But despite his reservations, Alexander could not deny that Aslan had been valuable. It was he who had brought him the crucial information about his wife's whereabouts, knowledge that none of the king's other allies had been able to uncover. For this, Alexander was somewhat grateful, though that gratitude was tempered by constant vigilance.

Aslan entered the tent with deliberate steps, a hint of a smile on his lips. He bowed slightly, but his posture remained casual, almost insolent.

"Your Majesty," Aslan began, his voice silky but heavy with a subtext that Alexander had yet to decipher.

Alexander raised his cup, eyeing the man like a predator studying its prey.

"I hope you have something important to say, Aslan," Alexander replied, his voice cold and clipped. "I am not known for tolerating pointless interruptions."

Aslan laughed softly, tilting his head as if recognizing the danger in the king's every word.

"Certainly, my King. I would never dare waste your time," He said, taking a step forward and lowering his voice.

Aslan smiled broadly, his teeth gleaming in the flickering candlelight. His posture was impeccable, almost theatrical, as if every movement had been rehearsed for maximum impact. Alexander watched him closely, unease building within him. There was something about Aslan that made him shiver — perhaps it was the intense gaze, or the air of someone who always knew more than he should.

The visitor tilted his head slightly to the side, keeping his eyes fixed on Alexander, like a predator assessing its prey. The silence that followed seemed endless, until Aslan finally spoke, his voice soft but heavy with a weight that pierced the air.

"Your queen is with child."

Those words struck Alexander like a thunderbolt. He did not react immediately, but his hand, which was holding the cup, gripped the object so tightly that it seemed about to break.

Aslan continued, as if savoring every second of the tension his words provoked.

"My sources tell me that she is being well looked after in Babylon," He added, his voice taking on an almost condescending tone. "But as you well know, she is surrounded by enemies. Anyone who wishes to weaken you will spare no effort to use this situation against you." Aslan paused dramatically, his eyes shining with something Alexander could not identify. "I thought you should know."

Alexander stood still for a moment, trying to process the maelstrom of emotions churning inside him. Anger, worry, joy, and protective fury all fought for space in his heart. His wife, his Queen, pregnant, carrying his heir, amid mortal enemies. The mere thought of something happening to her — or the child —was enough to make his blood boil.

"Are you sure about this?" Alexander asked finally, his voice low but filled with an intensity that made even Aslan feel uncomfortable for a brief moment.

"Absolutely." Aslan replied without hesitation, his tone far too confident for Alexander's liking.

The king placed the cup on the table with a controlled movement, but the tension in his body was evident. He took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and Aslan, his eyes fixed like blades.

"If your information is wrong, Aslan, you will answer for it personally." Alexander declared, each word laden with menace.

Aslan did not flinch. Instead, he held Alexander's gaze with an enigmatic smile, as if he were aware of something no one else was.

"I trust my sources, Your Majesty," He said calmly. "But what you do with that information... That's up to you."

Alexander took a deep breath, trying to control the storm raging inside him. The fate of his wife — and now his heir — was at stake. There was no room for error or hesitation.

"Leave." Alexander ordered, his voice icy, though he felt a whirlwind of emotions inside.

Aslan inclined his head in an almost courteous gesture before turning and disappearing through the tent entrance, leaving Alexander alone with the news that changed everything. The king stood still, the candles flickering around him as his thoughts raced.

Alexander felt the weight of Aslan’s words settle over him like a storm about to break. His wife, his queen, pregnant. The concept swirled through his mind, carrying with it a torrent of emotions he rarely experienced so intensely. He looked down at his hands and realized they were shaking. This was not something that usually happened — he, the invincible conqueror, was now shaken by news that should have been a cause for joy.

Happiness. Pride. Fear. Anger. All of these emotions fought for space in his heart at once.

Finally, he would have an heir. A son. A child to whom he could pass on not only his empire, but also his lessons, his vision, and, in some way, his immortality. Alexander felt a pang of pride at the thought. An heir who would carry on his blood and his name, someone who would carry on the legacy he had spent his life building.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine the child. A son or daughter with (Y/N)'s eyes and her kindness. He imagined teaching the child to ride, to fight, to rule with wisdom and strength. His heart warmed at the thought of this life he could shape and love.

And perhaps, finally, his mother, Olympia, would be silent. He thought wryly of all the letters she had sent him, pressuring him relentlessly to produce an heir. "The empire needs continuity," she always said. As if that were the only reason for him to have a child. Now, he would have the heir she so desperately demanded – but he did not do it for her, or for the empire. He did it because it was with (Y/N), because...

Alexander took a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts that were racing against each other. He loved (Y/N). It was a truth he had never said out loud, perhaps not even to himself. But now, she was far from him. Far from his protection. Surrounded by enemies who could use her and the child she bore as weapons against him.

Fear gripped his heart, quickly turning into cold, dangerous fury. He was Alexander, undefeated in battle, and he would never allow anything to happen to the woman he loved or the child she carried.

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with such force that it nearly fell over. His breathing was heavy, and his fists clenched at his sides. Babylon, the place where (Y/N) was, became, in that moment, more than a military objective or a strategic dispute. It was the place where everything he valued was, everything that truly mattered.

By dawn, Alexander was already shouting orders and preparing to go and get his wife and child. Whatever the cost.

The days in Babylon were heavier than usual. The heat felt suffocating, but that wasn't what was tightening your chest as you stared out your bedroom window. Your hands gripped the balcony tightly, your fingers almost digging into the cold stone. Your eyes were fixed on the horizon, but your mind was elsewhere, struggling to process the news that had arrived earlier.

Alexander was coming.

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard those words, but the initial joy soon gave way to a mix of conflicting emotions: hope, worry, and a touch of despair. He was coming to rescue you, you had no doubt about that, but what did that mean for Babylon? For the city that was now seething with panic and preparation? For its people?

You definitely didn’t want to see an entire city massacred and the survivors sold into slavery.

Darius had received the news only a few hours ago, and since then, the tranquility of the city had been replaced by noisy chaos. Soldiers were rushing about, carrying weapons, building barricades, and reinforcing the walls. The raised voices of commanders echoed through the streets, mingling with the sound of hammers and shouts. Supplies were being piled up, and civilians were being forced to work to prepare the city for a siege that everyone knew was inevitable.

The satrap of Babylon, Mazeus, tried to bring some sense to the discussion, arguing that surrender was the only sensible option. He mentioned how Bactria, by capitulating without resistance, had avoided the terrible fate that awaited the stubborn. But Darius, influenced by Bessus — that arrogant fool — rejected the suggestion with disdain.

"Fools," You muttered to yourself, gripping your hands tighter on the balcony. Your eyes closed for a moment, the weight of everything that was to come bearing down on you. "They are all fools."

You knew what Alexander was capable of. He was not just a conqueror; he was an unstoppable force. If Darius and his followers insisted on fighting, Babylon would be razed, its inhabitants slaughtered. Blood would run in the streets, and the walls they now reinforced would be useless against Alexander's military genius.

There was a small hope that if they surrendered, the city might be spared. But you also knew that your presence here complicated everything. Your kidnapping was both a symbol of resistance and a personal insult to Alexander. Even if the leaders of Babylon surrendered, Alexander would show no mercy to those who defied him by taking you from his arms.

You took a deep breath, trying to control the storm of emotions inside you. You felt trapped, powerless, a pawn in a game of power far greater than you. And yet, there was something comforting in the idea that Alexander was coming. He would take on everyone, tear down walls and armies if necessary. Because he was coming for you.

You hadn't quite come to a conclusion about how you felt about him yet, but you knew that you cared in some way. He was your husband, even if forced, and he was the father of your babies. A part of you cared enough.

"Hello."

You whirled around at the sound of Aslan's voice, your heart leaping into your throat with shock. He was there, standing casually near the door, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His posture was relaxed, and his lips curved in a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes. It had been days since you had seen him, and you had been relieved by his absence. But now, he was back. Only the gods knew where he had come from.

"A kiss for your thoughts, my dear?" Aslan asked, his voice calm and tinged with amusement.

You crossed your arms instinctively, trying not to show the discomfort you always felt in his presence.

Aslan tilted his head slightly, his smile widening as his eyes fell on your noticeably rounded belly. His gaze was so intense that you almost cringed.

"You’re getting more beautiful every day, (Y/N)," He commented, his voice low and honeyed, as he leaned casually against the nearby wall and crossed his arms. "Pregnancy suits you well."

You felt your throat go dry. There was something about the way he was looking at you — or maybe the babies you were carrying —that made every instinct in you scream in alarm. Trying to maintain your composure, you straightened your posture and met his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster.

"Aslan," You finally replied, your voice sharp. "What do you want?"

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes sparkled even brighter, as if he’d been waiting for this very question.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," He said, his tone so innocent it was hard to believe. He tilted his head again, his eyes boring into you in a way that seemed to read every thought that passed through your mind. "And, of course, to make sure our future little prince and princess are well taken care of."

You didn't want to know how he knew you were expecting twins or why he assumed it was a girl and a boy. You wanted to ask but knew you would be met with no answer, just rambling.

"I’m fine," You replied dryly, your voice firmer than you expected. "And so are the babies. You don’t have to worry."

Aslan laughed softly, the sound echoing around the room disconcertingly.

"Oh, but I do, my dear," He said, pushing off the wall and taking a step toward you. "You carry something very valuable, something that could change the course of many things."

Your body tensed, and you took a half-step back, holding your head high. "What do you mean by that?"

Aslan stopped, as if realizing he’d reached his limit. He raised his hands in a theatrical gesture of surrender.

"Nothing much, just the musings of a man who likes to watch the game board," He replied with an enigmatic smile. "But for now, I just wanted to say how good it is to see you, and how... Radiant you look."

Aslan glanced at you as he turned his back to leave, but he didn't bother to move.

"Do you want to leave?" His words were calm, but loaded with something you couldn’t identify.

"I... What?" You began, trying to process what he had just said.

Aslan raised his hand, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as if anticipating your confusion. "I mean, my dear," he continued, his voice as soft as a serpent whispering in your ear, "back to your time, to the twenty-first century."

— lady l: I know it took a while to come out but as you know I was sick and busy with personal things, then I got better and got the flu 🤡 but I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I personally really liked how it turned out and forgive me if there are any mistakes.

See you guys soon! ❤️

[eve-to-adam]

Elizabeth of York, fashion character design, c. 1481.

[bananna-threads]

Back panels done, and roughly pinned in place to see how it lays! I was too optimistic with thinking that my 100 squares would be enough for both the front and back 😭 I only have 15 squares (plus one star) left over. Definitely not enough to fill the whole front panel. My guess is I need 50 more for everything including the shoulder strap and sleeve. I'm running out of fabric, plus I need to make 3 more stars for the front! So much left to do!

I was originally gonna put batting and a backing on the dress below the waistline but I'm starting to question that, because I do want the classic quilted look, but it would also make it really heavy...and possibly droopy looking? I'm really not sure. I am open to advice if anyone has some. Idk wtf I'm doing.

I've ordered another sapphire sky layer cake, which is what I've been using--except this time I got one that includes light blues as well, which will be perfect for tying the two halves together with similar fabric patterns. I already have some cool sky fabrics for the daytime side:

As always credit to Wombat Quilts for her Starry Night Quilt