#Loyalist force

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1798 – United Irishmen Rebellion | In the first Battle of Enniscorthy, the rebels take the town.

The Battle of Enniscorthy was a land battle fought between forces of the British Crown and a force of Irish Rebels at Enniscorthy, Co Wexford. The attack began at about 1pm, when the Rebels drove a herd of cattle through the towns’s Duffry gate, creating disorder among the loyalist defenders. After a defense of about three hours, the loyalist force abandoned the town and fled in great disorder to…

[calspainthole]

#Hobbystreak Day 1.14

The Bladeguard have been primed! Also spent more time scrubbing models still submerged in Da Big Green Bath

[leefi]

love how mira and kuzuryu were just hanging out at the beach together. and kyuma, the nudist party guy, did not join them

[azspot]

By the usual measures, Biden should be cruising to reëlection. Violent crime has dropped to nearly a fifty-year low, unemployment is below four per cent, and in January the S. & P. 500 and the Dow hit record highs. More Americans than ever have health insurance, and the country is producing more energy than at any previous moment in its history. His opponent, who is facing ninety-one criminal counts, has suggested that if he is elected he will fire as many as fifty thousand civil servants and replace them with loyalists, deputize the National Guard as a mass-deportation force, and root out what he calls “the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country.”

Joe Biden’s Last Campaign

[a-story-teller]

Had another dream story idea and it's BAD out here y'all. My subconscious said "you don't go for sad old white men yaoi? Well here's one and you have to care about it so much. Good luck"

[aduelbetweenkingdomsafreshstart]

ADBK: Goblin Attack Force

Epithet: The Hired Brutes of Summoned Skull

Voice Actor: Various (Usually Clancy Brown, Jeff Bennett, Tom Kenny, Kevin Michael Richardson and Crispin Freeman)

Tribe: The Kindred

Biography: If you wanna talk stupid henchmen, one of the most notable is the Goblin Attack Force. They can follow orders, they can attack with brutal efficiency, but that's about all they're good for in terms of strategy.

However, stupid does not equal completely braindead or evil. They were actually orphans adopted by the deposed king Summoned Skull back when he was still ruler of the Undead Oligarchy.

And although the Goblins aren't the swiftest of wit, they were taught relative discipline and a sense of morality by their adopted father.

This combined with Summoned Skull treating them like legitimate sons gave the Goblin Attack Force an undying loyalty to his crown, and by extension the Kindred Tribe when Summoned Skull got deposed.

[farsight-the-char]

Scouts not among the current/coming Marine preorders.

Probably confirms them as a KT.

My guess is the "Vanilla" version will come with soonish, but the version with the upgrade sprue will be "battle box locked" in the Season 3 Kill Team launch box thing (like Scorpions probably).

[ceratinus]

And now I know how Joan of Arc felt

[foone]

Bad idea for a story:

The kingdom is in flames, and the King lies dead in a commoner's grave. The people have risen up in a glorious socialist revolution, and they're in power now, the monarchy that ruled this country for centuries is gone... Or are they?

The king had many sons and daughters. The daughters they're not worried about, the kingdom never had a queen, the rules were always sexist. But the princes? Any of them could rally an army of loyalists and try to take back the kingdom.

The more hardline elements of the revolution says that the princes must die. Anyone who has a "legitimate" claim on the throne is a threat.

But the more flexible elements of the revolutionary council have an alternative idea, one that'll prevent any more bloodshed.

We simply feminize the princes! If all the heirs of the King are princesses, none of them can make a claim on the throne!

Sure it's a little unorthodox but it'll mean fewer bodies buried under the foundations of our new more-equal society.

We don't want to set the tone for our enduring society by eliminating some people because they were inconvenient. That's the kind of thing that gets normalized and then you've got genocides and purges as regular things.

Instead we're just building our society on forced-feminization which I'm sure won't affect anything at all.

(I wrote this because I thought it was funny, but I do acknowledge that there's a certain subset of Tumblr users who would think "the Soviet Union but they forcefem you" is the hottest idea ever)

[orlesianhennin]

I really feel like so many people who hate Vivienne for being power hungry do not fully grasp and appreciate the desperation that Vivienne feels because she conceals it so well… as little content as she got, she honestly is expertly written and presented and it’s why it disappoints me so much when people hate her for surface level reasons… her writer deserves so much more appreciation.

I think it is subtle because she hides it and you really have to care about the character to seek out these threads and understand her motivations… she is in danger of total irrelevance, being cast aside by society (and history), and she is forced to ride the coattails of some upstart organization because all of the institutions she is invested in have either totally failed her or cast her aside.

She is clearly a prideful person who does not readily admit this… but her true talent is how clearly she can evaluate this and understand her own position. She suffers no delusions. She knows the Circle’s standing in society is diminished to nothing if it doesn’t house and account for the majority of mages, and she is left with just meek Chantry loyalists and sycophants who are lost without her guiding hand, as even otherwise pro-Circle mages with any sense have abandoned ship and left both rebels and loyalists at this point to see where the chips fall (Ellandra) - and the Chantry itself has been all but decimated in terms of military and political power. The one lifeline she has is the Imperial Court, and the fickle nobility have moved on from her - the mages are now a threat that she cannot control or offer any meaningful opposition to, and Celene’s favor has turned to Morrigan, and Vivienne does not know if she will ever have it again. She knows Bastien is dying, and that all that she has left at court will be those who hold kind feelings towards her such as his family, and that is a position she can never accept - being at the mercy of others.

We meet Vivienne, this impressive, powerful mage, who has made a life for herself by maneuvering brilliantly, all to improve her own standing, at a point where she is in danger of losing everything she has. And she doesn’t let on, at least not explicitly, but she joins the Inquisition out of desperation - it’s obvious she sees it as an opportunity, but the gravity of the situation for her isn’t clear from the start. She refuses to lay down and fade away. Vivienne would never had joined this fledgling upstart organization if she was in a better position at Court or there wasn’t a vacuum of power. She is very close to having nothing left, and starting over - and so she does. Before the rug can be pulled from under her, she gets out and sets off for herself again.

Vivienne, often accused of pride, privilege, and self importance, comes to the Inquisitor out of pure humility. She knows she is reduced. And her gamble ultimately pays off, and the Inquisition becomes the political juggernaut that it does, and she becomes more powerful and important than ever just by association. And I like to think, especially with an Inquisitor who respects and befriends her, that she plays no small part in shaping the organization.

I think this is also why, potentially, she plays it so cool at the Winter Palace. She doesn’t get involved… she doesn’t need to. Simply being present is a statement to the court, and she truly doesn’t care about who wins; it’s not just the Game, it’s personal, despite what she claims. That they cast her aside, and now they are interested again… not necessarily in her, but still, she sees the paradigm shifting again. She is now a part of the organization who gets to change Orlais, and favor with the Inquisition is quickly becoming just as important as favor with Celene.

The whole arc is a subtle one as she really doesn’t get much attention, but if you pay close attention, it shows how expertly Vivienne plays politics. We already know she came from nothing and maneuvered into a powerful position. But I think not everyone realizes she is nearly back to nothing when we first meet her… and through the course of the game’s events, by allying with the right people, she plays the game well enough to become an advisor to the most influential person in southern Thedas… and potentially even Divine. But her initial plea to the Inquisitor, for all the great lengths she goes to keep up the appearance of strength and invulnerability, comes from a place of utter desperation.

[yaymiyas]

THE TALK

warning: yandere!isekai!crown prince, he is very mean in this, female reader

a/n: this is TECHNICALLY not a part two to the introduction but it sort of is….. it jumps from the conversation to the breakfast……..enjoy! ALSO ALSO ALSOOOOOOOO technically its female reader bc you got reincarnated blah blah

looking at the fragments of bacon he didnt want to eat, he let his fingers drum against the edge of the white plate. the fact that you, the daughter of a whore, lover to none, and nuisance to all, was right beside him made his food hard to swallow. the two of you sat in the dining room, and while he sat at the very end of the table with his back facing the door to the kitchen, your usual spot would be that of the opposite side. right across from him, back facing the entering door, but it seems after the poison didn’t hit quite deep enough in your veins, it did affect your brain because, for some reason, you thought it was brilliant to sit directly next to him. you weren’t as talkative as he would have thought of you, ever since you have learned of the activities he had decided to partake in, you started to demand his attention. at first, it didnt bother him much, since he himself started to believe that he was focusing solely on gracie that your suspicions were bound to grow, and grow they did.

for weeks, months, up until the poisoning you were all up on him. he was certain that you were attempting to skin him alive and wear him as a coat it was all mildly unpleasant but more irritating. saer never had a taste for you; rather, he actually hated you. to no one’s fault but his own fathers, he was forced to marry you out of pregnant promises. your father, sir tudor, wasn’t the poorest dope saer’s father has ever seen, but he was the loyalist. he worked on the gwynn estate, doing a multitude of things for the family, automatically gaining the trust of the duke and then the king himself. at the time, king gwynn was more fascinated with how a man with such little knowledge could become his most loyalist man, but that he did. following the pregnancy of both the queen and your mother, he decided that the best course of action was to marry his second unborn son off to the unborn daughter of a freeloader.

an icy shiver runs down saer’s back, forcing him to shake his shoulders and head. looking up from your half eaten plate, raising your head to the sudden movement. he was quiet the whole time, poking at the small slivers of bacon like they were the nastiest things on earth. you werent surprised that he wasnt talking; no, you were actually relieved. it wasn’t because he wasnt attractive or anything, he certainly does look like the main lead; its just the talk you had prior to the breakfast that was replaying in your head. cynthia and amanda didn’t give you much information, since, from the looks of it, they didn’t want to say too much. either their heads were on the line or yours were. you never thought about asking tily, even though she was the one that brought you down here. it just felt too weird knowing she was the one who weirdly had something against you. from your fading memories of ‘obsession falls’, you remember reading online forums and tweets about the whole thing. it seemed like the only real crime edina committed throughout the whole book was wanting her husband to love her. she did everything he had asked of her, from the way she talked to her style of clothing, even to what letters she can reply to. in olden standards, she seemed like the perfect obedient wife. this might have been your first mistake, but you didn’t read too much on saer or his backstory, so you never really understood the reasoning for his hatred of his wife, but you knew it was deep and it was boiling.

clearing your throat, you believed it was a better time than ever to clear the air and get to your point. you never understood why edina allowed things to get as deep as they were, but she was made just to be killed. it sucks that no matter what you do or say, saer will always hate you because you are edina.

“saer,”

“ae.”

that stupid nickname. shutting your eyes tightly and fighting back against any light to seep through, you sighed heavily. the whole time, saer had been watching you carefully. even though it was from the corner of his eyes, he was indeed trying to calculate your next moves. it was kind of silly that your sudden change in physical response is making him antsy, but how can anyone fault him? the last time the air-headed cunt decided to change the way she was reacting, gracie was suddenly engaged to alastair and smiling in his face about it. it was enraging. other than the fact that you were in his life to begin with, knowing that the reason he couldn’t slit the throat of his ex best friend was all because you decided to breathe. those two minutes were the longest two minutes of his life. he watched as your head dropped down on the table, making a very sudden and loud noise with it. saer had sternly told any and all servants to leave the two of you be if any loud, disruptive noises were heard. he even double checked that he sent your nosey maids, cynthia and amanda, home around that time. he knew that if they were present in the building, you weren’t going to eat that poison.

it was infuriating to watch them care about someone as lowly as you. not just them, anyone. reading gracie’s letters, asking how you’ve been and to see you before she even utters a word about him, was beyond hurtful. it felt as if his whole world was falling apart, all because you decided to have superpowers and not die. this was the only way to get back at you. he has tried strangling you. he has tried slaying you. each attempt was caught by either maid, cynthia, or amanda. it made him sick to see you get dotted on. seeing the frilly outfits they were making you wear, as if you were a porcelain doll not worth anybody’s touch. you were disgusting. a disgusting being that deserved to die. so why. why were you here? why were you looking at him like he had done something wrong. 

“enough with the causalities, i would like a divorce saer.”

[seachranaidhe]

'King Rat' - Billy Wright's rise as a loyalist icon and LVF chief (Part One)

‘King Rat’ – Billy Wright’s rise as a loyalist icon and LVF chief (Part One)

December 26th, 2022. LIVED LIKE A RAT AND DIED LIKE A RAT Thousands of people involved themselves in paramilitaries during the Troubles, taking thousands of lives.The names of those gunmen are unknown or mostly forgotten but a handful live on in infamy, one of them is Billy Wright, aka ‘King Rat’.Charismatic, religious, ruthless, cold, Billy Wright was feared by most people but respected by…

[mahtariel-of-himring]

Silm Headcanon:

Battle braids were common amongst the Noldor when they first arrived in Beleriand. The tradition of braids had transitioned from Valinorian family, friendship or marriage braids into ones for battle. New styles were invented and quickly spread across the Noldorian community.

The length, placement, thickness and beads that were added or not added told stories of survival and hardship throughout time.

The most common ones were the following:

First battle braids, a simple three strand braid with a black bead marking that an elf had spilled their first black blood.

Partaker braids, for different big battles that simply marked a soldier as having been apart of said fight.

Fealty braids, openly showing who one’s loyalty lies with.

And at last survivors braids, these were worn by those who survived any type of imprisonment by dark creatures, there was also a more complicated version of this braid for former thralls of Angband.

There were also very rare braids which brought the wearer great respect and honor if an elven warrior wore said braid in their hair.

One of the rarest and most admired was the braid marking the survival of an encounter with Sauron, which on its own was feat enough.

It was a complicated four too five thread braid with multiple smaller or larger beads depending on the length or severity of the meeting.

Another was the one worn by Balrog slayers. This braid however only really surfaced after the first age when Glorfindel returned from Valinor since there were no surviving Balrog slayers to wear it.

One of the few braids that stayed the same from Valinor to Beleriand was the braid of the High King. Having only ever been worn by Finwë, Fëanor, Maedhros, Fingolfin, Fingon and Turgon.

Gil-Galad did not continue this tradition due to his decent from the house of Finarfin who‘s braiding traditions, just as many other elven houses, had faded over the years.

But since braids were mainly worn by the first to arrive in Beleriand after the flight of the Noldor, therefore fëanorians and their loyalists over time battle braids became a symbol of their house which quickly resulted and a fast decline of elven battle braids being seen on daily basis.

After the second and third kinslaying they had nearly completely disappeared in all but those still loyal to the remaining two son‘s of Fëanor and the son‘s themselves.

There were also unique braid, only ever worn by one person.

One of those was Maedhros‘ side braid.

A simple but elegant side braid on his left with no beads or pearls or any decorations whatsoever.

He wore it always after his rescue from the cliffs of Thangorodrim.

This braid was neatly kept, closly against his skull and tightly braided.

The braid of Maedhros became a symbol for the Lord of Himring and only ever associated with him and his qualities.

His formidable talent as a warlord, his unchallenged title as the greatest and fiercest swordsman of Beleriand, his fëanorian heritage and his standing as leader of the followers of house Fëanor.

The orcs, goblins, werewolves and evil men began to fear the braid of the red haired elf and his name became even more devastating to them than it already was.

After Maedhros died none dared ever wear his braid, for it stood for a fury no one dared claim as their own.

The centuries went by and braids got fewer and fewer. The second age was nearly at its end and the war against Sauron in full go.

But then came the day on which Sauron’s forces marched with Celebrimbor‘s dead body used as a flag.

And the infamous fury of the Lord of Himring was set ablaze in another, one who deemed himself close to the deceased elf to this day.

Elrond.

When he saw his beloved cousin’s body, defaced and dishonored that fire his foster father had carried was lit within him, and something snapped.

The next day the entire army was in shock and disbelief as their King‘s herald walked onto the battlefield wearing said infamous side braid, paired with a set of armor made by Celebrimbor, and an ear cuff also known for having once belonged to Maedhros.

That day the orcs of Sauron learned to fear the fury of the half elf, for they had already forgotten what true Noldorian spirit was. Elrond cut them down one by one, killing hundreds of orcs by himself and struck terror into the hearts of his enemies as they watched their companions fall to his blade.

Elrond didn’t stop until nearly all orcs were either dead or had fled from his wrath.

Then he went to find his cousins body. He freed him from the wooden pole he had been bound to and carried him away. Far off into nature, away from Lindon and Eregion, far away from all they once knew and laid him to rest in a peaceful spot where many flowers grew and old trees surrounded them.

To this day Lord Elrond visits his cousin often, for his final resting place is no far from Imladris, and to this day he wears the braid once associated with Maedhros, and he would do so until his arrival in Valinor.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

please tell us more about your mad theory about the tories getting rid of Sunak?

So the Tories currently have two (2) major problems.

Problem the first: they are about to lose power as soon as the GE rolls around, which it must do by January 2025 at the absolute latest. And the country is baying for one sooner.

This is very much preoccupying their minds at the minute. The rich and powerful will never willingly let you vote away their wealth and power, and to put this into perspective, the Tory party has ruled this country either jointly or alone for over a decade at this point. One of David Cameron's strategies as leader was to focus on recruitment of young and exciting diverse Tories into the party, which is how we got such stellar entries as Liz Truss and Priti Patel and Suella Braverman. These are MPs, therefore, who have never known political life outside of being on the winning side. They are seeing the end of the gravy train in sight, and they are taking it as well as you'd expect.

This is why the infighting is so rife (partly; bear with). The main thing they care about right now is making the party electable again, and fast.

But...

Problem the second: like all good fascist dictators, when Boris Johnson came to power, he fired everyone who said anything bad about him for disloyalty, and promoted all his personal friends. This is how we got such stellar entries as Nadine Dorries and Jacob Rees Mogg and Michael Fabricant. But THAT'S an issue because saying bad things about BJ is basically what intelligent people did, because the man was a useless blundering oaf who killed horrifying numbers of his own electorate via the world's second worst mismanagement of a global pandemic. So removing anyone who criticised him meant, in very real terms, removing the only Tories with half a brain who were even a fraction capable of doing joined up thinking required to run a country. Like, fuck every Tory with a cactus, obviously, but they did at least used to have competent, high calibre politicians, however evil and grotesque they were. David Cameron should die in a cesspit, but he was capable of remembering to put the bins out (before wage cutting the refuse collectors).

And therein lies the real problem: okay, BJ is gone, the party is in ruin, they're staring down the barrel of the most humiliating election defeat in history. They need someone competent that they all like who can take the reins and make people like them again.

But who's left?

There's no one. There's no one left. Not just because the remaining Tories are too low calibre to lead; they're too low calibre to even be able to pick someone without shrieking like cliquey little harridans on the playground about how the wrong in-group got in. Half of them are still BJ loyalists who hate anyone who criticise The Great Brexit Leader. The other half hate BJ for managing to make everyone hate the Tories so much that they're in this mess. Both halves are willing to sabotage the chosen leader of the other, locked in a battle of mutually assured destruction.

So how does Sunak fit into this?

He's unpopular in the party to a truly staggering degree, and not much better in the eyes of the public. He's tried to take a centrist stance on BJ, but that's actually just pissed off both sides. He did manage to stabilise the economy somewhat after the appalling mess Liz Truss threw it into, but he hasn't actually fixed it - we're still mid-cost of living crisis, we're still inexplicably not rich after Brexit like Boris prommied, inflation is still at an all time high as public services crash. The public hates him.

And he hasn't made the public stop hating the Tories. That petition calling for a GE is great, because it won't happen - BUT, it does force the issue to be debated in Parliament with opposition parties getting to stick the boot in, which means the humiliation continues. The Tories are starting to get desperate again.

And because this lot of Tories are, as mentioned, utterly terrible low-calibre political idiots, their response to this pressure has for the last four years been to oust the leader and get another.

And the first letters of no confidence have been sent into the 1922 Committee already. The devil moves fast, but knuckle dragging Tories with a fifth of a braincell each move faster.

And thanks to the absolute fucking state of them all... I cannot believe I'm saying these words, but genuinely the best person they have left who could possibly do the job is, of all fucking people, Michael Fucking Gove, and it won't even be him because he was mean to Boris once.

So yeah. I reckon Sunak may be out in six months. Fuck knows who we get instead. Probably Penny Mordaunt.

[novaursa]

Hello:) I love your writing and I saw that you're still taking requests, so I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in writing about my idea??

So the whole idea is Cregan x wife!reader where (before her marriage) she was from a more southern house that's closer to Kings landing (Tyrell, Lannister etc. you can choose)

Now, the main plot is that she wants to help during the war, but she's not that good at fighting and also has no dragon. However, she wants to prove that she can help.

So she fakes/has a little argument with Cregan and then, after a cute goodbye, infiltrates the greens in Kings landing.

There, she acts as if she's no longer close to cregan because he is a black supporter and because of her previous house, she's a green loyalist (in reality, she's team black and a true lady stark)

While she's there, she infiltrates them and sneaks information to cregan and rhaenyra etc. While both of them (or at least cregan worry about her)

Larys and aemond are obvi kind of suspicious of her.

You can choose how you want this to end. If it's angsty because she gets caught or happy even though she got caught, or maybe she doesn't get caught at all. You can choose, with your writing, I'm sure you'll find a great solution:)

The whole scenario is inspired by "She Wolf" by shakira (I hope you know the song😅)

For the rating 16+/18+ depending on the violence/gore/sexual themes.

(Also I wanna thank you for actually considering and writing about my idea for your harwin story "chasing the inferno". I was the anon)

I hope the idea isn't too confusing. Have a great day :)

The Silent Game

- Summary: When your family took the side of King Aegon II, the usurper, you felt the need to support the rightful Queen and your husband, the Warden of the North. No matter the cost.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂 That idea you had (about Chasing the Inferno) was brilliant. And just what I needed to continue the plot, as my imagination was at the halt at that time. And I know that song. I was in my Shakira era when it came out. 😄

The North had always been a place of bold contrasts: the cold and the warmth, the silence and the howling winds, the dark nights and the flickering lights of Winterfell. You were still adjusting to these contrasts, even after months of marriage to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North. Your union had been one of strategy, a lioness from the Westerlands joining forces with the wolves of the North. But in time, your marriage had grown into something deeper, something that transcended the cold calculations of politics.

Yet now, as the war between the Greens and the Blacks brewed, you found yourself increasingly restless. Winterfell felt like a prison, even with its ancient walls and the comforting presence of your husband. You longed to be more than just a silent supporter; you wanted to take action, to show Cregan that you were his equal in all things, that you could be the lioness who fought alongside the wolves.

But Cregan’s attention had shifted, as it often did with the coming of autumn. The Wall and its endless duty had consumed him, and the war in the south seemed a distant concern compared to the threats of the North. It was a reality you understood but did not accept. You needed to contribute, to show your devotion to him and his cause—Rhaenyra's cause.

Tonight, as you sat by the fire in your shared chambers, the flames casting long shadows across the stone walls, you decided to act. You would provoke Cregan, force him to send you away, to the very heart of the enemy’s territory—King’s Landing. There, you could serve as his eyes and ears, a lioness among snakes, sending back crucial information to the Black faction and to your beloved husband.

The plan was simple in theory, but your heart clenched at the thought of deceiving him, even if it was for a greater purpose. You had to make him believe that you no longer wished to stay in Winterfell, that you felt suffocated and out of place in the North. The thought of causing him pain was unbearable, but you knew it was necessary.

Cregan entered the chamber, his dark hair still damp from the cold air outside. His grey eyes softened when they met yours, and he offered you a small smile as he moved to sit beside you. His presence was comforting, a reminder of why you had fallen in love with him.

"You've been quiet tonight," he observed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the very stones of Winterfell.

You looked into the fire, gathering your resolve. "I’ve been thinking, Cregan. About our place in this war."

He frowned slightly, not out of anger but concern. "Our place is here, in the North. The Wall needs me, and Winterfell needs its lady."

His words were reasonable, grounded in the reality of your lives, but they ignited the spark of frustration you needed to fuel the argument. "And what of the war in the South? What of Rhaenyra? Do we not owe her our loyalty? Our support?"

Cregan’s brow furrowed further as he regarded you. "We support her, but our duty is here. The North is vast and unpredictable; it cannot be neglected."

You stood up, letting your anger seep into your voice, even as it tore at your heart to speak such words. "I am a Lannister, Cregan! My brothers are in King’s Landing, one serving on the Small Council of the Greens. How can I sit here, idle, while they plot against Rhaenyra and our cause?"

Cregan stood as well, towering over you, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. "You would leave Winterfell? Leave me?"

The pain in his voice nearly broke your resolve, but you pressed on, knowing this was the only way. "If it means contributing to this war, then yes! I am not some helpless maiden to be kept in the North while the world burns. I want to fight, to serve, to show that I am as much a Stark as I am a Lannister."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you feared you had gone too far. "You think I don't need you here? That I don’t want you by my side?"

You softened your tone, taking a step closer to him. "I know you do, Cregan. But I need to prove my worth, not just to you, but to myself. Send me south. Let me be your eyes and ears in King’s Landing. I can be of more use there than I am here."

He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his desire to protect you and his understanding of the larger game at play.

"I cannot send you into the lion’s den, not when your brothers are part of it," he said finally, his voice strained.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "They are my brothers, yes, but they are also men who have chosen the wrong side. They may not trust me, but they will allow me close enough to gather information, to play the part of the loyal sister while serving Rhaenyra and you."

Cregan’s gaze returned to you, searching your face as if trying to find any hint of doubt. "This is dangerous. You know that."

"I do," you whispered. "But I am willing to take that risk for you, for our house, for our future."

He closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening. "You ask too much of me," he murmured. "But how can I deny you when you speak of duty and love in the same breath?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushed away before he could see. "Then you will send me?"

Cregan opened his eyes, the decision made but the weight of it clear in his expression. "I will. But promise me, when this is done, you will return to me. I cannot lose you."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I promise, Cregan. I will return."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you would slip away then and there. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, committing this moment to memory. 

When he released you, his expression was one of determination mixed with sorrow. "I’ll make the arrangements. You’ll leave within the week."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. But you reminded yourself of your purpose, of the love that drove you to this decision. You would prove your loyalty, your devotion, and your love for Cregan Stark, even if it meant walking into the lion’s den to do so.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of your chamber, casting a muted glow over the room. The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving a chill in the air that seemed to seep into your very bones. You had spent the night sleepless, lying in the large bed you shared with Cregan, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Today was the day you would leave Winterfell, your home, and your husband, to embark on a dangerous mission to the South.

The thought of leaving him, of being apart from the man you loved, filled you with a deep ache. But this was necessary. For Rhaenyra, for the Blacks, for Cregan. You had to believe that.

A soft knock at the door drew you from your thoughts. You sat up, wrapping your robe tightly around yourself as the door creaked open, revealing Cregan. His expression was a mixture of sadness and resolve, a reflection of your own emotions. He entered the room silently, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other.

"You’re leaving soon," he said quietly, his voice rough from the early hour.

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. You knew that if you spoke, your voice would betray the turmoil inside you.

Cregan crossed the room to stand before you, his large hands gently cupping your face. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes as you savored the moment.

"I wish there was another way," he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "I wish I could keep you here, safe, by my side."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "I know, Cregan. But this is what needs to be done. For Rhaenyra, for the North...for us."

His jaw clenched, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. "I hate that you have to do this, that I have to send you into danger."

You placed your hands over his, squeezing gently. "You’re not sending me into danger, Cregan. I’m choosing this. I want to help, to do my part. And I know you would do the same if our positions were reversed."

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you close against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath, and you closed your eyes, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The thought of being without him, of not feeling his warmth beside you at night, was almost unbearable.

"You must be careful," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Promise me you’ll stay safe, that you’ll come back to me."

You tightened your hold on him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. "I promise, Cregan. I will return to you. I will always return to you."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious. "If you find yourself in danger, if things become too perilous, you must come back. The war, the cause—it’s not worth losing you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You needed to be strong, for him, for both of you. "I will be careful, I swear it."

Cregan leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss full of love, of longing, of a desire to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. You returned it with equal fervor, pouring all your emotions into that kiss, as if it was the last one you would ever share.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding each other, neither wanting to let go. But eventually, you knew the time had come. You stepped back, breaking the embrace, and Cregan’s hand lingered on yours as you moved away.

"I’ll be waiting for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Winterfell will be waiting for you."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him for a long while. But you had to stay strong, for both of you.

Cregan escorted you to the courtyard, where a horse had been prepared for your journey. The Northern wind whipped around you, biting at your exposed skin, but you barely felt it. All your focus was on Cregan, on the way his hand gripped yours, as if afraid to let go.

As you approached the horse, Cregan helped you mount, his hands lingering on your waist, his touch warm even through the thick layers of your clothing. Once you were settled, he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You’ll have a small escort until you pass the Twins, just enough to keep you safe without drawing too much attention," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I trust you, my love. I trust you to do what needs to be done."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And I trust you, Cregan. I will send word as often as I can."

He gave a small, tight smile. "I’ll be waiting for your letters, but more than that, I’ll be waiting for you to return."

You looked down at him, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him behind. But you steeled yourself, knowing that this was the path you had chosen.

"I will come back to you, Cregan," you promised, your voice firm. "No matter what happens, I will return."

He reached up, his hand brushing against your cheek one last time. "Goodbye, my lioness. Until we meet again."

With a final nod, you urged the horse forward, the sound of hooves on the stone courtyard echoing in your ears. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might lose the resolve to go through with this. Instead, you focused on the path ahead, on the journey south, on the mission that awaited you.

But as Winterfell disappeared behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of you was being left behind, with the man you loved.

The towering walls of the Red Keep loomed ahead as your carriage (courtesy of Lady Frey when you rested in the Twins) rolled through the gates of King’s Landing. The familiar, oppressive weight of the capital settled on your shoulders the moment you crossed into the city. You had grown up in these streets, and while the grandeur of the Lannister seat at Casterly Rock had always called you home, there was something about the Red Keep that felt equally like a gilded cage and a battlefield. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead.

The journey south had been long and grueling, but that was nothing compared to the task you now faced. You had to convince your brother, Tyland, that your presence here was born out of desperation and exile, not strategy and loyalty to Rhaenyra. Every word, every gesture would need to be calculated, yet natural, to ensure he believed you were truly the sister he thought he knew.

The carriage came to a halt, and before you could fully prepare yourself, the door was pulled open by a Lannister guard. You stepped down, your legs stiff from the journey, and barely had time to straighten your skirts before you saw him—Tyland, rushing down the steps of the Keep, his face etched with worry.

"Sister!" His voice was strained with concern, and he reached you in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace. It had been years since you’d last seen Tyland, and despite everything, despite the sides you had chosen, he was still your brother. The scent of his familiar cologne brought back memories of a simpler time, before the realm had been torn apart by dragons and treachery.

"Tyland," you breathed, your voice trembling as you wrapped your arms around him, drawing on the emotions you needed to sell your story. "I didn’t think I’d ever see you again."

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he scanned your face, searching for any signs of harm or distress. "What happened? Why are you here? Why are you alone?" The questions came in a rapid, breathless stream, his eyes wide with worry.

You looked down, feigning shame and sorrow, before meeting his gaze with a carefully crafted expression of despair. "Cregan found out about our family’s support for King Aegon. He was furious, Tyland. He said he couldn’t have a Lannister—a traitor, he called me—living in his house. He… he exiled me. Sent me away with nothing but a few guards and this carriage. I had nowhere else to go."

Tyland’s face darkened with anger, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "That bloody Northern savage," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "How dare he treat you like this? How dare he?"

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as you allowed yourself to lean into the role you had to play. "He said he never wanted to see me again, that I was nothing but a stain on his honor. I begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant. I had no choice but to come here, to you."

Tyland’s expression softened, his anger giving way to concern as he pulled you into another embrace. "You’re safe now," he murmured against your hair. "You’re with your family, where you belong. We’ll protect you, I promise."

You nodded, clinging to him as if for dear life, even as your mind raced with the lies you had spun. "I was so afraid, Tyland. I thought he might… I thought he might harm me. The way he looked at me…"

Tyland pulled back, his eyes fierce with a protective fury you hadn’t seen in him before. "He’ll pay for this, I swear it. But you’re safe now. I’ll make sure of it."

You allowed yourself to sag against him, letting out a shuddering breath as you feigned relief. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I didn’t know where else to turn."

He stroked your hair gently, guiding you back towards the Red Keep. "You did the right thing, coming here. The war… it’s tearing everything apart, but you’re safe with us now. We’ll figure out what to do next."

You let him lead you inside, your heart pounding with the fear that he might see through your act. But Tyland was focused on comforting you, on reassuring you that you were home now, that you were safe. The gods old and new were merciful, it seemed, as he didn’t question your story, didn’t probe deeper into your supposed exile.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, Tyland kept a protective arm around you, guiding you towards the chambers that had been hastily prepared for you. His anger at Cregan, his love for you, were palpable, and you leaned into that, praying silently that you could maintain this charade.

When you reached your chambers, Tyland dismissed the servants, wanting a private moment with you. He led you to a chair by the fire, urging you to sit, and then knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll protect you. The Greens will win this war, and when they do, you’ll be safe, and you’ll have your place in the new order."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on his as you forced yourself to believe in the role you were playing. "I just want to do what’s right, Tyland. I want to support our family, to do whatever I can to help."

He smiled, a hint of the boy you once knew shining through the hard exterior he had built over the years. "And you will, sister. You will. We’ll make sure of it."

As he stood to leave, you squeezed his hand, forcing yourself to look vulnerable, desperate for his protection. "Please… don’t let anyone else know what happened. I don’t want to be seen as a failure, as someone who couldn’t hold onto their marriage."

Tyland nodded, his expression serious. "Of course. We’ll keep this between us. No one will think less of you for what that Northern brute did. You’re a Lannister, and you’re my sister. That’s all that matters."

You nodded, offering him a weak smile as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he was gone, you allowed yourself to collapse into the chair, your hands shaking with the weight of the deception you had just woven.

The Red Keep was your tie to home, but now it was a den of enemies, a place where every word, every action, could spell disaster if you were not careful. You prayed to the gods old and new, begging them for strength, for cunning, for the ability to play this dangerous game.

You had convinced Tyland, but there were many others who would not be so easily swayed. You had to be vigilant, careful, and above all, you had to keep Cregan in your heart. You would send him word when you could, slip information back to him and to Rhaenyra. But for now, you had to be the lioness among lions, playing your part in this deadly dance.

And all the while, you prayed that Tyland, or anyone else, would never see through the mask you had so carefully donned.

The grand halls of the Red Keep were as cold and imposing as ever, despite the ornate tapestries and blazing hearths that lined the corridors. You had grown accustomed to the hollow echo of your footsteps as you navigated this labyrinth of stone and secrets, but today, the weight of your task felt heavier than ever. The shadows seemed to cling to you, whispering of the dangers that lurked behind every corner.

In the privacy of your chambers, the faint scent of burning parchment still lingered in the air. You had just destroyed a letter—one that had arrived under the cover of darkness, smuggled into your hands by a loyal servant of the North. The letter had been from Cregan, your heart's anchor in this sea of deception.

You could still feel the warmth of his words lingering in your chest, a reminder of the love that bound you to him, even across the distance. He had written of his worry for you, of the nights he spent staring out over the frozen landscape of the North, wishing you were there beside him. He thanked you for your courage, for the sacrifices you were making, even as he admitted how much it pained him to have sent you away. His words were full of love, but also fear—a fear that you would be caught, that the game you were playing would turn deadly.

My brave lioness, he had written, I know the strength you carry within you, but I cannot help but worry for your safety. Every day, I pray to the old gods to watch over you, to keep you safe in the den of our enemies. You are my heart, my soul, and I am so proud of what you are doing, even though it tears at me to think of you so far away. Return to me, my love, when this is all over. Until then, be careful, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

You had read the letter several times, allowing yourself a few moments of vulnerability as you traced the familiar curves of his handwriting. But you knew that every word was dangerous, that keeping such a letter would be a risk you couldn’t afford to take. So, with a heavy heart, you had burned it, watching as the flames consumed the last tangible connection to your husband.

Now, as you walked through the Red Keep, you carried the memory of that letter with you, tucked away in the deepest part of your heart. You had to be careful, more so than ever before. The walls had ears, and the slightest misstep could unravel everything.

As you rounded a corner, heading towards the private dining chamber where you were to meet Tyland for dinner, you caught the tail end of a conversation that sent a chill down your spine.

Aemond Targaryen’s voice, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed down the hallway. "It’s impossible that Rhaenyra could have known about the ships. Someone must have tipped her off. The fleet from the Free Cities was our best chance to cut off her supply lines at the Gullet!"

You slowed your pace, your heart beginning to race as you listened. Larys Strong’s voice, oily and calm, responded in a tone that made your skin crawl. "It is troubling, my prince. We must consider that there may be a leak within our ranks, someone feeding information to the Blacks. We cannot afford any more missteps."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the gravity of their conversation. Rhaenyra had been warned about the ships—a piece of information you had managed to send north discreetly through one of your own messages. If they suspected a spy in their midst, it would only be a matter of time before they began to scrutinize everyone, including you.

As you continued down the hallway, forcing yourself to remain calm, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You turned your head slightly and saw Aemond and Larys watching you from the shadows. Aemond’s single eye glinted in the dim light, his gaze sharp and assessing. Larys’s expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to set your nerves on edge.

You met their gazes briefly, offering a small, polite nod as if nothing was amiss, before continuing on your way. The chill that ran down your spine was unlike anything you had felt before, a cold, creeping fear that settled deep in your bones. They had seen you, and you could only pray that they did not suspect you of anything more than passing by.

As soon as you were out of their sight, you quickened your pace, eager to reach the safety of your brother’s chambers. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to maintain a composed exterior. You couldn’t afford to show any sign of fear or guilt—especially not now.

When you finally reached the private dining chamber, you found Tyland already seated at the table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked up as you entered, his expression softening into a smile.

"Sister," he greeted, rising to embrace you. "You look troubled. Is everything all right?"

You returned his embrace, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your brother, but the tension in your shoulders refused to ease. "I’m just tired," you lied smoothly, offering him a weary smile. "The journey was long, and the atmosphere here… it’s oppressive and difficult to adjust in a few months."

Tyland nodded, leading you to the table where a simple but elegant meal had been laid out. "The war weighs heavily on all of us," he said, pouring you a glass of wine. "But you’re safe here, with family."

You accepted the wine, taking a small sip as you tried to push the encounter with Aemond and Larys from your mind. But the memory of their scrutiny lingered, a constant reminder of the precarious position you were in.

As the meal progressed, you made light conversation with Tyland, discussing family matters and memories of your childhood at Casterly Rock. He seemed genuinely pleased to have you back in his life, and his presence was a balm to your frayed nerves. But even as you laughed at his stories and shared in his plans for the future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking on a knife’s edge.

Every word you spoke, every gesture you made, was calculated to keep up the facade. Tyland must not suspect anything—nor could anyone else. You were playing a dangerous game, and the stakes were higher than ever.

As the night wore on, you excused yourself, claiming fatigue from the journey, and Tyland kissed your cheek warmly before you left. "Rest well, sister," he said, his voice filled with affection. "We’ll speak more in the morning."

You nodded, offering him a final smile before retreating to your chambers. Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. You had made it through another day, but the fear remained, gnawing at your resolve.

You crossed the room and knelt by the hearth, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Closing your eyes, you whispered a prayer to the gods old and new, asking for their protection, their guidance. You needed every ounce of strength and cunning to survive this—to complete your mission and return to Cregan’s arms.

As the night deepened, you crawled into bed, but sleep eluded you. Instead, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your deception pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. The memory of Cregan’s letter played over in your mind, a reminder of why you were doing this, of who you were doing it for.

No matter the danger, no matter the fear, you would see this through. For Rhaenyra, for the North, and for the love you carried for the man waiting for you in Winterfell.

But as you drifted into an uneasy sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep the truth hidden, how much longer you could play this deadly game before someone discovered the lioness in their midst was indeed a wolf.

The skies above King’s Landing were thick with the smoke of burning ships, the sound of clashing swords and the cries of the wounded echoing through the streets. The city had fallen, its walls breached by Rhaenyra's forces, and now the Blacks had taken control of the capital. The Red Keep, once a symbol of power and authority under the Greens, had become a battlefield, its halls filled with the triumphant and the defeated.

You stood in the throne room, surrounded by the black and red banners of House Targaryen, your heart heavy with a mixture of relief and dread. The mission you had embarked upon months ago had finally reached its conclusion. You had done what you had set out to do—played your part in the fall of the Greens from within their own stronghold. But the price of your success now weighed heavily on your soul.

At the far end of the hall, Rhaenyra Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, her dark hair cascading down her back, her gaze as fierce as the dragons she commanded. Daemon stood beside her, his presence as menacing as ever, his eyes glittering with the thrill of victory. The throne room was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers alike, all of them awaiting the queen’s judgment on those who had opposed her.

As you approached the throne, your heart pounded in your chest, knowing what was about to happen, dreading it. Tyland had been captured along with the other members of the Green council, and now they awaited their fates. You had pleaded with the guards to see your brother, to speak to him, but they had refused. You had been kept away from him, kept in the dark until this moment.

"Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you as you curtsied before Rhaenyra. "King��s Landing is yours, and the Greens have been defeated. I am at your service, as always."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, a rare moment of warmth in the midst of the chaos. "You have done much for our cause, my lady. Your loyalty and bravery have not gone unnoticed. It is thanks to your efforts that we were able to anticipate their moves, to strike where they were weakest. For that, you have my gratitude."

You bowed your head, accepting her praise, but the words felt hollow. Gratitude could not ease the tension that coiled in your gut, the fear that gripped your heart as you awaited her next words.

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened again as she turned her attention to the prisoners being brought before her, shackled and defeated. Among them was your brother, Tyland, his face pale but his expression resolute. He had always been a proud man, and even now, in chains, he refused to show fear.

"Tyland Lannister," Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, echoing through the throne room, "you stand accused of treason against the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You served the usurper Aegon and conspired to destroy House Targaryen. For your crimes, there can be but one punishment."

You felt the blood drain from your face as the words you had feared most were spoken. "No," you whispered, barely audible, before finding your voice and stepping forward, your heart in your throat. "Your Grace, please, I beg you to spare him."

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as you spoke, all eyes turning to you. Rhaenyra’s gaze was sharp, questioning. "He is a traitor, my lady. His actions led to the deaths of many, and he must answer for them."

You sank to your knees, desperation in your voice as you pleaded for your brother’s life. "He is my brother, Your Grace. He may have been misguided, but he did what he believed was right, just as we all have. I know his loyalty was to the wrong cause, but I beg you to show mercy. Let him live, and I swear he will never pose a threat to you again. He is all I have left of my family."

Tyland’s eyes met yours, and for the first time since you had reunited in King’s Landing, you saw something break in his stern facade. The love and concern in his gaze were unmistakable, and you felt your heart wrench as you saw your brother—the man who had always protected you, who had stood by you when no one else did—now reduced to this.

Rhaenyra’s expression remained impassive, but you could see the conflict in her eyes. She was a queen, but she was also a mother, a sister. She knew what it was to love and to lose, to be torn between duty and family.

"You ask much of me, my lady," Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured. "Tyland Lannister’s hands are stained with the blood of my loyal followers. Mercy for him could be seen as weakness, a precedent that might encourage others to rise against me."

Daemon’s gaze flickered to you, then to Tyland, and back to Rhaenyra. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and calculating. "Mercy is a luxury we cannot afford in these times, Rhaenyra. Traitors must be dealt with swiftly, without exception."

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t afford to be weak now, not when your brother’s life hung in the balance. "Please, Your Grace," you implored, "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything. Just spare him. I will leave the capital, return to the North, or anywhere else you command. I will serve you however you wish, but please, do not take him from me."

The silence that followed your plea was deafening. Rhaenyra looked at you, truly looked at you, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing your words, considering the options. You held your breath, praying that the love you had for your brother, and the service you had given to her cause, would be enough to sway her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rhaenyra spoke. "Tyland Lannister has committed grave crimes against the realm, crimes that warrant death. But in recognition of the service you have rendered to my cause, I will grant him his life." 

A gasp of relief escaped your lips, and you bowed your head in gratitude, tears now streaming down your face. "Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you."

"But know this," Rhaenyra continued, her voice stern and unwavering. "He will live, but his life will be one of exile and dishonor. He will be stripped of his titles and lands, and he will be sent to the Wall. He will live out his days in the service of the Night’s Watch, far from here. He will never again set foot in the South."

You nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed with a mix of relief and sorrow. It was a harsh sentence, but it was life. Tyland would live, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

Tyland was led away, his eyes lingering on you until he disappeared from view. You rose to your feet, still trembling, and Rhaenyra gestured for you to approach the throne. 

"You have done much for me, and for that, you have my thanks," she said quietly, so only you could hear. "But remember, this mercy I have granted comes with a cost. Loyalty must be earned and maintained. See to it that you do not waver."

You met her gaze, understanding the weight of her words. "I will not forget, Your Grace."

With that, you turned and left the throne room, your heart heavy but filled with a sense of purpose. Tyland would live, and that was more than you had dared to hope for. But the road ahead would be long and treacherous, for both of you. You had made sacrifices, and you would have to make more. But as long as you could keep the people you loved safe, it would all be worth it.

As you walked through the halls of the Red Keep, the echoes of your footsteps accompanied by the distant sounds of a city under new rule, you prayed once more to the gods old and new. You had survived this day, but there would be many more challenges ahead. And through it all, you would need to stay strong, for yourself, for your brother, and for the North that still awaited your return.

The road to the North was long and arduous, the chill of autumn creeping steadily into the bones of everyone who traveled it. The once green fields had turned to barren landscapes, the sky a constant blanket of grey. You sat in the carriage, wrapped in furs, the bitter cold seeping through the heavy fabric. Beside you, Tyland sat quietly, his expression unreadable as he stared out the window at the bleak countryside.

The silence between you had stretched on for days, the weight of everything that had happened in King’s Landing hanging heavy in the air. You had saved his life, but at a cost. Tyland had lost everything—his titles, his lands, his place in the South. And now, he was being sent to the Wall, to a life of exile and duty in the farthest reaches of the realm. You knew he struggled with the reality of his new fate, and the words he had not yet spoken weighed on your heart.

As the carriage rumbled along the rough road, you finally mustered the courage to speak, breaking the silence that had settled between you like a shroud. "Tyland," you began, your voice soft but steady, "I know this is not the life you envisioned for yourself. I’m sorry for what has happened, for the choices that led us here."

Tyland turned his gaze from the window to you, his eyes searching your face for a moment before he sighed, a heavy sound filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up. "You did what you thought was right," he said finally, his voice tinged with bitterness but also a hint of resignation. "You always were the clever one, the one who saw the bigger picture. But I can’t say I’m not angry, or that I’m not filled with regret."

You nodded, understanding his feelings all too well. "I had to make a choice, Tyland. I couldn’t let you die, not when there was another way. But I know the Wall is not what you wanted, and for that, I am sorry."

He leaned back against the cushioned seat, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the weariness of the past few months. "The Wall," he muttered, almost to himself. "It’s a place for criminals, for bastards, for those who have nothing left to lose. And now I am one of them."

"But you’re alive," you said gently, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "And you’re still a Lannister, no matter where you go. The North may be harsh, but there is honor in serving at the Wall, especially now that winter is coming. The realm will need men like you, strong and capable, to defend it."

Tyland looked at your hand in his, then back at you, a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You always did have a way of making the worst situations seem bearable. I suppose that’s why you’re still alive, too."

You smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "We do what we must to survive, Tyland. But that doesn’t mean we have to face it alone."

The rest of the journey was spent in a tentative peace, the bond between you and Tyland slowly beginning to heal, though it would never be the same. He had accepted his fate, though with a heavy heart, and you had accepted the burden of knowing that your actions had brought him to this point. But as the carriage drew closer to Winterfell, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

When Winterfell finally came into view, its ancient walls standing tall against the sky, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. This was home now, the place where you had found love and purpose, and where you would begin the next chapter of your life. As the carriage rolled through the gates, you could see the figures waiting in the courtyard—Cregan among them, his tall, broad-shouldered form unmistakable.

The carriage came to a stop, and before you could even step out, Cregan was there, pulling the door open and helping you down. His hands were warm, his touch grounding you as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and cold air that clung to him.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his furs.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close. "Every day, every night, I thought of you. But now you’re here, and that’s all that matters."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his eyes. "I brought Tyland with me. Rhaenyra spared his life, but she sent him to the Wall."

Cregan’s gaze shifted to where Tyland was stepping out of the carriage, his expression unreadable. He nodded in acknowledgment, though there was no warmth in his eyes. "Lord Lannister," he greeted, his tone respectful but formal.

Tyland straightened, meeting Cregan’s gaze with a mixture of pride and resignation. "Lord Stark," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "I’m here to serve, as ordered."

Cregan studied him for a moment, then nodded. "The Wall is not a punishment, Tyland, but an honor. The Night’s Watch may be seen as a place for those with no other options, but the truth is, it’s a place for men who understand the weight of duty. The realm needs protectors, especially now, with winter coming. You will find purpose there, and in time, perhaps even a sense of belonging."

Tyland’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded in agreement. "I will do my duty," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of determination. "If this is my fate, then I will embrace it."

Cregan’s expression softened slightly, and he extended his hand to Tyland. "Then you have my respect, and the respect of the North. You are welcome in Winterfell until you take the black."

Tyland accepted the handshake, and for a moment, the two men stood in silent understanding. You felt a sense of relief wash over you—there was no animosity here, only a shared understanding of the burdens they both carried.

As the three of you made your way inside Winterfell, the warmth of the great hall enveloped you, the familiar scents of wood smoke and roasted meat filling the air. You felt a sense of peace settling over you, knowing that you had done what you could to protect your family, and that here, in the North, you would find the strength to face whatever came next.

That evening, you and Cregan sat together by the fire, the weight of the past few months slowly lifting as you shared stories of what had transpired. Tyland joined you, his demeanor more relaxed than it had been since his capture. The three of you spoke of the future, of the challenges that lay ahead, but also of the hope that lingered just beyond the horizon.

As the fire crackled and the shadows danced on the stone walls, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The North was harsh and unforgiving, but it was also a place of honor, of loyalty, and of love.

The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving only the soft glow of embers to illuminate the room. The heavy furs that covered the bed provided a cocoon of warmth, sheltering you from the cold that seeped in through the stone walls of Winterfell. Outside, the wind howled, a reminder of the harshness of the North, but here, in Cregan’s arms, you felt only the warmth of his body against yours.

The two of you lay entwined beneath the blankets, your skin still tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking. It had been so long since you had been together like this, since you had felt the press of his body against yours, the way his hands knew every curve and hollow of your form. You had missed this—missed him—with an ache that had grown unbearable during your time apart.

Cregan’s fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, his touch light but possessive, as if he was reminding himself that you were truly here, that you were his once more. You pressed closer to him, your head resting on his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was a sound that had become your anchor, a reminder that you were home.

"You’re quiet," Cregan murmured, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "What’s on your mind, my love?"

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the safety of his embrace. "I’m just… grateful," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Grateful to be here, with you. I missed this, missed us."

Cregan shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so that he could face you, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim light. "I missed you too," he said, his voice low and full of emotion. "Every day you were gone, I thought of you. Wondered if you were safe, if you were thinking of me as much as I was thinking of you."

You reached up, your fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw, feeling the roughness beneath your fingertips. "You were always on my mind," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your emotions. "There were times I didn’t know if I’d make it back, but the thought of you, of us… it kept me going."

His expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You’re here now," he whispered against your skin. "And I won’t let anything take you away from me again."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. "I don’t want to be apart from you ever again," you said, your voice fierce with determination. "I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here, with you, in the North. This is where I belong, where we belong."

Cregan’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. "You’re my wife, my love," he said, his voice steady and sure. "Nothing will keep us apart again. We’ve been through too much, and we’re stronger for it. This is our home now, and we’ll face whatever comes together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. It was true—together, you could face anything. The challenges you had overcome, the dangers you had braved, had only strengthened the bond between you. And now, here in the safety of Winterfell, in the warmth of Cregan’s arms, you knew that you could finally allow yourself to rest, to trust that you were where you were meant to be.

Cregan’s lips found yours again, the kiss slow and tender, full of the love and longing that had built up during your time apart. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, wanting to lose yourself in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you savored the closeness between you. "I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as a breath.

"I love you too," Cregan replied, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything. More than the North, more than duty, more than life itself."

You smiled, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. There was nothing more important than this, than the love you shared, the life you were building together. And after everything you had been through, you knew that you were ready to face whatever the future held, as long as you had him by your side.

The two of you lay together in silence for a while, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, the quiet intimacy that had been so hard-won. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but here, in this moment, you were safe. You were loved.

As you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on Cregan’s chest once more, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them with the strength of the North in your veins and the love of your husband in your heart. And that, you knew, would be enough.

[star--nymph]

Vivienne's fear being 'becoming irrelevant' isn't something that's linked explicitly to her pride, no matter what Solas says about her (and the irony of Mr.Pride himself saying that should not be lost on you), it reveals what and who Vivienne truly is.

She's a survivalist.

Because we don't spend as much time in the Free Marches or Orlesian circles, we don't get to experience what being a mage is in these cultures. In Ferelden and Kirkwall, a mage is a lesser being without freedom no matter what they do--but in the Free Marches and Orlais specifically, mages are commodities that are given freedom so long as they play an entertaining enough role. They can explore the world if they have a noble patron, if they catch the right person's eye. They are, in a way, two sides of the same coin--refusing mages agency and forcing them to relay on higher powers. Vivienne lucked out, as sad as it is, when Bastion fell in love with her; she found someone who was contrarian enough to recognize her as a full person and also someone with power that could help her rise through the ranks. This is not to say that Vivienne on her own wasn't an exceedingly talented and intelligent individual--by nineteen she was already the youngest full fledged mage in Circle history and she was skilled enough to make herself an enchanter. But, I can not emphasize this enough, none of that matters if she didn't also play the Game and impress enough people.

Vivienne could have been the most brilliant mage in the history of Thedas and it means nothing if she was overlooked by nobility.

So when Bastion made her his mistress, she gained not just a lover but also a means to an end. Now she can use her magic to protect herself. Now she can roam where she wants and not be question for it because she's Madame Vivienne. Now, she can walk into the Orlasian court and belong there.

And what happens? Celene notices her and makes her the Court Enchanter, a position that has always been the equivalent of a jester. Vivienne took that title, ignored that it was essentially a glorified insult to who she is, and made it a position of power. She made the Court Enchanter into an advisor, a political rank. She had done the impossible and made mages an actual political entity in the Orlasian Court, something that wasn't seen outside of Tervinter (not counting what players can do under very specific conditions if they made mages in DAO and DA2).

All that, however, only continues as long as the court recognizes her as something worth their attention. Vivienne needs to maintain her act as Madame De Fer, The Lady of Iron, the Court Enchanter, The Jewel of the High Court, because the second she just becomes Vivienne, it's over for her. The assassins coming raining in, her name gets devoured by rumors and gossip, and she'll be found dead at bottom of the stair case with a dagger in her back if she's lucky.

So of course when the Circles fall apart during the Rebellion, she clings to that Loyalist Mages to maintain that structure--of course she moves her pieces to the Inquisition, knowing that if the Circle DOES fall, she at least as another place for herself and mages latch onto--of course when she hears that Celene replaced her with a new Court Enchanter that appeared out of no where, she grows to resent Morrigan.

Like, Morrigan literally pops up out of thin air, makes herself invaluable to Celene, and then plants herself in the place Vivienne had to claw her way up to and create so she could survive. Would you not be resentful when your life's work is usurped by some random witch of the wilds because she happened to charm the Empress? Everything Vivienne strived for all whisked away because the court find a gem who glimmers ever so slightly more than Vivienne.

So yes, Vivienne fears becoming irrelevant because the world has made it so that irrelevance for an Orlesian mage means death.