#Otto plays dungeons and dragons

[ottobooty]

"Do you consent to being murdered?"

[thebadboyfanclub]

A Risk Taker (Daemon x Reader)

This is my first time writing something like this which was challenging but very entertaining, also I left a little detail that I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think by commenting. Enjoy!

“And right over here we have the iron throne, historians reported that it was created by hot steel and its rightful place was in what we now know as London, over here we have-“

(Y/n) stood dumbfounded at the sight of the throne in a result she tuned out what the woman was saying or explaining. She was in amazement at it, it was entirely made of swords, she came to wonder who came up with the idea of such a thing, who was the first to sit upon it, and who was the last. So many questions raced through her brain as she instinctively took a few steps to approach it.

(Y/n) was always interested in what historians call “the time of dragons” Some say it is just silly little stories or just tales of the church that wished to demonize the time before Christ.

“Miss you can’t touch that”

Before the security guard could stop her (y/n)s fingers grazed over the arm of the chair, goosebumps went over her entire body before she gripped it firmly and then everything went black.

“A witch! Protect the king! Disarm her”

“What?”

Before she could react or comprehend what was going on around her someone forced her hands behind her back earning a grunt from her.

“Ouch you asshole let me go”

“How dare you command anything you Bitch let go! I swear to god if I fucking bruise”

“Ser Criston, the lady is clearly in distress and pain, I believe it is best if you release her”

“Yeah that, manners much?”

Daemon had to refrain from laughing at her odd way of phrasing her thoughts. Everyone was on edge at someone that just simply appeared in front of the king and the iron throne just from thin air, her clothing was something no one had ever seen and her face was painted, Daemon carefully walked up the stairs who was rubbing her wrists to relieve herself from the discomfort.

“It is alright my lady, I am Prince Daemon of house Targaryen and you are?”

(Y/n) looked around the room, everyone was dressed in posh clothing that was decorating the museum hours ago and the man that was standing in front of her was the same person that she saw from the portrait when she walked in, also he resembled a lot the actor that played prince Philip at “the crown”.

“I… am (y/n) of house…. (Y/l/n) I guess”

“There is no such thing as house (y/l/n) she is lying, we must throw her in the dungeons”

“I fucking dare you”

“You will do no such thing Ser Criston, the lady isn’t dangerous, she is just as puzzled as we are, do you remember anything before this my lady?”

“I was visiting the Museum of Old England, I believe you guys call it Westeros”

“What was the year?”

“2023”

“So you mean to tell us all this just turns to…”

“History, books and movies”

“What are movies?”

“How do I explain, there is a machine that captures a scene like this for example and then it plays for an audience, like theatre but not really”

“The girl is in hysteria and probably lying, we cannot believe her words and prophecies stand true”

(Y/n) turned her head to eye the man that was talking, a man in his mid-40s she guessed that was dressed in all green and had a little pin with a golden hand, her eyes lit up at the realization of who this man was, and her mind could not comprehend what was going on yet she desperately wanted to prove herself she was being honest, probably because her life was at risk.

“Otto Hightower”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know a lot about you, you served the king, and has the king already married your daughter Alicent? Or is Aemma still alive?”

Silence fell over everyone, and looks of concern were being exchanged amongst the people, the lady that spoke knew everything about everyone, there was no way she could create the clothing she was wearing or whatever was on her face, could it be that she was actually from the future?

Frantically (y/n) started to search in her pockets for anything until she thankfully found her phone, she held it up in triumph before she pressed the button to open her screen

“There, see! I have pictures of the stuff that you use! Here is a portrait of one of my favorites from your family, Rhaenyra”

“Me?”

(Y/n)s eyes laid upon the young Targaryen, god the casting of her movie did such a great job the actress looked like the girl that was standing in front of her. (Y/n) smiled brightly at the princess before she took an awkward bow to the princess making her stumble on her way up.

“Princess Rhaenyra, an Oh my gosh pleasure to meet you, huge fan by the way, have you married Laenor yet?”

“We are betrothed”

“Well that is surely something ummm, excuse my weird stance but I feel like I will piss on myself from anxiety”

“Mayhaps it would be best if the princess escorted the young lady to one of the chambers, and found something more appropriate for her to wear”

Daemon chimed in, to save the poor lady from embarrassing herself or worst passing out in front of them. (Y/n) who grew self-conscious of her looks rubbed the material of her jeans as she looked down at her outfit, it was pretty stylish for a museum who would have known to dress appropriately for teleporting?

“These are my nice jeans”

“Ladies wear this?”

“Yes Otto they do, ladies also have rights which is a concept you would surely hate”

(Y/n) could feel her heart beat fast at the realization that all eyes are on her, she was someone that no one could vouch for, a girl that just stood there with no background, no title, they could behead her before the sun goes down and then what? Is death the way to go back? Or would she just die and leave everything behind?

She turned to the king to approach him once again, she swallowed the lump in her throat whilst she kneeled in a sign of respect, the instinct of survival had started to make her entire body shake at the fear of the unknown, she must come out of this unharmed.

“King Viserys, I am as shocked as you are still I ask for just some time, I can show you that I speak in all transparency, I can help you, use my knowledge to your advantage until I find a way to go home”

-

(Y/n) had become King Visery's closest advisor they were a good handful of times that Viserys specifically summoned her, he was always infatuated with dreamers so to have a woman with such power was his biggest asset.

Otto was naturally displeased and somewhat furious at her demeanor, her entire personality was just baffling to him, (y/n) interrupted him whenever he tried to offer his piece of mind to the king, (y/n) had taken away the power he had worked tirelessly to create.

(Y/n) was now lady (y/n), alongside Rhaenyra had to earn a seat at the small council which of course Queen Alicent had as well, (y/n) would of course try to stir Viserys in the right direction however a dilemma stuck in her consciousness like a thorn, she was well aware of how this would go, the dance of dragons, the war that will kick off in a few years, the hatred that was brewing between the greens and blacks, the burden fell on her chest like a pile of bricks, if she were to twist the future would the entire world become something different? Or would she save a thousand lives?

They were times that (y/n) could not have foreseen an event, Rhaenyras tragic wedding feast for example did not quite describe the death of a man, even if it did (y/n) could not have prevented it from occurring mind the fact that she was rather busy, Daemon had asked to have a minute… alone with Lady (y/n).

Daemon was always intrigued by her presence, her sharp tongue, and her reluctance to step back when it comes to an argument, she had the fire of a dragon in her, to Daemon it was evidently clear specifically when she was bare, she had confidence, experience, shameless passion, her touch did not tremble nor did she question herself, she took the reigns from him and showed him how they do it in her time.

“Lady (y/n) can I ask you a question?”

“Of course my prince”

“Father says you know the future, will I get a dragon?”

(Y/n) froze, on the morrow of Laenas funeral what would be the odds for meek Aemond to ask such a question? Today is the grim day that Aemond would lose his eye in a squabble between him and his nephews.

All color drained from (y/n)s face although she desperately attempted to keep her composure in front of an impatient Aemond who was looking up at her with eyes full of hope, all he ever wanted was to fit in, to have what everyone else had, though the cost he must pay was a rather painful one. (Y/n) reached to caress the young prince’s soft cheek and create a circle with her thumb on his soft skin.

“You will, my prince, speaking of such how would you like for us to go for a walk later? I would love to speak to you about it”

“Thank you, lady (y/n), I will be waiting for you”

“Promise me you will wait before you go anywhere”

“I promise”

“Pinky swear?”

“What?”

“It’s a tradition from my childhood, just hook your pinky to mine, like so”

Aemonds pinky intertwined with (y/n)s who was smiling brightly at him, she could not let the poor boy lose his eye over a dumb argument between children, all of the families fought but when you add dragons into the mix it can get messy extremely quick.

“May I ask what is this odd choice of a handshake about?”

“Well Otto it is something from my home, know there is where women can show cleavage and their legs and fathers do not marry their daughters to men that are twice their age”

“Yes you have been rather descriptive of the shameful customs your people hold”

“I know, a woman having an orgasm must be such a baffling concept to you or is it the fact that some of us do not wish to have children and there are actually safe ways of protecting us from conceiving that disgusts you?”

“Hold your tongue in front of the prince”

“You do not command me and you do not scare me, Otto, so I suggest you back off and let me be”

“Lady (y/n), may I have a moment alone with you?”

Daemon interrupted the conversation that was getting quite heated, to be discussing with such temper in public was something that was out of character for Otto but there was just something about her that pushed him beyond himself, to vocally express the urge of sexual desires and taunt it so freely, Parading her flesh like a succubus, no Otto refused to give in.

“Of course, my prince, remember our promise sweetling”

She whispered to Aemond before she raffled his head and winked at him playfully, all of the playfulness was gone when she diverted her eyes to Otto, a frown swiftly appeared as she eyed him from head to toe with utter disgust.

“Asshole”

She hissed making Prince Daemon choke on his laugh from being taken by surprise by her choice of words. (Y/n) walked with Daemon side by side but in utter silence, she just silently followed him waiting for Daemon to let her know what he wished to say in private.

She did as such until they reached the shore, her patience had run thin and her shoes were filled with sand, she just plopped down and took off the shoes to properly feel the sand and enjoyed the sensation of direct contact with nature.

“What is it Daemon, spit it out”

“I thought you would be gone by now”

“So did I but I have yet to figure out the way to go home”

“Perhaps you are not supposed to go home”

“Daemon we have discussed this”

“I left because you send me away, even then I send for you, asked for you and you denied me”

“I had a reason and you were married”

“You send me away”

“Are we going to reminisce about what I did the night we fucked at Laenas funeral?”

Daemon came to a halt at her question. Nobody was more embarrassed by his neediness than him, Daemon was a good-looking man and a prince, he never had any trouble with a lady he yearned for, except (y/n).

After the exceptional time they had together he could still vividly describe how she patted him on the shoulder and told him that she should walk into the feast first so they don’t look suspicious, the coldness in her voice after such a steamy affair left him with countless questions.

Daemon sat next to her and just stared at the horizon, he wanted to hug her, tell her how much he missed her, confess to her exactly the amount of letters he had to send asking about her, (y/n) made him feel weak.

“I wanted to come, I often yearned to relive our moment but I cannot offer what you are craving. I could leave at any time just like a came”

“I have always been a risk taker”

“Your end goal is marriage Daemon, I understand that my age here means I am an old maid but where I grew up I am young, I do not wish to be wed nor have children and you do”

“I have children”

“And I am sure you love them and you love being a father because that is who you are, I am simply not”

“Isn’t this lovely, you have me all figured out”

Daemon spitted with sadness dripping at every word, he could not say that she did not have a point, still, at the end of the day he wanted her, he wanted to burn himself alive in her fire just to feel her warmth.

Daemon got up to leave when he was forced to stop by someone holding him by the wrist, once he looked back to find (y/n) on her feet and had latched her fingers on his wrist.

“Daemon don’t be like this”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

(Y/n) did not know what to say for the first time in forever, she acted on instinct when she hugged him, her head went on his chest and his heartbeat was picking up at the beat that caused a smile to decorate her lips. Daemon hesitated though he gave in and pulled her tightly.

“This is not fair, you are playing dirty”

“I never had you for a man that is afraid to get in the mud”

They both giggled and (y/n) lifted her head to take a proper look at the prince who was smiling down at her. His index finger and thumb found their way to her chin, after all these years she had frozen in time, still as breathtaking and agitating as he left her.

Daemon was taking too long for her liking so she took initiative and collided her lips to his while being on her toes which did not last long since Daemon was always quick on his feet and pulled her up for her to wrap her legs around his torso, both of them moaned in each other's mouths from the anticipation, Daemon could feel the harsh licks of her fire surrounding him an experience that was so sweet yet deadly.

Daemon made the mistake of laying her on her back which only resorted in (y/n) putting her entire weight on her legs to flip him over in an instant, she never really liked allowing someone to lay on top of her.

Their movements were messy and rushed, and both of them could not contain themselves, they wanted to see one another naked, feel their skin bare as they caressed one another, her moans were animalistic, and the way she moved was like a conqueror that raced into a battle, Daemon was left defenseless and became a mere puppet to her game of sex, he did not complain of course this was what he loved about her, this was (y/n)s favorite part of sex, the feeling of it, the urge of it, the realization that you want someone’s body, that it’s yours for the taking.

Daemon gripped her hips so harshly that he left marks behind, secretly he thought that he was being greedy by being the only one to experience such a show, (y/n) at her natural habitat, what a foolish fantasy, to have an audience in their beddings, he shoved that idea at the very back of his head when it dawned on him that other men would see her naked, would listen to her moans, they would know her magic.

Daemon was utterly unaware that his fantasy was becoming reality at this very moment, both of them blinded by passion to the point that none of them looked around, they focused on each other's eyes, the eyes that whispered everything that was left unsaid between them.

Once their connection came to its very peak (y/n) left her body to lay on top of his as she desperately worked to catch her breath, it was then that a man dressed in green decided to leave the scenery, a man that had spied on them and had frozen to his spot at the sight that had unfolded in front of him had come out of his trance to scatter away before he gets discovered.

“Was it worth waiting all these years?”

“Definitely”

(Y/n) placed another kiss on Daemon's lips at his answer, his strong body was the best bed after such an intense workout, her legs had already started to shake and she imagined this is what it felt like riding a dragon for hours on end.

The world is funny because when (y/n) went to vocalize her thought she heard a dragon approaching, once she fixed her focus on the sky she could see the humungous dragon that was heading back to land, its size was frightening, she could not remember which one was it, it wasn’t syrax and not Vermax, who could be riding at the such hour?

“Someone claimed Vhagar”

“Oh no, oh shit, fuck no”

Requests are open!

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 65

Masterlist

Chapter 64

Quick A/N: I know in the book, there was contention between the historians about whether or not Cregan Stark had a half-sister by the name of Sara Snow (if you read Fire and Blood, you know what I'm talking about), but for the sake of this story, I'm going to say Sara does exist in this universe.

-----------King's Landing: Maegor's Holdfast--------

Jaskier had never felt such relief in his life the moment he was led out of the dungeons and freed from his bonds. The Bard rubbed his wrists where the chains previously were, part of him wondering if his sister had managed to escape or not. He hadn't been given any recent updates on your whereabouts, so he was understandably concerned.

Although, if the fact he was released from the dungeons so suddenly without so much as an interrogation, the chances that you had escaped didn't seem all that likely.

Actually, right now, panic may have begun to settle when it occurred to Jaskier of the possibility that he might be led to an execution with no trial. 

"Greetings, Viscount," a male voice caught Jaskier's attention, making the man yelp and almost jump back in surprise. Larys Strong leaned against the wall, an undecipherable look on his face. "You really should not be sneaking up on people like that," Jaskier scolds, "you'll give someone a heart attack one of these days. You look familiar, have we met before?"

"Not exactly," Larys admits, "but I believe we share a mutual acquaintance in your sister." Jaskier put two and two together when he remembered his last visit to King's Landing, "You're that one fellow who helped bring Geralt here when he got lost somewhere up North. Lord Strange." "It's Strong, actually," Larys corrects, "Larys Strong, Lord of Harenhal at your service."

"Right," Jaskier says, "Larys Strong. I don't supposed you were the one who pulled strings to release me from my former lodgings."  "Much as I would like to take credit for such, I'm afraid that was not my doing," Larys admits, "That was accomplished by the Lady of Larks. It seems she has found a place in court once again. His Grace, the king has appointed her personal troubaritz to his children."

"Oh...ah, deja vu," Jaskier said, realizing the cycle was repeating itself, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say we've both gone back in time." "There is more," Larys continues, "the king has also seen fit to appoint you a position in his court, Viscount...as the court jester."

"What now?" Jaskier says, dumbfounded, "Court jest- are you shitting me?! I am not...I am a lot of things, a lover of people from lowborn and high, a composer of many famous songs and ballads, a member of a spy network for at least two different kingdoms, and an occasional drag performer. But this?!"

"If you allow me to further speak, I believe I can offer some reprieve from your new demeaning position," Larys offers. "What kind of reprieve, dare I ask?" Jaskier frowns a bit. "You mentioned you had experience in spy work," Larys explains, "and what better way to spy on the court inconspicuously then when you play the role of the royal fool?"

-------------meanwhile in the nursery-----------------

"What song would you like me to play for you, sweet prince?" you inquire of Jaehaerys as soon as you stepped into the nursery with Alicent following behind. "Wait one moment please," Jaehaerys says as he runs up the stairs.

You stand there waiting expectedly for the prince to return.

"Lady (y/n)," Alicent speaks up, gaining your attention. "Your Grace," you address back. "It is...good to see you again. I couldn't believe my own eyes seeing you, being back here of all places." You were silent for a bit before you answered the queen, "it is good to see you as well, Alicent, if we can be familiar with each other for the moment."

Alicent nods, giving permission.

"What is this I hear about my daughter turning traitor?" you ask, those words Otto spoke still ringing in your head.  "You...don't know?" Alicent frowns a bit, to which you shake your head. "I haven't seen Aemma since she returned to Westeros from the Continent," you admit. "She did tell me you were alive," Alicent admits, "but I must confess, I...had trouble believing it was so. I heard what befell you six years ago. I was sadden when that news reached my ears when it happened...and to hear you survived..." "To be fair, a lot of my friends and loved ones on the Continent had a hard time believing it as well," you say with some humor, "even my own brother couldn't believe his eyes."

Alicent made a small smile at that. She then proceeded to catch you up on the most recent events, from the passing of King Viserys, to the crowning of her son, which if you weren't already aware that Aegon was now king, you would've gone wide eyed from hearing that particular news. "So...Viserys saw fit to name his eldest son heir then?"

"It came as a shock to me as well," Alicent admits, "he spoke those words to me in the night before the Stranger came for him. It was what he wanted."

You fought the urge to give Alicent a rather incredulous look. For as long as you could remember, Rhaenyra was the uncontested heir, even when Viserys had more children, at least two of them being sons, and this was something Aemma had confirmed to you before the two of you parted ways. The fact that Viserys never changed the line of succession even after all this time- after two decades have past- and then for him to suddenly change his mind at the very last minute on his deathbed didn't make any sense to you.

But you keep those thoughts to yourself. You've seen first hand the lengths Otto was willing to go to use you as a hostage against Aemma for apparently saying similar thoughts out loud.

"And Aemma doesn't believe otherwise?" "I tried to reason with her," Alicent assures, "but she wouldn't listen. She still has it in her head that Rhaenyra is meant to sit the Iron Throne." "Where is Rhaenyra?" you ask. "Probably still on Dragonstone I wager," Alicent answers, "Along with...Prince Daemon." Alicent noted the way you went rigid at the mention of that name, "So it is true..." you heard her mutter.

Before you could ask her what that meant, Jaehaerys came down the steps with Jaehaera behind him, "it's the Lady of Larks," the boy whispers to his sister with excitement, "I told you she was here."

"Who is this?" you inquire of the prince, "this is my sister, Jaehaera," Jaehaerys introduces. Jaehaera first approached her grandmother, while still keeping her focus on you. "Go ahead, sweet girl," Alicent encourages. Jaehaera approached you, making a small, shy smile as she reached a hand to you, which you accept.

"So these are His Grace's  children," you state, "who is their mother, if I may ask?"

"Lady Lark," a strange voice catches your attention. A young woman with long blonde hair walks in the room, a baby in her arms, "you came back to us." "Helaena," Alicent tells you, which made you look at the woman in shock. "Helaena," you say back, "you really have grown. You were just a child last I saw you." "And now I have a children of my own," Helaena says with some pride in her voice, "you've met the twins. This here is Maelor, the youngest. Look, Maelor, it's the Lady of Larks." Maelor reached a tiny hand out to you, which made you smile.

"Will you sing to us now, Lady Lark?" Jaehaerys asks with glee.

"Alright," you nod. You take a seat nearby. Jaehaerys was quick to climb up onto your lap, clearly eager to hear you sing up close. You go along with it and begin to sing, hoping it wouldn't take long for the children to fall back to sleep. You decide to go with a simple ballad composed from a troubaritz whom you know resides in Novigrad (not exactly a song you overly enjoy given who the song was about, but you had hope it would get the job done).

As you hoped, the children slowing started nodding off, their eyes growing heavy as they began to fall asleep. Alicent surprisingly felt her own eyes become moist as you serenaded her grandchildren; it brought the dowager queen back to a time when she was still a girl, younger than Helaena, when she would sit beside Rhaenyra when you entertained the two with your songs.  It brought her back to a time before she was queen, when she was still young and innocent. When she was still known as the Lady Alicent. 

Things were so much simpler back then, and a considerable part of her wished it was that way once again.

What nobody in that room knew was that outside the nursery, Aegon stood by the door, listening to you sing to his children. Through the crack in the door, he could see the way you held his son while you sang, how your voice, sweet and gentle, brought great comfort to Jaehaerys and his siblings. He saw the way Maelor fell back to sleep in his mother's arms, comforted by your song, how Jaehaera leaned into her grandmother from feeling the same comfort. Even Helaena and Alicent looked much relaxed as your song filled the air, as if they could forget everything else that was going on right now.

He wondered if this was how you acquired your sobriquet as the Lady of Larks.

Aegon leaned against the door frame, careful not to put too much weight into it, also feeling like he could lose himself in your soothing siren's call, and he began to wonder if you sang similar songs to him back when you held residence in this place 16 years ago. Aegon felt an odd sense of peace in this moment...something he couldn't even remember the last time he ever felt, if indeed, there even was a last time. 

At last, the children were sound asleep. Once the same children were placed back into their beds, you deigned to speak to Alicent once more.

"If you would indulge me my curiosity, your Grace, where is your other son Prince Aemond?" "You met him?" Alicent asks with shock. "Back on the Continent," you confirm, "Aemma introduced me. He seemed...quite a studious young man. And though he tried to hide it, he seemed quite taken with Aemma, almost like he were smitten with her." "More than just smitten," Alicent admits, "Aemond was in love with her. He...he wanted to marry her." "What?" "He wanted to take Aemma to wife," Alicent repeats, "and I had given my blessing as I had once before...but that was before Aemma left for Dragonstone."

"Where is Aemond now?" "He should be in Storm's End by now," Alicent tells you, "treating with Lord Borros Baratheon to assure the man's loyalty and support for Aegon as king. And...Aemond was given explicit orders by my father to offer himself to take one of Borros' daughters to wife, whomever he will choose."

---------Winterfell--------------

"I trust you are enjoying the tour so far, princess," Sara Snow inquires, getting Aemma's attention off the cold momentarily.

Aemma pulled the fur cloak closer to her body, doing her best to retain whatever warmth was left as she was given a tour around the grounds of Winterfell, courtesy of Lord Stark's half-sister, while Jace and Cregan were off hunting in the nearby woods.

After receiving a proper welcome the day before, by the Lord of Winterfell, Jace and Aemma were shown to the guests chambers, which to Aemma's relief, were warmed up with a roaring fire going in the hearth and hot food and tea had already been brought to the tables by the servants. And also to Aemma's gratefulness, a hot bath was being prepared while she partook in her meal.

Definitely a luxurious upgrade compared to her winter lodgings in Kaer Morhen. Despite the cold exterior of the North, it seemed the halls of Winterfell were designed to be the complete opposite: warm and inviting.

The company was a bit of a mixed bag in that regards; some were warm and accepting to have a Targaryen prince and princess grace these halls, while others were a little more standoff-ish, only giving the bare minimum of courtesy. Cregan was surprisingly the most inviting of the welcoming committee, seeming to have found a kindred spirit in Jace of all people. Aemma, however, wasn't sure what Cregan thought of her. The Lord Stark had saw fit to observe the social courtesies and place a chaste kiss on Aemma's wrist after Jace introduced her to the man, as was expected. Apart from that, there wasn't much further interaction between her and the man whom she was to consider as her potential betrothed. 

Once inside the halls of Winterfell, Cregan then introduced Jace and Aemma to his half-sister Sara Snow, who seemed to take an instant liking to Aemma. Aemma was a little put off by this initially, but she found herself warming up to Sara, especially when the woman volunteered to offer Aemma a tour of Winterfell itself and around the grounds while the men went off hunting the next day. The two had much to bond over, one of the big ones that they were both base born, though Aemma found herself privileged in that she was declared true-born by the king, an opportunity that has yet to be presented to Sara.   "I like it so far," Aemma assures, still shivering a little as she pulled her fur cloak closer, grateful this part of the Northern ensemble was offered to keep warm, "I am, however, not so overly fond of the weather, if I am being honest." That statement had Sara giggling in response, "typical Southerner can't handle a little late summer weather." "I'm actually not a complete stranger to the cold but...this is summer weather?" Aemma frowns a bit, "I dare not even begin to imagine what winter is like in this part of the world." 

"Let's just say that once the winter does arrive, which it will, it will cover all you see," Sara tells her, "and all memories of warmth will be long forgotten."

"Is this a warning for if and when your Lord brother does consider Her Grace's offer to take me to wife?" Aemma ponder out loud, which she took note of the way Sara frowned at that statement. "Oh forgive me, I didn't mean to cause offense," Aemma hastily apologizes. "You do not wish to marry my brother?" "To be candid, your brother is as of now, one in a long line of men who have been considered as a potential marriage prospect," Aemma admits with some humor, "At this point, I'm just starting to make bets with myself with how long this betrothal would last. Also, to be even more honest, I'm not so sure Lord Stark even wants to marry me. He hasn't exactly made it known if  he even desires such a prospect." Sara was silent for a bit before she spoke up, a somber tone present, "Try not to take it so personally, princess. You have to understand. Cregan he...the loss of his lady wife, the late Arra Norrey, it still weighs heavily on him at times. Despite increasing pressure from his counsel to wed again, he has been reluctant." "He loved his lady wife," Aemma says in realization. "They were childhood friends," Sara tells her, "they grew up together. It was practically a match made in the Seven Heavens, as you Southerners would say." "I see," Aemma nods in understanding. It was similar to how she felt about Aemond. The two had also grown up together, were close friends, and if Destiny had been kinder, the two could also wed...if only certain recent events hadn't happen.

"If it's any consolation, princess, it did come as a surprise to Cregan that the Queen would offer you as a potential match," Sara changes the subject, "you...have garnered a reputation of sorts even as far as Winterfell." "Oh?" "The daughter of the Rogue Prince by a Continental troubaritz, the famed Lady of Larks," Sara explains, "And then the same princess disappeared for the last six years without so much as an explanation, only to reappear so suddenly. Princess Aemma the Wayward, is what I have some of the Northern lords refer to you as."

"I see," Aemma felt her face grow hot for some reason, not realizing her disappearance to the Continent would garner so much interest even all the way up North. "I don't suppose...you would like to indulge me of your little adventures," Sara asks. Aemma made a small smile, "Well, if you must know, I spent those lost years on the Continent, my mother's homelands." "Well you tell me more?" Sara presses, "I've heard some tales of those lands. That they are full of monsters...and witches." "I suppose I could tell you more of their lore," Aemma offers, "provided you can tell me more of the North. I do hear this place is...quite different from much of Westeros. A place filled with ancient magic, and of course I've...I've always wanted to know more about the Wall." 

So the two women exchanged stories and bonded further during their walk. Aemma had also deigned to introduce Sara to Cirillia, and also taught the Snow woman how to play Gwent inside the hall, which admittedly took Sara some time to figure it out, but with enough practice, she soon became well versed in the game.

Right around the time the sun was setting, Jace and Cregan had returned from their long day of hunting, and having brought in a bounty of birds and a couple deer, one for each presumably. Both men had smiles on their faces, even Cregan who still held an air of stoicism as he approached Aemma and Sara. 

This time, Aemma took note of the way Cregan eyed her medallion. For a brief moment, he seemed fascinated by her memento, and she was wondering why this was so. Had Cregan seen something similar at one point in his life perhaps?

Aemma brushed it off when she and Jace returned to the guest quarters to ready themselves for tonight's supper of fresh venison stew and fire roasted birds. "So, I take it you enjoyed your little hunting excursion then," Aemma comments. "More or less," Jace nods, "Lord Stark allowed me the honor of making the first kill when we spotted the first stag." "How nice," Aemma nods, "sounds like you and Lord Stark have gotten on quite well. Mayhap you should be the one to be betrothed to him instead."

Jace laughed a little at that statement. "No seriously," Aemma deadpans, "I have yet to break Lord Stark's icy exterior. Has he even taken an interest in me? Actually, is he even interested in marrying again?" "Well...I can't say for certain," Jace admits, "but he may have asked a question or two concerning you. I made sure to put in a good word for you where I could." "Gee, thanks," Aemma deadpans again to which Jace had to stifle a laugh. 

Jace noted the look on Aemma's face. Thinking back to what his mother told him, he spoke to his stepsister once more. "....mother did express a sense of urgency of securing an alliance with House Stark. We shouldn't lose sight of that." "I'm well aware of that, Jace," Aemma says through slight gritted teeth, which took Jace off guard. "Sorry," she says.

"Aemma...is there something you want to say?" "What makes you ask that?" "Well...you haven't exactly been yourself since coming back to Dragonstone...after speaking to your father when he dismissed everyone back in the council chambers." Aemma looked at Jace, wondering if Baela or Rhaena had said anything to him or Luke, if they deigned to disclose what she told her sisters. Additionally, she wasn't exactly looking forward to marrying anyone apart from the one she loved with all her heart, but she couldn't tell Jace that due in part to the fact the two of them were on one side of the conflict, the one man she loves is on the other side. If she were to say something, if she were to proclaim her love for Aemond, would Jace accuse her of treason?

"It's nothing," she assures her, "I'm aware of our objective, brother. I'm just not sure how to get to Lord Stark as easily as you have." Jace nods in understanding, having some idea of what he could- or more specifically what Aemma could do- to persuade Lord Stark to form a marriage pact with her.

The two part ways so as to get ready for supper tonight.

--------------- Meanwhile, elsewhere in Winterfell, Cregan had deigned to visit his son before readying himself for tonight's supper. He held little Rickon in his arms, the tot currently pulling strands of Cregan's dark hair, and then proceeding to poke at his father's face. Cregan playfully snapped his teeth at the intrusive fingers, causing Rickon to giggle in the process.

Looking at his son, Cregan could still bit and pieces of his late wife in Rickon, from his eyes to his smile. It still felt like only yesterday sometimes that Arra Norrey lost the fight to bring her child into this world.  It was a wound that would never fully heal, no matter how much time has passed.

When he had received word from Queen Rhaenyra that her eldest son and stepdaughter were making their way to Winterfell to treat with him, Cregan had been taken aback that Her Grace had offered Princess Aemma for a potential marriage pact should he make it official to uphold the oath his father made 20 years ago. While Cregan had every intention of upholding that same oath, regardless if a betrothal would be brokered or not, some on his counsel had seen it as a sign from the Old gods that he was meant to remarry, as this was around the same time said counsel was 'lightly' suggesting that Cregan considering marrying again so as to further secure his bloodline with more potential heirs. Sure, proposals from Northern ladies had been offered every now and again...but the fact he was given an offer for a Targaryen princess right around this time could not be seen as a sheer coincidence.

He didn't know Aemma all that well, and even among the Northerners, the wayward princess was considered something of an enigma. He knew she was the daughter of Prince Daemon with the Lady of Larks, whom the late Lord Stark had once said was the only good thing about coming to King's Landing, when he was summoned to swear obeisance to acknowledge Rhaenyra as the late king's true heir. Cregan had heard his father speak many good things of the Lady (y/n) and her singing which truly lived up to her moniker.  And Princess Aemma had reportedly possessed her mother's singing talent as well.

And, of course, there was the rumors that had spread to the North when Aemma disappeared without a trace, only to suddenly reappear six years later.

Still, Cregan wasn't sure what to make of Aemma. When the princess landed and dismounted her dragon, the first thing he took note of was her sword...and her medallion. The moment he caught sight of the silver necklace, Cregan felt himself flashing back to a moment in his childhood when he saw a similar trinket around the neck of a  strange man he discovered in the woods. A wounded man with hair, white as snow, and eyes like those of a wolf, and one who saved Cregan's life despite the strange man's injuries. From what little interaction they had, Aemma seemed like a honorable woman, and Jacaerys had nothing but good things to say of his stepsister despite her six year disappearance. Cregan found a kindred spirit in Jace, as the young prince reminded him much of his late younger brother, and Cregan was surprised he enjoyed himself hunting in the woods with Jace, forming something of a brotherhood between the two.

Cregan's contemplation was brought to a halt when the doors opened and his sister stepped in. "Am I interrupting?" Sara inquires, starting to make faces at Rickon as he made grabby hands towards his aunt. "Not at all," Cregan humors, "if anything, you saved me from this little pup's intrusive hands ripping loose strands from my scalp." Sara laughed and took Rickon from Cregan's arms. "I take you enjoyed the princess's company while I was away with the prince." "More or less," Sara nods, keeping her focus on her nephew before she turned to give Cregan a serious look, "I know you're not ready just yet...but I think if you were to cave into the pressure from your counsel...princess Aemma may not be the worst possible outcome."

Cregan was silent on that so Sara continued, "Well, if anything, I hear the princess has a talented singing voice. She could sing you to sleep every night. And to Rickon too." She boops Rickon on the nose, causing the boy to giggle. Cregan made a small smile at the interaction. His sister appears to approve of the princess...perhaps he should give her a chance as well.

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

The fire roared with life in the great hall as the food was served. Aemma and Jace sat at one side of the table with Cregan and Sara sitting on the other.

Much conversation was had, particularly between Jace and Cregan. Aemma had some conversation with Sara in between savoring the venison stew, made from the bounty of today's hunt. The mead and ale was served generously in between courses, which Aemma was grateful for, as it helped to warm her bones and would also aid in allowing her to sleep tonight.

"Princess Aemma," Cregan speaks up, getting Aemma's attention from her food for a brief moment, "your stepbrother tells me you have a gift for singing."

Aemma saw that certain look on Jace's face before she answered, "I have, on more than one occasion, been told that I have inherited my mother's gift for song, my Lord." "Your mother was the Lady of Larks, was she not?"  "She was my mother, yes," Aemma confirms, "you heard of her?" "My father was once summoned to King's Landing many years ago," Cregan explains, "he had the honor of listening to the Lady Lark's mysterious ballads and epics from her homelands across the eastern Continent. He said it was the only thing that made the journey to King's Landing all the worth while." "There are instruments here at your disposal," Cregan gestures to the musicians playing to entertain, "would you care to grace these halls with your voice, princess?"

Aemma noted a lute one musician was playing and thought of a Skellige based song she once learned during her time in Cidaris. So she stands and approaches, intending to oblige the Lord and his courtiers.

Aemma took the lute and tuned it some before she began her song:

As Aemma continued to sing, she kept her attention to the instrument in her hand, filtering out the stares that were she was surely receiving the moment she hummed the first note.

She didn't notice the way Cregan was looking at her at this moment.

Once Aemma finished, there was a brief moment of silence before the hall erupted with thunderous applause for her performance. 

Aemma resumed her seat at the table and finished what was left of her food and drink.

Conversation continued even after the meal was concluded, and Aemma found herself start to nod off a little, feeling tired from the long day she's had added with the amount of mead she's consumed with her meal tonight. "Princess," Cregan gains her attention, "are you well? You look as if you are about to pass out." "I'm fine, my lord," Aemma assures, "I may have overindulged with the ale tonight." Jace and Cregan both had humorous smiles on their faces from that explanation.

"Allow me to escort you back to the guest chambers then," Cregan offers. "I can do that," Jace says, "I don't wish to trouble you, my lord." "No trouble at all, my prince," Cregan assures, "you are my guests after all." "Much appreciated," Aemma says, allowing Cregan to lead her back to her rooms.

"You sang beautifully tonight, princess," Cregan complements as he led Aemma down the corridor, "I've never heard anything like it before." "Oh, it's nothing exceptional," Aemma says with modesty, "you should've heard my mother sing...my father once said hers was a voice so beautiful that the larks would stand silent to listen." "After what I heard tonight, I have some trouble believing your talent is nothing," Cregan lightly scoffs, to which Aemma smiled at the complement.

"You flatter me, my lord." "Not at all," Cregan assures, "...perhaps you would honor us further and grace these halls with your honeyed voice once again, and perhaps many more times after." Aemma looks up to Cregan, wondering if this was his way of implying he would consider the offer to take her to wife.

Aemma stopped in her tracks, which took Cregan by surprise. "Lord Stark," Aemma addresses, "I know...we have only met just each other. We are only strangers. Any marriage pact my stepmother the queen has offered would be nothing more than a political alliance should anything come of it." "Princess-" "I know about you and your late lady wife," Aemma blurts out, "uh, your sister told me. That the two of you grew up together, that you loved her, and...how much her death affected you so. I'll understand if this is not what you want, if you are not ready. I...I know something of what that feeling is like. There is someone I grew up with as well, that I love very much, and it would've been the greatest luck if we could've engaged in a similar union."

"...Are you referring to prince Jacaerys?" Cregan asks, tilting his head a little at Aemma's vague statement. "No, it's not Jace it's...someone else," Aemma tells him, "I would request that you don't ask me to elucidate any further." Cregan silently nods in understanding, "you are right, princess," he admits, "I am not yet ready to wed again. I loved Arra very much, we were nearly inseparable as children. She made a man of me. Her loss is a wound that will never fully heal."

There was another moment of silence before Cregan spoke again, "I had already intended to uphold the oath my father made to King Viserys 20 years ago, marriage pact, or none. Starks do not forget their oaths after all, no matter how much time has passed. But as Warden of the North, I still have other duties to oversee...Winter is Coming."

Hearing the words of House Stark uttered by the Lord of Winterfell, Aemma knew how serious those aspects of his life were at this point in time. "I understand," she says, looking to see she was now at the door to her chambers, "thank you for the escort, Lord Cregan. Goodnight."

"Princess, a moment," Cregan speaks, getting Aemma's attention, "I meant to ask earlier...that necklace of yours. Wherever did you get it?" Aemma was taken aback by Cregan's seemingly sudden curiosity for her medallion. She touched a finger to it before she answered, "it was a memento I acquired during my travels on the Continent. Why do you ask?"

"It...it looks familiar to a trinket I saw once when I was a boy," Cregan explains, "instead of a dragon, there was an engraving of a wolf." Now that peaked Aemma's interest, "where did you see such a trinket?" "Around the neck of a strange man I once saw in the woods," Cregan tells her, "at first I thought perhaps it was a daydream, but he was real."

"What made you think it was a daydream?" "I've never seen a man like him before," Cregan admits, "he...I wasn't entirely sure if he was human...or if he was a wolf wrapped in a human's skin. His eyes were an unnatural gold color...and his hair was white as snow." 

Upon hearing those words, it took a great deal of restraint on Aemma's part to conceal the shock she felt. Right on cue, she saw a moment into Cregan's past, back to when he was boy running in the woods. Cregan saw strange tracks, which he followed, and saw the strange man in question. To Aemma's shock and confirmation...that strange man was the White Wolf himself.

"Princess Aemma?" Cregan's voice brings Aemma back to the present, "Are you alright, princess, it looked as if you were going into some kind of trance."

"I'm...I appear to be more exhausted than I thought," Aemma offers for an excuse, "Again, I appreciate the escort, Lord Stark. And I am also grateful for the hospitality you have shown to me and Jacaerys. I must bid you good night now." 

Aemma hastily enters her chambers and closes the door before Cregan could have  a chance to ask anymore questions.

Chapter 66

[skinidilo]

The Dragon Catchers

SYNOPSIS: As the war of men and dragons reaches its most desperate point, Larys Strong devises a longshot scheme to even the playing field... and clear out the dungeons.

FORMAT: chapters

WORD COUNT: 600

WARNINGS: Mentions of self-harm, death, violence, coercion

Chapter 1

The tap of Larys Strong’s cane preceded him, reverberating far down the prison's darkened halls. The night guards straightened their backs when they heard it, perhaps from a shiver running down their spines. 

 Optimism had long since abandoned the freshly jailed ratcatchers. Nearly one hundred loyal servants of the crown, all of them jailed for the crime of one. A ratcatcher had killed one of the royal family, but nobody knew which one among them was the culprit. Justice needed to be delivered, urgently. They all feared the wild anger of King Aegon II. If the assassin didn’t confess soon, they may all be put to death. There was anger, frustration, and accusation among them now. As they bickered, Larys Strong approached. He was accompanied by a torch-wielding guard, casting harsh light upon the tortured ratcatchers' faces.

“Ahem,” the guard stepped forward “You have been relinquished of your duties. Lord Otto Hightower has provided the keep with a hundred cats from Oldtown.”

“They work harder than you,” Lord Strong interjected now, “They steal less than you. Many argue they are smarter than you… but I disagree. Your King Aegon the Second, in his wisdom, believes the realm would be a better place if you were all hanged, today, from the ramparts… but I disagree. I offer you a choice. Take up arms against the enemies of the realm, and restore your honor.”

“And if we refuse?” Lucan asked. He was a young man then,  blonde like his mother who worked as a handmaid in the castle. He had felt a great sense of injustice at the whole ordeal.

“Then you die.” Larys scoffed “Refuse, and we hang you from the ramparts for your family to gawk at. Come into my service, and clear your names… or die. That is your choice.” Not one of them refused, for at the time it did not seem a hard choice.

Lord Strong had omitted during his spiel that the service he asked of them was suicide. The ratcatchers numbered about 85. Those among them too old to fight had been left to rot in the dungeon until Larys could devise some use for them. The rest were marched outside of the city and ordered to wait in the rain beside an open field. Eight trebuchets, fresh from Duskendale, were brought forward. Heavy stones were placed in the buckets, and soldiers fired stones until they could consistently land them upon a sea of hay bales laid upon the field. When they were done, the ratcatchers were ordered to clear the stones from the hay. Then, the ratcatchers were ordered to climb into the buckets of the trebuchets. That was when all hell broke loose. 

A Dornish ratcatcher was stirring his compatriots into a frenzy, and for a while they argued with the soldiers, refusing to board the trebuchet. Lord Strong, seeing the commotion, ordered the dornish man shackled hands and feet. They then placed him, screaming, into the trebuchet and loosed it as he cried. He was thrown through the air very far, but miraculously he landed safely on the hay. Soldiers rode down, retrieved him, and brought him back. They fired him through the air again and again as the ratcatchers watched on. By the fourth time he’d stopped screaming. They fired him from each of the eight trebuchets and he came to no harm. Seeing this, the others consented, and soon a small army of men was being launched through the air. Lord Strong was very pleased with himself and began to refer to the men as dragon catchers from that day on - a title that foolishly filled them with some pride, Lucan especially.

[aboutdragons]

the thing about dragons - chapter three

in which a dragon is claimed and Otto Hightower gets bullied.

*HTTYD theme starts playing*

Dialogues in quotation marks are in Common Westron, in angle brackets in High Valyrian, in square brackets for other. Thoughts, emotions and emphasis are in italics.  

Cross-posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43121373/chapters/108369012

◄○○○►

Read the Summary, Tags & Warnings as linked on the page to know what to expect.

warnings: Daemon Targaryen as a POV character, blood, dragon-on-dragon cannibalism (mentioned), life-threatening stunts

wordcount: 10,827

Read the chapter under the cut.  

Daemon stays behind, even though it’s obvious that he really wants to follow. But he can’t, because this is something Lyra must do on her own. A Targaryen rite of passage, almost, years before Rhaenyra and her bad decisions and bastards and that stupid egg-in-cradle tradition. (Did they really expect the eggs to not hatch when the mother is the source of Targaryen dragon-blood?) So instead, he chooses to wear a hole in the grass with his pacing at a distance great enough that Lyra would barely hear him if he yelled. It’s still a bit of a long walk from the keep, and with her short legs it takes a good few minutes, but she gets there.

The Cannibal dragon only looks worse up closer, with jagged teeth and bright, slit-pupiled eyes, and black scales. Like all the tense scenes in Jurassic Park, the original one, that she watched when she was probably too young to, all put into one giant fire-breathing lizard with its gaze trained on her, unblinking. Except this one is real, and not animatronic or CGI.

It’s a wicked kind of beast, all black like tar or a starless night, with eyes glowing acid-green, alert and intelligent but half-crazed, and horns curving about its skeletally wolfish head scarred in a way only another dragon unwilling to become prey without a fight could maim while thrashing between its teeth. It’s utterly crowned with horns; two curling forward, in tandem with its muzzle, and the rest curved backwards, uneven, jagged, and all black. She could walk on each; she could lay down on each, with room to spare.

This, Lyra imagines, is how the Devil must look like.

Actually, now that she’s looking at it, it’s looking a whole lot like Black Dragons from Dungeons and Dragons, in shape and colour both; especially with its head, though not quite as sunken and skull-like.

She’s not very tall, being seven and all, but her whole body is about the size of the teeth she can see clearly now, as the dragon curls its lips back in a wordless snarl. Still, she’s almost vibrating, excitement and adrenaline and giddiness swirling in her head. It takes a lot of effort to not squeal, and to walk instead of skipping. She may have memories of having lived thirty years before this, but she is biologically seven with all the emotional control that implies.

Which is little on a good day and almost none in the face of something like this. She’s only good at pretending she has her shit together.

The dragon rears back, bares its teeth again, hisses. Opens its maw as its throat glows green with something that looks like the not-yet-invented wildfire. Lyra feels the heat hit her as the green glow builds up slowly, threateningly, but without hostility. She would know if it was hostility, because if it was it wouldn’t be waiting, watching, seeing what she’s going to do about the situation. She’s be a pile of ash at best already, if it really aimed to hurt, killed like every other fool that tried to approach.

A loud, clear ‘daor’ is enough to make it slam its maw shut with a loud clack and a puff of green fire.

She finds herself oddly unimpressed at the threatening display; she doesn’t even flinch. Instead, it gives her the same kind of exasperation as when she found Rascal chewing on her shoes, again, the little orange runt living up to his name every day, even as he grew old and slow.

(Gods, she misses her cat so much still. He was with her for most of her life.)

The dragon cocks its head at her, bright eyes not leaving her for a moment. It’s coiled, she notices, tense in a way Caraxes is just before he takes to the skies.

It’s excited, too, she realizes belatedly, maybe because she only feels it now; faint at first and stronger with every step, emotions that respond to hers but that aren’t hers. The dragon’s—its—his. Every moment is new information, constantly more, constantly clearer. Curious, wary, alert, hopeful—not-food, not-prey, not enemy, friend? pack?

Mine?

It’s both too much and almost nothing at all, her young human mind against his ancient, wild one. It threatens to sweep her away—would have, if she really were seven.

But she has thirty-two more years (and probably divine providence) to fall back on.

As it is, she holds on only barely, but she does. She might actually be able to do this.

<Hello,> she says and reaches out. The Cannibal doesn’t rear back this time, curious, enthralled by the promise of a bond, letting her press her hand on his snout. It dwarfs her, everything about this creature. She could set up a tent on his horned head with room to spare.

He lets out a rumble. It almost sounds like a purr.

Happy? Happy. Mine? Pack?

It’s disjointed, not at all a voice; feelings and images, all abstract, but she understands, like a weird dream that doesn’t fade after you wake up.

Like acid-eyed shadows chasing bloodstained linoleum away.

She smiles and presses bodily against his head in a bastardized hug before stepping back. <Yeah, pack. Pack works.>

The Cannibal shoves against her with his head, picking her up with the motion. Lyra squeals and holds on the scales and smaller horns until she can slide down. She laughs, and pats his head again, wondering if he can even feel that. He seems to hear and understand her, even though she’s not really raising her voice, so… Maybe?

She’s just following Daemon’s lead here, really. He doesn’t yell at Caraxes, he just says things loud and clear, and even in the air Caraxes hears and understands. He told her, once; if your dragon is truly yours, they will know what you want them to do. They hear you.

(But whether they choose to listen to you is another matter entirely. They are winged fire-breathing cats on a good day, and most often half as cuddly and twice as capricious.)

She needs a name for him, Lyra realizes, before anything else. The Cannibal is a moniker; like calling Caraxes the Blood Wyrm, or Vermithor the Bronze Fury. But a moniker is not a name. Her dragon, first of all, deserves a proper name; deserves for his first flight to be with a name.

And there is only one name that is worthy of him, she thinks. And ever since Balerion and Shrykos visited her in a dream, and foreshadowed her dragon, she knew exactly what it would be.

An inherited name, from worlds away. She almost spoke it, when she first saw him perched on that hill waiting for her, because that was exactly what the image brought to her mind; Satan was only second. A name from another story, easily one she loved more than the one she is living now. A story full of magic and hope, with some dragons sprinkled on top as it struggled time and time again against evil or uncaring gods and demon lords.

<I ought to name you, when no other has, don’t I,> she asks, though it’s not a question. The Cannibal tilts his head towards her, listening closer. Lyra smiles. <I have a perfect one. I hope you don’t mind it being a legacy name, though; I name you in honour of someone else, and in hope that this name will guide you, too.>

Cannibal purrs, though it’s more of a rumble with his size, and feelings of happiness and a sense of finality press against her mind, but also impatience.

Give me that damn name already. Mine. Mine-mine-minemine.

<From today onwards, you shall be known as the greatest of all winged dragons; Ancalagon.>

Sorry GRRM, she thinks privately and not sorry at all, but I’ve always been a Tolkien girl.

And this world doesn’t have a Eärendil on a flying ship, or pretty but ultimately worthless gems to commit kinslayings over. Instead, it has rampant greed and senseless violent cruelty, but without Vhagar or Vermithor, those things aren’t enough to kill this Ancalagon.

And might he grow big enough to level three mountains one day, really. All the power to him.

Pack, an emotion close to elation all but slams into her. Together. Not alone.

<Not alone,> Lyra agrees, and thinks of Daemon; turns around, spots a tiny white-red-and-black figure still wearing out a hole in the patch of grass by the stone bridge. Looks back to Ancalagon. <I’m not alone, and now neither are you.>

And it snaps together, just like that, and she feels something take root in her very soul. It’s warm and comforting in a way few other things are, and it makes her feel like she could fly.

Lyra looks at Ancalagon. Ancalagon looks at Lyra.

They both look up.

<Yeah,> she says. <There’s one more thing to do. Very important thing.>

Sky, Ancalagon agrees. Fly. Fly-free-fly-wind-cloud-blue. Together.

<You don’t have a saddle,> Lyra points out, and sighs. <Oh, this will be borderline suicidal, but I’m not backing down now for some small inconvenience!>

Though she probably shouldn’t call a potential fall to the death a minor inconvenience. Oh well.

(If Targaryens weren’t born pale-haired Daemon would surely be greying because of her by now.)

It’s difficult to ride without a saddle, but it’s perfectly doable, Daemon told her when she proclaimed she’ll have a dragon soon. The placement is up higher, on the neck. The catch is, you need to bodily lay down on the dragon for it to be somewhat safe, lodge yourself between all these spikes, hold onto them. Ideally, tie yourself down. When it’s flying upwards, you have to hold on like your life depends on it, because it does, but once the flight evens out, you can sit up.

Lyra doesn’t have a rope, but she smuggled three leather belts out in her pockets in anticipation, and they will have to do.

She puts her hands on her hips, taps her foot on the ground a bit, as she studies Ancalagon’s neck critically. She could try to climb it, with all the jagged spines, if she only was able to reach them, but they only start halfway up his neck and that’s much too high for her to reach. Beneath, it’s just smooth scale she has no hope of climbing.

She could try clamouring up his wings, but they likewise have no purchase. They’d make a good slide, while she needs to go up.

She looks back at his head, horned, ridged, and perfectly within reach.

It will do.

<I’m going to have to excuse you for a moment,> she says, putting her riding gloves on, and unceremoniously vaults herself on Ancalagon’s horn, the one curved to the front in line with his maw. She stands up on it, barely keeping her balance as the dragon rumbles in confusion, and walks up, hopping onto his head when she gets close enough. She finds purchase on smaller horns, easily dragging herself up when she slips. From there, she just walks down his neck until she reaches its base.

It does take her a moment, with unknown, uneven, constantly moving terrain under her feet not aiding her at all. She almost trips a few times when she’s not careful enough in her excitement, but soon enough she’s there, sitting down on the scales and wrapping the leather belts around the ridges, and herself down with them. She has just enough to tie herself down semi-securely.

She fixes up her leather jacket, pulls her gloves firmly down to fit better, and then lays flat on Ancalagon’s scaly back, gripping both the ridges and the belts lightly, for now just enough to hold them. No need to waste grip strength yet.

She’s not sure if it’s her that’s vibrating so hard, or the dragon, but that doesn’t matter.

Right now, nothing else matters.

<Fly!> she commands, and Ancalagon roars, bodily moving for the first time since uncoiling. Takes one step, then another, and another, each faster than the other.

Lyra can’t see the ground darting underfoot where she is but she feels the earthquakes of his steps as he gains speed on all fours, and then on just hind legs as he spreads his wings and, with few mighty flaps, they’re going up, and higher still. Lyra doesn’t chance a look behind her, at Dragonstone, her grip on the belts and the ridges tightening, strong with adrenaline and the very real fear of falling as Ancalagon rises higher and higher into the sky with massive flaps of his wings that displace the air with a sound that’s almost thunder.

It’s so wildly different from flying Caraxes with Daemon. This is dangerous. This is fun.

She doesn’t even try fighting a manic grin that she feels almost split her face in two, uncaring of the wind. Ancalagon roars, and she feels it more than she hears it, and she screams back with something like joy but more.

Ancalagon’s flight stabilizes eventually, only the occasional wingbeats rocking the dragon, and Lyra carefully sits up, still holding onto the spikes for dear life, but not as desperately. She looks around, takes a deep breath—she’s not sure how long the ascent took really, but they’re above the sea of clouds and it’s probably the most beautiful view Lyra has ever seen.

It’s sunset; the clouds are dark, violet and pink, and the sky is bathed in bright yellow and orange as the last golden of today’s sun light it up. The sun itself is right before them, about to dip beneath the clouds, and Lyra has to shield her eyes from its brightness when it shines between Ancalagon’s horns.

The dragon snorts and roars, and Lyra feels a laugh bubbling up in her throat, and soon enough, she’s laughing with glee, throwing one hand up. The part of her that’s thirty-two and fully aware that they’re very fucking high up keeps her other hand firmly grasping the leather belt wound around a horn.

The air is thin and cold up here, and the wind is hitting her face and whipping her hair about, but it’s amazing. Different from riding Caraxes with Daemon. Her own. Better.

She can feel the low thrum of Ancalagon’s consciousness, its tendrils reaching out for hers, and then, like the last puzzle piece slotting into the image, their minds slot together, and everything makes sense—

She sees. She feels.

She’s content and calm, happy in a way she’s never been before.

She’s so free—

Wind under her wings, sun on her scales, content hum of a bond forged—

She snaps awake and it’s like surfacing from a pool of water, breathing heavily. She tightens her grip on the belt, doesn’t let herself slip again when she sees it coming, and it overwhelms her again, like a wave crashing over and all around her.

She’s Lyra the girl, not Ancalagon the dragon.

She takes a step back. The wave crashes forward.

She’s Lyra the girl.

Something grabs her ankle, pulls her down.

She’s—

She feels Ancalagon land more than actually perceives it. She undoes the belts holding her down mechanically, and then slides down his wing without much graze at all, or, at least she thinks she does, because the next thing she knows she’s back on the ground.

Ancalagon’s presence in her mind is receding, though he doesn’t quite know how to step back, and after the bond fell in place it leaves Lyra with a hollow feeling in her chest. She almost pulls his mind forward on instinct, but stops herself. He’s doing it for her. He’s doing what he can not to overwhelm her, because he knows, understands, that she almost lost it—lost herself.

She wipes her mouth when she feels it’s wet, and it comes red. Blood. But she doesn’t feel particularly strained, it’s like—

She sways on her feet, faint all of a sudden, feeling a little rattled.

So, she didn’t come out of it unscathed, it would seem.

Bonding a dragon includes opening your mind to your dragon, and them to you. Two beings, not quite becoming one but becoming linked, with the connection rooting itself deeply within their very soul, letting their minds overlap, more or less. It really depends on each specific pair how deep it goes. Valyrians grow into it, usually claiming dragons young and malleable. Young dragons do the same, figuring everything as they go. Old dragons, who have had riders before, simply know what to do.

But Ancalagon is an old wild dragon who has never been bonded. He has lived a long life wild, developed a strong personality all on his own, and he has no idea what he’s doing any more than Lyra.

If she truly were seven, Lyra would’ve been swept away, her ego erased and left a husk, dead or overridden with something distinctly inhuman. Anchoring herself in the thirty-two years she lived before was the only way she could resurface, but it would seem her psyche took a beating from the merge anyway, now that the adrenaline high was wearing off and she was actually feeling it.

But she lived. She pulled through, successfully bonded Ancalagon. The gods wouldn’t have sent her to get him if they weren’t sure she could do it. She hopes.

It was a near thing still, she realizes as she sways and falls on her knees. Ancalagon makes an inquisitive sound, sniffing at her, and let credit be given where due, he did retract back into his mind when she started fracturing—at least, as much as he could. She can only hear him as if through water now, only gets strong feelings.

She knows that if they open their minds again, she will just be swept.

The bond is in place, but she’s not out of the danger yet. It will take a bit.

She can’t move. She can’t feel her legs, either, she realizes. She’s exhausted in a way that goes beyond physical. She can’t make herself move, more than her body having no strength to do so. But she has to, she realizes. She has to go to Daemon, or worry will eat him from the inside. He might try to approach Ancalagon himself if he worries enough, and that, she cannot allow. He’d die. Her dragon would kill him, she doesn’t doubt that. Ancalagon is too wild, completely unsocialized. Maybe one day he will be approachable by others but not now. Not today.

Not without Lyra able to keep him calm while someone else approaches right now, and she can sense, hazy as it is, that he’s nervous and protective. In the state she’s in, everyone is a threat.

She must go.

She physically cannot.

Colourful spots start dancing in front of her eyes, her ears start to ring. She feels faint, from the fatigue and the blood loss. She’s about to faint. She can’t go anywhere, she—

Green-eyed shadows. Bloodstained linoleum.

Something like a knock on the door, and she lets it in, this distinctly not-Targaryen thing. It’s nothing like the bond, unfamiliar, alien—cold.

She thinks she feels surprise that’s not hers because she’s too tired, and then determination.

The world sharpens and she drops, her body suddenly not hers at all. But her body moves. Like a puppet on strings, with strength not her own, one hand on the grass, then the other. Drops of blood splatter on her hands as her body pushes itself up, one leg under her, then the other, and she slowly rises, and sways only a little. It’s hazy, but her weakness is in the fatigue of her mind, not her body.

Walk, Ancalagon wills at her, sharing his own fortitude for the lack of her own.

Walk.

And she does.

○

Daemon is whiter than milk, and a little ashen, when he sees her. Breaks into a sprint and snatches her off the ground with an alarmed shout she’s too exhausted to decipher.

All the will that pushed her forward is there still one blink, and gone the next.

She thinks she tries to say something, but can’t know for sure. She’s gone too fast.

○

He’s stupid. Idiot, moron, dimwit—how could he forget, how could he not realize—

Bonding a dragon was forging a connection between two minds, the rider and the dragon connected in a way that anyone outside the loop was simply unable to understand. It let them know each-other, work with each-other seamlessly.

Some bonds were stronger, some weaker, but there was always a bond there; whether it was a slight, barely-there thing where only the strongest of emotions came though, or so strong and comprehensive that you couldn’t be sure where dragon ended and person began, or something somewhere in-between, a bond would always be forged.

It was simple, if the dragon was young. A young dragon and a young Targaryen were on equal footing; neither knew what they were doing, each had ego on comparable level, and they meet each-other midway. It was trickier with older dragons, because their egos, their personalities, their very souls continued to develop as long as they lived, but if they had experience with riders, they could easily accommodate for a new one, barely overwhelm it a little.

But if the rider was young and inexperienced, but the dragon was old and inexperienced—

Erasure of the rider’s very ego, their personality, their soul, swallowed by the dragon’s own, was all but certain.

Lyra was seven. The Cannibal dragon was, if the stories were to be believed, nearing its second century. The Cannibal dragon was also never ridden before.

Daemon realizes it about when the Cannibal dragon takes off with his daughter on its back (did she—did she just get on this beast without a saddle? Does she not know how dangerous that is—) and by then it’s far too late to even try to stop her. All he can do is pray that she will somehow survive this.

The idea of Lyra not coming back makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He feels faint, and cold, and jittery, and he’s watching for a great black shape in the sky almost obsessively, spotting it above the clouds and between them, circling the island.

When the dragon lands, he starts walking towards it, quick paces, nervous. The dragon will kill him, a logical part of him whispers, but he ignores it.

He’s terrified, but not of anything; he’s terrified for something. Someone.

He cannot lose Lyra. He cannot—

His legs almost buckle under him from relief when he sees her walking down the hill, but that relief is short-lived, because she’s walking all wrong—as if she’s not used to walking on two legs at all.

And her face is covered in blood.

And her eyes are a shining, sinister green, slit-pupiled, vibrant, and wild.

He breaks into a sprint, sweeps her off her feet, presses her against his chest and begs—

<’m fine…> she slurs weakly as her eyes flash back to their original dark purple and Daemon almost falls to his knees with the sheer relief, only for his panic to flare for the third time when she goes limp in his arms nearly immediately after. But she’s breathing, and she’s warm. Alive.

His eyes are wet. His cheeks are wet. His throat is uncomfortably warm and tight.

He’s crying, he realizes, with terror and relief both.

<You’ll be the death of me,> he whispers in barely audible, shaking voice, and kisses her forehead. <I’m so glad you’re alive.>

○

Consciousness flowing to and from.

Snippets of conversation above her; frantic father and someone else, shocked.

“Then how did—"

“Green eyes, like the dragon—"

“First Men blood— Her mother—"

“A skinchanger—”

“—warged into the dragon—”

“Never seen anything like—!”

Huh. So maybe she did get something more than neglect from her mother after all.

○

Green-eyed shadows instead of bloodstained linoleum. Black ocean that is the mind of an ancient beast.

Her alone among calm waters, floating on her back. It’s warm. It’s boundless.

Something calling from the depths, fish-memories darting beneath her fingers, not her own.

This time, she doesn’t sink. This time, his mind doesn’t try to drown her.

It takes all of her to stay afloat, all collective thirty-nine years, but she does.

And it takes all of him, all delicate subtlety he can scrounge together to not to sink her, but he does.

Together, but not as one. Together, but each their own.

Slowly, it solidifies. Soon, it will be instinctual, ebbing and flowing together and around each-other.

They have found their balance.

○

She wakes up slowly, unwilling to open her eyes just yet if only for the pain pulsing behind her eyelids with every heartbeat and breath. It’s not bad, not a migraine at all, but it’s there, and it’s persistent. It’s the kind that stays for hours, even days on end, not bad enough to be debilitating but bad enough to be a constant chore to withstand.

Fuck, this world doesn’t have Ibuprofen.

She groans and curls up, only briefly hindered by the arm slung over her.

Daemon predictably stirs at the motion, the hitch in his breath signifying the switch between sleep and bleary wakefulness.

<Lyra?> he whispers, quiet and uncertain. Lyra winces, and this time not because of pain.

<Yeah?> she asks. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he wraps his arms around her and presses her tighter to his chest. Soon enough a purr rolls through his chest, and Lyra sighs, pressing her forehead against his collarbone as the frequency takes off the worst pressure of the headache. She would respond in kind, but she doesn’t think she can right now.

She thinks she drifts back to sleep, because the next time she wakes, her head hurts less, and Daemon isn’t in bed with her being a glorified teddy bear. Instead, he’s sitting on the side of the bed, poking her in the cheek.

She swats his hand away and burrows deeper into the blankets, but he doesn’t relent.

<Come on Lyra, you need to drink some water.>

<I need to sleep,> she grumbles, no doubt muffled by all the covers.

<You will sleep more when you had a drink. Come on, I have milk of the poppy too if you want.>

They don’t have Ibuprofen but they do have straight-up drugs. Thanks, but no thanks.

<No poppymilk,> she complains and forces herself to slowly crawl out of her nest. She flops back on the pillows, and slowly opens her eyes. The room is bathed in bright sunlight that makes her wince. Her head may hurt less, but it still hurts. Now that she thinks about it, she is quite parched, and her tongue feels like sandpaper and sponge. <How long was I out for?>

<Two days. It’s a little past noon.>

Daemon helps her sit up, propped on the pillows and the bedframe, and then helps her drink some cool water. She needed that.

She takes a deep breath. She feels rather faint, probably from the nosebleed. It was rather profuse.

<How are you feeling?> Daemon asks, putting his hand against her forehead. His hand feels cool—cold, almost.

<Like I’m about to come down with a cold,> she answers after a moment, because in all honesty, the symptoms match. It’s probably not it, but it sure feels like it.

<I doubt you are,> Daemon says. <You are running a bit of a fever, but it’s probably just the bond.>

<Mm. Sorry for worrying you.>

Daemon shakes his head. <You’re alive. That’s what matters.>

<But you were worried.>

<Oh, horribly. But I couldn’t have stopped it, could I?>

<No. And it wouldn’t really have been fair.>

<Still, I was worried. Terrified, really. I cannot lose you; I refuse. I lost enough family.>

Lyra blinks slowly, looks up at Daemon. Unguarded, open, honest. He’s twenty-four, barely an adult, and his life is already falling apart around him. His parents dead, his brother constantly against him. Maybe he feels like she is all he has.

She reaches forward, puts her hand on his.

<I’m too stubborn to leave you,> she says, and she means it. <I will eventually go may way once I’m grown… But I will never leave you forever. Yeah?>

Daemon takes a shaky breath. He reaches out, drags her into his lap, and curls around her.

<Look at you. You almost just died, and here you are, comforting me,> he says, voice shivering. <I’m rather a lousy father, aren’t I?>

<You’re doing your best, and I see that. It’s enough. Besides, you’re taking it harder than I am, so why shouldn’t I comfort you?>

He lets out a wet chuckle, his arms tightening around her. Lyra sighs and closes her eyes, resting her head comfortably on his collarbone.

<I’m so glad you’re alive. Don’t be so flippant about dying.>

<Me too, dad. I love you.>

<I love you, too.>

They stay like that for a good while, until Lyra’s stomach decides to remind her she was out of it for two days. Daemon laughs at her, and she pokes him in the side, as they call for a meal.

○

Seeing Daemon like that shakes her up, Lyra will admit. Especially since if she were a real seven-year-old, she would have been dead.

It’s a bit late, but she decides that she might as well just tell him the truth, outlandish as it is.

○

<It’s not like you to be this picky when eating.>

<I know. But right now, I don’t think I can stomach anything other than meat. Do you think it’s the bond?>

<Likely, yes.>

<Hmm. Well, on the good side I can actually eat liver without retching right now!>

<You seem awfully happy about that.>

<Well, I did lose some blood. Liver is good for replenishing that.>

<Huh. I did not know that.>

<Now you do.>

○

<What did you name your dragon?>

<Ancalagon.>

<Ancalagon? Odd name.>

<Mmm. From a story I heard before.>

<Oh?>

<Maybe I’ll tell you it one day.>

<Maybe. Must be great story, to name your dragon after.>

<Mhm. The best, really.>

○

It’s the evening when she decides to just rip off the band-aid. So, she looks at her father, and says:

<I died once before.>

Daemon has never looked more like a deer caught in the headlights than at this moment. He takes a sharp breath and looks at her for a moment, unblinking. She holds his gaze.

<This. This is not a very funny joke, little flame.>

<It’s not a joke. Will you listen?>

He looks at her, and takes a deep breath. <Of course.>

<Are you in any way familiar with reincarnation, re-embodiment, or rebirth?>

He isn’t, because Valyrian Religion only has an afterlife, and he really can’t be bothered with other religions. She explains it to him.

And then she explains to him everything else; her past life, her death, the gods and their plan, the mission she was sent on. Of how she always had flashes of her past life, which made her an abnormal child and in hindsight explained so much about her behaviour, and how she remembered everything after turning seven, after weeks of nightmares that left them both haunted.

How she remembers, in vivid detail, her first death, and how her dreaming of Ancalagon helped push these memories from her dreams and the forefront of her mind.

He listens to her, enraptured and horrified both.

<I want to think this is just some elaborate cruel prank,> he tells her when she’s done. <But you would never do that. And… It makes too much sense. Between how you act, and your ability to bond with the Cannni—Ancalagon, if you were a normal child, you—>

<My mind would’ve been erased,> she finishes. Daemon closes his eyes and puts his hand over them, letting out a hollow chuckle. He refuses to think about it to deeply, she can see. Because it’s the kind of person he is; angry that he wasn’t there for her, worlds away.

<But you are Lyra, aren’t you?>

<Yes. From birth to now and going onwards, it’s always been just me.>

<Then that’s all that matters to me. I’m sorry you died, but I’m glad to have you.>

<Mmm. If I’m being honest, I’d say dying has actually been worth it so far.>

<How?>

<Because I got you. And yes, I do miss the creature comforts of my past life, because it was a thousand years ahead of this world socially and technologically, but… I can work with this, I think.>

<Because of me?>

<Well, it’s my first time having a parent that actually loves me without me having to conform exactly to what they think I should be, so. Yeah. Because of you.>

He wraps his arms around her, and she wraps her arms around his neck as they press their foreheads together.

<I’m really happy you think that.>

<Well, I’ really happy you’re my dad.>

<So… Ancalagon, is he from a story from that other world?>

She looks up at him with sparkling eyes. The dam’s open, now she won’t be able to shut up about Tolkien’s works until she gets it out of her system.

<Yeah! It’s my favourite story ever!>

Daemon sees her excitement and smiles. For the first time today it’s just a smile, unburdened by worry and the revelations.

<Will you tell me?>

<Of course!>

○

Once they’ve calmed down and Daemon processed the bombshell Lyra just threw in his face, they get ready for bed. But this time, instead of Daemon regaling her with Valyrian mythos, it’s Lyra retelling him Silmarillion, in as much detail as she can recall, starting with Ainulindalë.

Given that she re-read Silmarillion roughly once a year since she turned sixteen, it’s actually a lot of detail, and soon enough Daemon understands just why Middle Earth entranced her so, and finds himself similarly enamoured.

He very quickly decides that Fëanor is a pompous fool, and refuses to listen when Lyra points out that their arrogance and compulsiveness are almost mirrors, and asks if he isn’t simply hating what he perceives as his traits. He admits that maybe he is, but if he had seven sons, he’d surely cherish them, rather than drag them on a fool’s voyage across the world and get the mall killed.

Certainly not over some shiny rocks.

Maybe she should write it down, before she forgets details. And she supposes it says something about her; that she’d be loath to lose Tolkien’s works, while she doesn’t quite care for Fire and Blood or House of the Dragon that much, despite living these stories right now.

Part of it, she’s sure, is wanting to make this story uniquely her own.

(That doesn’t mean she won’t try to prevent the potential deaths of her loved ones if she’s able, of course. Daemon certainly won’t be dying above God’s Eye.)

○

<You claiming Ancalagon, do you think it has something to do with the gods?>

<How so?>

<Well, they send you in with explicit orders to save dragons, and then the one dragon killing others ends up being yours, putting you in a perfect position to rein him in.>

<I have no idea but I really wouldn’t put it past them. Or it was luck. Whichever way, I’m not going to question things that make my job easier.>

○

<Wait, does this mean that you’re actually an adult?>

<Hm? Not at all. I’m very much a child—do you know how children mature as they age into adults?>

<Yes.>

<Big part of it is processes in the body. Emotional control, reasoning, impulse control. All that is in the body, not the mind. So I am, right now, a child with memories of an adult. Doesn’t mean I have a much better impulse control, though!>

<But it is somewhat better, isn’t it? Compared to other children?>

<Only because I understand consequences, and even then, it’s really difficult. Child thoughts want instant gratification. I almost let go of the belts when I was flying Ancalagon for example, because it was really fun.>

<But you didn’t want to plummet from cloud level to the sea.>

<Exactly.>

<Well I will tell you now, it hardly gets better!>

<Nah, that’s just you, dad.>

<What was that?>

<Nothing. Love you.>

He tickles her for that.

○

Maybe it is a bit early, and she does still feel a bit faint, but the next morning after she wakes up, Lyra decides to go to Ancalagon. Daemon makes a face at it, the master that was begrudgingly allowed to exist in Dragonstone harrumphs, and the smallfolk healer woman looks at her with disapproval.

So, Lyra gives them an ultimatum; either she’s allowed to go see Ancalagon, or she will sneak out to go and see Ancalagon. She has a stare-down with Daemon that lasts maybe three seconds before he huffs, shakes his head, and asks a maid to prepare her some clothes.

Not riding leathers, he makes sure to point out, because Lyra will not be going flying again until she’s fully recovered; ideally, after the dragon is saddled.

Lyra just shrugs, grabs her guitar, and tells him that they do, in fact, need to figure something out about the saddle because riding a beast this big without one was difficult. And then she’s off.

○

Ancalagon is where she left him, curled into a gigantic ball of indistinct scales and wings. Apparently, she’s been told, he’s been curled like that, asleep, all this time. Some braver stableboys approached him yesterday out of curiosity, only to sprint right back when Ancalagon took offense to their approach and made it known by poking his head from under his wings and hissing at them.

Lyra giggles at the mental image, though she has enough first-hand experience to know for a fact that it would have been a rather terrifying sight.

He uncoils, somewhat, at her approach, but only really enough for her to duck under his wings into the leathery tent. The weather outside left a lot to be desired today, being a misty, rainy, cold, wet, and overall unpleasant, but the space underneath Ancalagon’s wings was dry and warm. The darkness didn’t quite bother Lyra, as usual, with her eyes adapted more to low light than bright light.

<Hello!> she says cheerfully, patting the dragon’s massive snout before clamouring onto his front-curving horns and making herself comfortable there. Something presses against her mind, skittish and uncertain, and she lets it. <It’s alright. We figured it out, didn’t we?>

Worry, hurt, confusion, fragile-fragile-fragile, careful.

Are you okay?

<Yes. Thank you for worrying.>

Remorse, regret, shame.

I’m sorry.

<It’s alright. I expected it would happen. Sorry for scaring you.>

Determination.

I’ll be better.

<Mhm. Me too.>

She spends the next hour playing the soundtrack of How to Train Your Dragon to Ancalagon, and it feels both incredibly appropriate and like a horrible awful pun. Ancalagon really likes it, though, especially when she feeds him some half-remembered clips from the movie through the bond.

That, he sends back. Want.

<Me too, buddy. So, let’s work for it together, okay?>

Together. Mine. Yours. Pack.

She likes the sound of that.

○

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No means no, my Prince. We will consider saddling the Cannibal only if your daughter demonstrates enough of a control over him to prevent him butchering the Dragonkeepers. No sooner. Not with how dangerous of a beast it is.”

“And if she can control him well enough?”

“With all due respect to the young lady, I sincerely doubt it. She’s seven, and this beast is, if the stories are right, near two centuries old. It would be miraculous if she could command him this effortlessly.”

“…we shall see, Keeper.”

○

<Okay but you really do need a saddle.>

Her answer is hisses and growls.

<Buddy, look, you can sound like a grumpy crocodile all you want, but nothing’s going to change. For me to be able to fly with you, you need a saddle.>

Weh.

<Hey now, don’t give me that attitude! Do you not want to fly with me?>

Weh.

But he does move.

○

It only takes half-an-hour of a seemingly one-sided argument for Ancalagon to huffily crawl into the workshop with a smug-looking Lyra sitting cross-legged on his head.

Daemon for his part also feels very smug, looking at the slack-jawed Keeper.

“How,” the man demands, disbelieving, as the other keepers warily but efficiently take measurements for the saddle. If they’re lucky, they’ll be able to use one of the models made for Vhagar, or even Balerion, with only minimal adjustments. There are several backup saddles in good condition.

“My daughter just is like that,” Daemon tells the man with a gleeful glint in his violet eyes. “Horrible for my blood pressure, but she works her miracles anyway.”

“Is it true then?”

“What is?”

“That she can handle any dragon?”

“So far, yes. Every dragon she approached was friendly to her, even when the rider wasn’t. I found her napping against Dreamfyre few times when we still stayed in King’s Landing.”

So, he may be bragging a bit. Bite him.

“Remarkable. Truly, a blessing from the Fourteen!”

“Truly,” Daemon agrees.

○

One of Balerion’s unused saddles is deemed fit, and then subjected to a whole week of alterations, because Lyra wants this and that and doesn’t want all the ornate ornamental addons. Ancalagon grumbles and groans and hisses, but Lyra reminds him that he promised, and he can’t go back on that, and soon enough the mighty beast has a befitting saddle bolted to his back, equipped with a rope ladder to climb up and down.

Though he does snap his teeth at a Keeper who comes too close to his head, and slams his tail into the ground once or twice for no other reason than to scare the workers for fun, nobody gets singed or even maimed, let alone killed. By the standards he’s set throughout his life, he’s outstandingly well-behaved.

It takes some adjustments between several test flights until both Lyra and Ancalagon are fully satisfied with the result—it’s too shaky for her here, it’s pinching him there, can they add some more bags for long-flight resources? She will be going to Essos sometime—but they get there. The saddle is sleek, a washed-out brown of hardened leather, not very ornate but embedded with a dragon motif. Lyra accessorizes it with black fabric and white furs that can be easily repurposed into equipment.

There’s enough space for two to fly and then some, but Lyra doesn’t know when, or if, she’ll put that to use. Ancalagon may have tolerated all the workers putting a saddle on him, but that’s about his limit of human interaction for next several decades, bar her. Despite Lyra’s best efforts, Ancalagon isn’t very fond of her father, or of Caraxes, either. He’s quickly learned to tolerate their general existence due to Lyra’s insistence, but that’s about the effort he’s willing to make. And if that’s how he is towards those she cherishes the most, she doesn’t think she wants to know how he’ll react to others.

She’ll have to work on socializing him more.

But the saddle is good, high quality and hardened leather, made with the almost-lost ways of saddlemakers of Old Valyria. It will last long, unless Ancalagon outgrows it, and he likely won’t anytime soon. And when Lyra climbs the ladder to it, and secures herself in place with the belts and they take off to the sky, all is right in the world.

Well, almost. The weather is horrible. It’s foggy and wet and windy, and she thanks Daemon in her thoughts for throwing a woollen scarf at her.

She really needs flying googles. And a mask. And a hood attached to her riding jacket.

Are there any glass-workers on Dragonstone?

○

There’s fair few Gold Cloaks on Dragonstone with them, Lyra notices after a while. They apparently came by the ship when she was busy harassing the Keepers about the saddle. Not Corren or Harwin—Daemon specifically told them to stay and hold the fort in King’s Landing, but familiar faces still.

Then again, with how much time she’s spent in the barracks, almost every Gold Cloak is a familiar face, and she can put names to a lot of faces. And they know her too; enough that nobody bats an eye when she waltzes into the training yard and demands to be taught anymore, odd as a girl learning martial arts is in this cultural climate was.

○

It’s a misty, gloomy day in a consecutive series of misty, gloomy days when Otto Hightower comes to Dragonstone with his little entourage to harass Daemon about the dragon egg.

(It sure takes people time to get around in this world, Lyra can’t help but notice, on all the ships and carriages, and entirely dependent on the weather, which on Dragonstone is not ideal on a good day. Not everyone has Nuclear Lizard Airlines either. But this time, it’s probably the fog covering the island.)

Daemon looks at Lyra. Lyra looks at Daemon.

They both grin.

<Go get your dragon,> he tells her. <Join us when you hear Caraxes roaring, or if I whistle, whichever comes first.>

<Will do!>

<Can you get close enough to hear it?>

<Easily, if this fog keeps up.>

And she’s off, barely pulling her shoes on before she breaks into a run to where Ancalagon is perched. Daemon chuckles and reaches into the flames of the fireplace, picking the egg up. He gently pats the wood ash off it.

Shame it didn’t hatch before they came to get it. With whatever that’s wrong in Dragonpit, now it may never, once Cunttower takes it back.

Maybe he should chuck it in the volcano. With Ancalagon now under Lyra’s heel, the hatchling would do well fending for itself. The other dragons on Dragonstone weren’t very aggressive, after all, at least towards each-other. It would grow, maybe even thrive, and in fifteen, maybe twenty years, there would be another dragon ripe for claiming.

○

Ancalagon raises his head and lets out an inquisitive chuff when Lyra skids to a stop next to him, out of breath after a long run uphill. She leans on his horn until she catches her breath.

<Aight buddy, this is very important. How sneaky can you be?>

He snorts.

Foggy, windy, dark. Obscured. Prey. Stalk. Good.

In this weather? Nothing will see him coming.

Lyra grins. <Perfect!>

○

The fog does keep up.

Just to be sure, Lyra has Ancalagon perch in the fog on the side the setting sun is shining from, further obscuring the visibility of them.

○

He meets them halfway, Otto and his, as Lyra called them, ‘goonies’. Daemon has his own, several Gold Cloaks who refused to let him go alone, or with the Dragonstone guards they didn’t quite trust. Daemon didn’t quite trust them either; he didn’t know any of them and he wasn’t sure they had much loyalty for him. Not in the way the Gold Cloaks did. They were loyal to the Targaryens, true, but Daemon was more comfortable with people loyal to him specifically. Safer.

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto,” Daemon says, as emotionlessly as he can make himself. He plays with the egg a little, throwing it from hand to hand nonchalantly, because he’s not nervous.

He’s not.

“Your occupation of this island is at an end,” Otto tells him, and Daemon fights the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re to relinquish the dragon’s egg, disband your army, and leave Dragonstone by order of his grace, king Visery—”

For fuck’s sake, that pompous shit. At least he didn’t say anything demeaning about Lyra, or Daemon would be stabbing him already.

Also banish his army? It wasn’t his army—Gold Cloaks were meant to protect King’s Landing! It was never his army. Like most things, it was all for Viserys. It wasn’t Daemon’s fault that several of them were loyal enough to follow him into exile.

“Where’s the king?” he asks instead, cutting Otto off. “I don’t see him.”

“His grace would never lower himself to entertain such a mummer’s farce,” Otto says, and his smug face is making it harder by the minute not to punch him. The few seconds of silence that ensue are uncomfortable, so Daemon zones on something else; the Dornish whelp of a knight that unhorsed him during the tourney, now kilted out in Kingsguard armour. It stings, that he gets to wear it. Reminds Daemon all about his loss in the tourney, and he doesn’t much like it.

What was his name again? Cretin? No. Crispy? Crispin?

“Ser Crispin, isn’t it?”

“Ser Criston Cole, my prince,” the whelp says, almost beatifically. He’s an annoying one.

“Ah, yes, apologies, I couldn’t recall.” More like I couldn’t be fucked to but alas.

“Perhaps my prince recalls when I knocked him off his horse.”

Oh. The audacity of this bitch. Daemon chuckles at the provocation. “Very good.”

“This is a truly pathetic show, Daemon,” Otto cuts in, because of course he does. “Are you so desperate for king’s attention that you resorted to skulking about like a common cutpurse?”

“I’m simply keeping with the traditions of my house, the same as my brother did for his heir,” he says.

“And yet here you stand, egg unhatched and your daughter nowhere in sight. And if no other egg has hatched for her, then surely one meant for her cousin wouldn’t either.”

“You’re not to be the judge of that,” Daemon says, an edge to his voice. “And so will my daughter, whether or not her dragon is in the egg—"

“This is a mummer’s farce. With every breath you soil your name, your house, and your brother’s reign. To resort to common thievery for what you call a birthright is beyond pathetic, Daemon. Are you certain this is the legacy you wish for your daughter?”

“My daughter is perfectly fine with her legacy,” Daemon says tersely. How dare that cunt imply—

“And what of you, men of the city watch? Aiding a prince in his treason?”

Clearly, Otto wouldn’t know loyalty if it bit him in his shrivelled arse.

And Daemon is tired of this. It’s a curious skill that Otto has; tiring Daemon through merely existing. But Daemon was never fond of snakes, pathetic, legless, yet venomous.

All he did was take the egg, and just like Daemon expected, Otto took the bait and has gone completely rabid on traces of what might be treason if you bend the definition really hard. And sideways.

“And what of Lady Daelyra?” Otto pushes. “What would happen to her, should you face the consequences of your actions?”

Oh. Oh, he fucking did not.

“The king made me their commander, they are loyal to me,” he snaps, and holds the egg out. “You’ve come for the egg. Here it is. It is of no more use to me.”

Otto looks at him incredulously. “Are you mad? You’d never survive this.”

Mad. For getting upset for that piece of shit insinuating things about his daughter?

Fine. He’ll take mad. He puts his hand on Dark Sister’s pommel.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He’d take his chances, he thinks, with Caraxes well within reach and Ancalagon in the mist.

“To choose violence is to declare war against your king.”

“Wonderful,” Daemon says tersely. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks.

“Even if it ends in the death of your daughter—”

Daemon sees white. He doesn’t even fully register it, but then he’s holding Dark Sister, her blade of folded steel pointed straight at Otto, as unsheathed steel sings around him.

“You will not threaten my daughter,” he says with calmness that surprises even him. It makes Otto flinch.

Inside, he feels an inferno build in his chest. It sings at him to kill. To protect his daughter at all cost, and damned be Otto, and damned be Viserys too.

He’ll kill them all, if it’s for her. Then he’ll be king, and Daelyra will be queen after him.

He thinks he likes the sound of that.

Caraxes, attuned to him as always, crawls from behind the rocks in answer to his stress and rage, the dragon’s long neck twisting, his red scales glimmering in the fog and sunlight. He lets out a broken roar, more of a shriek, but paints a terrifying picture nonetheless.

Daemon holds Otto’s gaze for what feels like forever, and then Otto gives a small shrug and a nod, and a “all of you, sheathe the fucking steel.”

Oh look. Even Otto knows better sometimes. Wonder of wonders.

And then something snarls in the mist beneath, and Daemon’s smile grows from a slight smirk into a grin that shows teeth, as loud, methodical thumping sounds closer, and closer, as something huge moves in the mist. Otto’s goonies look to their right, where the sound comes from, uneasily, and Otto himself looks progressively more frantically between Daemon and the mist.

Then, a massive jagged head bursts out of the mist, followed by a long scaly neck as a gigantic black beast emerges from the valley, clamouring onto the rocks uncomfortably close to the bridge full of people. Daemon delights in watching Otto’s men turn whiter than fresh cotton sheets. Someone screams, someone almost falls over the other side of the bridge in their effort to get away, someone pisses himself from what Daemon sees, as Ancalagon stands tall enough to cast shadow over them all.

He's close enough that one more step of the massive beast and he would be able to devour them all; and they’re certainly well within the range of dragonfire.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important!” Lyra yells out cheekily, casually walking up Ancalagon’s neck and then down his head until she stands on his snout, between his eyes. She puts her hands on her hips and grins, letting Otto and his goonies take in her obviously windswept look, and Ancalagon pointedly turns to show off his brand-new saddle. Proof, as good as any, that this isn’t a one-off, that this isn’t Lyra temporarily taming a wild dragon like she’s done so many times.

Just in case.

Standing on top of her dragon, with the sun behind her, even a small girl like her cuts an incredibly imposing figure; moreso that they all need to look up to look at her. This is someone who will be listened to, and pride wells in Daemon’s chest, chasing his frustration away.

“Not at all, perzītsos. Lord Hand was already leaving.”

She nods and turns to Otto.

“Good to see you again, Lord Hand,” she says, her cheer so obviously fake that Daemon wants to laugh. “Are you here for the egg? You can very well take it—we scarcely need it anymore.”

She squats down, pointedly patting Ancalagon’s snout. The beast snorts, the gust of wind strong enough to shove some unprepared people around.

“I…” Otto says, swallowing. He looks like someone just made him drink the shit-filled seawater of King’s Landing, while being whiter than chalk at the same time. “I can see that, my lady,” he grits out.

She claps her hands. “I do hope my father was most gracious, even for the short while. Last few days were quite busy, so do forgive him if he was short with you.”

Her smile is absolutely beatific, and entirely fake.

Ancalagon shifts and growls. Caraxes barks at him, and Ancalagon hisses, his lips curling to reveal long, sharp teeth. One of Otto’s goonies faints.

The Gold Cloaks, who at least saw Ancalagon in passing before, fare a bit better.

“You father…” Otto says, somewhat dazed. “…has not been the most gracious host.”

“Why?” Lyra asks, eyes wide, fake cluelessness exacerbated by her tilting her head to the side. Otto grits his teeth, and for a moment Daemon is sure he’s going to call her out on making a fool out of him.

And then Syrax bursts through the clouds. Lyra shakes her head and stands up, running back to grab onto Ancalagon’s horns just as he rears his head up to snap his massive jaws at the yellow dragon barely the size of his head. Syrax screeches in terror, wings flapping to get her as far away from what undoubtedly is her hatchling-hood nightmare as possible, and Rhaenyra lets out an alarmed shout.

Daemon delights in Otto’s face contorting into an easily-readable ‘oh fuck’, what colour he regained fading away again.

“Anca, kelīs! Syrax ipradā daor!” Lyra commands loudly, and with one last snarl, he does stop. Lyra looks to the side, and Daemon notices her holding Rhaenyra’s wide, spooked gaze. She looks like a terrified kitten as she forces her dragon to perch on the bridge behind Otto and his goonies.

Syrax, predictably, wants to be nowhere near Ancalagon. She didn’t survive twenty-odd years on Dragonstone under the constant threat of him to now be led right into his jaws. She makes an alarmed noise when Rhaenyra slides off the saddle anyway and pushes through the people to get to the front of the procession, trying to move forward on the stone railing barely supporting her weight as is.

Ancalagon growls at her, and for a moment she’s very conflicted on whether she actually wants to be worried about Rhaenyra or should self-preservation win.

One more warning growl and self-preservation wins, and Syrax stays put.

Rhaenyra, daemon notices, looks confused and fearful, glancing at Ancalagon as she walks forward, any bravado she might’ve had flying here, gone. Clearly, she’s been expecting Caraxes at most. One reasonably-sized dragon versus another reasonably-sized dragon. In all honesty, it was a safe assumption. She had no way of knowing what kind of beast waited for Lyra here, and Daemon didn’t send any word out.

Not like it would’ve reached them in time, in this weather.

But she does walk forward, and that’s admirable enough.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Otto asks, nervous of the dragon above them all.

“Preventing bloodshed,” Rhaenyra says, voice only a little shaken.

“I’ve already done that, cousin!” Lyra calls. “Would you be so kind as to collect uncle’s lickspittles and herd them away? Ancalagon doesn’t like crowds very much. He gets anxious.”

Rhaenyra looks at her incredulously, and Lyra only smiles.

“What monstrosity is this?” the princess asks.

“My dragon!” Lyra chirps. Rhaenyra huffs. It’s shaky, Daemon says, but she tries to smirk.

“That’s a nightmare on wings,” she says, and Lyra cackles.

“I know! I love him a lot!”

She’s pale, but whether she’s forming a rapport with Lyra instinctively or consciously, Daemon can’t help but commend her for it. She knows he’s fond of his daughter, and she just bolstered her odds exponentially.

Rhaenyra looks between her and Daemon, and Daemon just smiles. Shocked and wary, she still walks forward. If it’s bravery or bravado, Daemon doesn’t much care; he finds it admirable enough regardless.

<My father named me the Princess of Dragonstone,> Rhaenyra tells him, instead of further discussing Ancalagon. <That’s my castle you’re living in, uncle.>

<Not until you come of age.>

<You’ve angered your king.>

<I don’t see why. My daughter is older, the egg was supposed to be hers.>

<She has a dragon now.>

<But she didn’t before.>

Rhaenyra clicks her tongue, the brat. <And that required you to steal my brother’s egg?>

<The egg was meant to be Daelyra’s. I could argue you stole it.>

Which. Is true, to a degree. Daemon has been waiting for a chance to have Lyra try to bond a dragon ever since she expressed no more interest in Dreamfyre than an occasional nap under her wing; so, when the she-dragon laid a clutch, and only one was viable, he did plan on asking for Lyra to try hatching the egg.

Hells, he did ask.

But Rhaenyra snatched it first, just as Viserys was about to agree, claiming that it was for Baelon.

(Now he knows that it wasn’t Lyra’s dragon, but few weeks back, he didn’t.)

Rhaenyra looks at him, and sighs.

“I’m right here, uncle,” she says, and Daemon blinks in surprise. “The object of your ire. The reason that you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir, you’ll need to kill me.”

That’s. Objectively incorrect. He was banished because he called Viserys a murderer, and toasted Baelon as a heir for a day, and Otto spun it the way that would anger Viserys most. He never wanted to be the heir, and he sure as all hells wouldn’t want to be restored. All he ever wanted was to stay by Viserys’ side, like father told him he should.

He glances at Lyra. She shrugs and shakes her head.

Yes, that’s about how he feels right now.

“So do it,” Rhaneyra continues. “And be done with all this bother.”

Otto is a bother. Daemon doesn’t think he cares that much, not about the throne, or really his brother. Not after he’s done some soul-searching and realized that he doesn’t want his life defined by Viserys. Not when he has his daughter and his dragon (and maybe his daughter’s grumpy dragon, too) by his side.

And yes, power is nice to have. He wants it. The prestige, the respect, the money. But he’ll manage on his own just fine, he thinks. He doesn’t need to scuttle in Viserys’ shadow.

He doesn’t want to, after what happened.

Daemon chuckles, and throws the egg to Rhaenyra, as she scrambles to catch it without much grace.

“If this is what this whole situation is about, then you know even less about me than I thought, niece.”

Rhaenyra looks at him with wide eyes.

<Daughter!> he says loudly, snapping his head to the side. <Turn your beast around, lest it decides little Syrax would make for a fine meal after all!>

Lyra laughs, and with few sharp commands, Ancalagon turns around and crawls back into the misty valley below, only to burst upwards, flying deeper into the island.

He turns around and walks back to the keep, not interested in watching Rhaenyra and Otto go. Fatigue seeps into his bones with every step, but it wasn’t bad. More importantly, it was rather fun, seeing Otto almost piss himself. He will surely re-evaluate his stance, now that Lyra rides the second largest dragon alive. He will consider them even more of a threat than before.

But it wasn’t bad.

He’s certain that Syrax will be rather cross with Rhaenyra for almost flying her right into Ancalagon’s jaws, too.

○

He barely sits down and throws his gloves on the table when Lyra bursts into the room, cackling maniacally.

<Dad, dad, did you see Otto’s face?> she squeals, all but throwing herself on his lap. He barely catches her. <Oh, he looked so constipated, it was amazing!>

<I know,> he chuckles and leans back as she only now unwinds the scarf from her neck, and throws it with her gloves next to his on the table. Her braids held very well in this windy weather, he notices, pleased. He spent all morning on them. <It was tiring, though. Dealing with Otto always is. I didn’t expect Rhaenyra to come, though.>

<Yeah, not the best move. It was very dangerous with just Caraxes alone.>

<Mhm. I think I will take a nap, now. I’m exhausted.>

<Food first. I think I’ll go look around the island later, see if I can find the other dragons.>

<Alright, but be careful. The volcanic ground is unstable, and the air is full of ash, especially near the summit.>

<I’ll keep that in mind.>

○

It’s scarcely a week later—Lyra barely seen Grey Ghost twice, but the dragon seemed healthy at least, but all the dragons are accounted for, yet-unnamed pony-sized Sunfyre included—that Daemon bursts into the room with a letter in his hand. She can see teal wax seal with a seahorse stamp, broken in half.

<Pack up, we’re going to Driftmark. Corlys wants to speak with me, and we’re not welcome here anymore, apparently. It’s the next island over, so be quick and we’ll be there before dinner.>

She gathers her notes and shoves them into a leather bag for safekeeping.

<Aight!>

Finally, Stepstones.

Maybe she’ll get to stay with the Velaryons for its duration. It would certainly be nice.

(She wheedled a recipe for a healing salve for dragons from one of the Keepers. It would be nice if she could rope Laena into patching up Vhagar’s wings a bit.)

[tahelms85]

Stole this from someone else on a tag.

A book recommended by a librarian Saint X by Alexis Schiatkin

A book that’s been on your TBR list for way too long Wicked by Gregory Maguire

A book of letters Mr. Men series by Roger Hargreaves

An audiobook The Otto Digmore Difference by Brent Hartinger

A book by a person of color Their Eyes Were Watching God by Toni Morrison

A book with one of the four seasons in the title Suddenly Last Summer and Other Plays by Tennessee Williams

A book that is a story within a story Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen

A book with multiple authors The Heist by Janet Evanovich and Lee Goldberg

An espionage thriller The Davinci Code by Dan Brown

A book with a cat on the cover Pet Sematary by Stephen King

A book by an author who uses a pseudonym The Regulators by Richard Bachman

A bestseller from a genre you don’t normally read Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Mathematicians Who Helped Win the Space Race by Margot Lee Shatterly

A book by or about a person who has a disability Deaf Utopia by Nyle DiMarco and Robert Siebert

A book involving travel Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling

A book with a subtitle Monster: The True Story of the Jeffrey Dahmer Murders by Anne E Schwartz

A book that’s published in 2017 Turtles All the Way Down by John Green

A book involving a mythical creature It by Stephen King

A book you’ve read before that never fails to make you smile Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

A book about food The Hundred Foot Journey by Richard C Morais

A book with career advice One For the Money by Janet Evanovich

A book from a nonhuman perspective The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate

A steampunk novel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne

A book with a red spine Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by Harry Potter

A book set in the wilderness Call of the Wild by Jack London

A book you loved as a child The Monster at the End of This Book by Jon Stone

A book by an author from a country you’ve never visited Heartstopper by Alice Oseman

A book with a title that’s a character’s name Coraline by Neil Gaiman

A novel set during wartime The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

A book with an unreliable narrator How's Moving Castle by Dianna Wynne Jones

A book with pictures Amelia Bedelia Means Business by Herman Parish

A book where the main character is a different ethnicity than you Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

A book about an interesting woman The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank

A book set in two different time periods A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain

A book with a month or day of the week in the title Mad Hatters and March Hares by Ellen Datlow

A book set in a hotel The Shining by Stephen King

A book written by someone you admire This Time Together by Carol Burnett

A book that’s becoming a movie in 2017 Berlin Syndrome by Melanie Joosten

A book set around a holiday other than Christmas Cupid Strikes…Three Times by Ajme Williams

The first book in a series you haven’t read before A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sara J Maas

A book you bought on a trip The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

ADVANCED: A book recommended by an author you love One For the Money by Janet Evanovich

A bestseller from 2016 Harry Potter and the Cursed Child by JK Rowling, John Tiffany, and Jack Thorne

A book with a family-member term in the title A Child Called It by Dave Pelzer

A book that takes place over a character’s life span A Prayer For Owen Meaney by John Irving

A book about an immigrant or refugee We Were Dreamers by Simu Liu

A book from a genre/subgenre that you’ve never heard of Dungeons & Drag Queens by Emma Alice Johnson (bizarro fiction)

A book with an eccentric character A Series of Unfortunate Events by Daniel Handler

A book that’s more than 800 pages The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo

A book you got from a used book sale Wicked by Gregory Maguire

A book that’s been mentioned in another book The Outsiders by SE Hinton

A book about a difficult topic Turtles All the Way Down by John Green (OCD)

A book based on mythology The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

[meg-james]

A bad-tempered warlock with a proclivity for friendly fire.

🐻 Commissions are open! 🐻

[fictionalnormalcy]

Thoughts that literally kept me up last night. I always browse my explore page on Insta before I finally stow away the phone. The last post I saw was one where something pointed out a cameo in a Disney Pixar movie. That thought came to a tangent where it came to Tales of Arcadia and their cameos. And I swear to goodness, I still have the continued insistence that this series in set in the same universe of How to Train Your Dragon.

In 2018 I made a post where I literally went through all of Trollhunters and drew out each cameo and compared them to DreamWorks Dragons. I’ll admit, I can’t think of any right now that stood out to me in 3Below and Wizards. But the fact that 3Below and Wizards are literally still set in the same universe with the same characters, I feel it still applies.

And to this day, I’m still trying to fight myself. Debunk it that it’s another DreamWorks thing, and it’s essentially what Disney does with their movies and shows. DreamWorks movies do their handful of cameos as well, but I’d like to say not as extensive as Disney, and to a further extent Disney Pixar. I guess you can say this will be a DreamWorks vs. Disney post.

It’s not like Disney where we catch a glimpse of Rapunzel and Eugene as they walk through the opened gates in Frozen, or the Woody and Buzz piñatas in Coco, or the little elephants wearing Anna and Elsa dresses in Zootopia, or the Pizza Planet car in Monster’s Inc. and a majority of Disney Pixar movies.

DreamWorks movies, perhaps I haven’t paid as good attention to detail, but there’s few I remember. If someone remembers any, please tell me. I strongly want to know. Of the few I think of Penguins of Madagascar where Classified says to release the sheep and what’s shoved out of the barn is a sheep that looks like the ones from HTTYD. Then in Rise of the Guardians, where in Jamie’s bedroom you can see a dragon plush, said to be a Monstrous Nightmare, so also HTTYD. But otherwise they’ve slipped my mind.

Sorry I’ll bring this back to Tales of Arcadia. Okay, so I say that they are in the same universe because of the many DreamWorks Dragons cameos. I’ll give the link here as to the cameos I found in Trollhunters. There are seven I listed in that post, and there are two more I’d like to add now. In the literal first episode of Trollhunters, you see Toothless on the screen of a laptop.

The most notable one is in Season 2 when Draal, AARRGGHH!!!, and Blinky play Maces&Talons together. That one, when I saw it is when the notion started forming in my head. Because even though they do cameos, you never see the characters actively engage with it. And that’s what these characters did! They were so engaged in this game that they called attention to themselves with the yelling! Although I do have the inkling, that they probably weren’t playing it right. In the few scenes of Race to the Edge where we see it played, I don’t remember seeing cards beside the board. Heather and Fishlegs simply moved the pieces without much discussion. In the live person game Viggo and Dagur played it seemed like chess, I move this piece and now these players are vulnerable, then your turn. How the trolls played it, it gave off the vibe of Dungeons&Dragons. I’ll post the visual so y’all can see.

Which with my mindset implies this: The trolls may have found a game set of Maces&Talons with these cards alongside it, and interpreted the game was played in a different way. Or even provided their own additions. Because in RTTE we definitely never see dice, and there were never cards visible. I will concede that we weren’t given a detailed explanation of how exactly the game was played. But look at the board, those are the same figurines we see, the same placing of the rock and mock water. There can be no mistaking it’s a game board of Maces&Talons.

The only other cameo I can think that sort of compares to this one is when Boo hands Sulley a Nemo squeak toy in Monster Inc. Engagement with a cameo. But that was a single second where it squeaked he put it in his hands and that was that.

The other was a very active scene where you first heard the yelling and the cries, hear Blinky’s enjoyment and then the pounding of the table. It was intentional in getting your attention, and if you’re a viewer who’s also seen RTTE, you would’ve thought “OMG that’s Maces&Talons, these trolls are playing it in this modern day?”

Individually, I will admit you could say there was another reason the cameos were included. But the reason why I believe the strong suggestion that they’re the same universe is because there were so many, and so obvious too. Toothless obviously put in the shot so you couldn’t miss it, then AARRGGHH!!!, Blinky, and Draal, playing a game so obviously that you knew it was important. (if you had seen the other show). Here’s the thing though, the cameos were strictly of HTTYD. Not of other DreamWorks shows or movies. I will admit there may have been a Madagascar one, from the scene where Otto said they had a piece of the Bridge sent over from Madagascar. The mention seems like a cameo, because they really could have chosen any cryptic place but chose a place where DreamWorks has had a hand in.

Then another thing that I consider a cameo, was actually one of the new characters introduced in Wizards. I am going to be writing my thoughts again if I write out the whole thing, so I’ll link another post where I talked about it here. To summarize, it discusses Archie the Familiar, how the voice actor is Alfred Molina. Who voiced Viggo Grimborn in Race to the Edge. Evidence provided in the post where the familiar could be Viggo reincarnated. To me it makes sense. And it really does seem utterly convenient that they cast Molina for another character with the exact same voice he used for Viggo.

I mean Mark Hamill who voiced Alvin the Treacherous in DreamWorks Dragons also voiced Dictatious but the voices don’t sound similar in the least. I don’t hear Dictatious and say omg the voice is uncanny to Alvin. But with Molina, I hear Archie and I can picture those words seamlessly coming out of Viggo’s mouth. Nothing differing in the voices. While with Hamill and the characters he voiced, yes he indeed used different voices. But Archie and Viggo legit sound the same.

I will also admit it this as it crossed my mind, when you reincarnate you don’t remember anything from your past life. And usually, I can bet you don’t sound like the person in your past life. However I do want to outline this. In Wizards there really isn’t a mention of Vikings, suggesting it’s after the Viking times. And here’s also another thing about reincarnation. The new life you’re born into, it’s certainly distanced enough where you aren’t around anyone who knew your past life. So there is the possibility that your voice is the same as your past life. There’s no one around who can point it out.

I also can bring this to another extent. As is a voice actor, it depends on the crew you’re working with to determine how you bring a character to life. For RTTE, of the little that’s been released for behind the scenes it was revealed that the voice actors were allowed to improvise for their characters, as they knew who they voiced best. Meaning Molina was given the freedom to voice Viggo as he saw fit, hence why we were given “My dear Hiccup.” So the voice we heard for Viggo was how Molina wanted to animate this character. Yet, we have no way of guessing if Molina was allowed that same courtesy when voicing Archie. Based on the similarities these two characters had, perhaps Molina was asked to use the same voice.

But I have to say that even if he chose it or was asked to use that voice, it fuels my belief. Because the crew of Tales of Arcadia put in all those HTTYD cameos. To wind into specifics, the Maces and Talons board. And then later they put a character who sounds like the character who wound that board game into reality. It locks it in for me.

But yeah, this was why I struggled to fall asleep.

[babblish]

A Year in Writing; 2020 — A Retrospective

2020 was a big year for writing for me. Starting February this year I decided to keep track of my writing habits by recording data to get a better understanding of how to optimise my experience writing. I wrote a lot, read a lot, and played a lot of dungeons and dragons with my friends. The following is a result of my efforts.

The Heart of Janus, Published:

January 4 - Whispers Within Finished

March 7 - The White Rabbit Launched

July 28 - The Unwelcome Guest

October 9 - A Chance Meeting

The Heart of Janus, Wips:

Under the Sun — Part Two: The Daughters of Magic

Under the Sun — Part One: The White Rabbit (Part 3)

Under the Sun — Part Three: The Pursuit of Stone

Arcadia Witch (aka Witch!Lenora Fic)

The Homework Squad (Multiple PoV; Coach Lawrence, Uhl, Janeth, Strickler)

Dungeons and Dragons, Published:

September 26 - Web of Starlight Launched

Dungeons and Dragons, Wips:

Web of Starlight

Doctor Beauregard Aubin Marceau Thibault-Babineaux

Bean

   Stats

Overall Word Count: 98246

Highest Word Count in a Day: 4398 (February 2)

Average Word Count on a Writing Day: 906

Priority Project: 61198 (The White Rabbit)

Other Projects: 37048

 What I Learnt as a Writer in 2020:

Bad days mean nothing in the grand scheme of completing projects

Bad months mean nothing in the grand scheme of completing projects

Writing is so much easier if you have active readers

Not having feedback on a piece of writing doesn’t mean the writing is bad and doesn’t resonate with anyone other than you

Nothing is as good for proofreading as having one friends read your work aloud while bring recorded

Not writing is as important to writing as writing

A year spent writing is not a year lost

A year not spent writing is not a year lost

Sometimes things you write may be triggering for reasons you did not anticipate

It’s okay to take a break for several months during a global pandemic to just play dnd with your friends

It’s legal to publish your dnd characters’ backstory on Ao3 (and your other players probably won’t read it and spoil themselves either)

 Writing Goals for 2021:

Get back into the Otto mindset so I can finish the White Rabbit and move onto the Daughters of Magic

Finish Beau’s backstory and publish it

Finish Web’s backstory and publish it

Actually do something with Witch!Lenora and the Homework Squad

Become master of my own hyperfixations somehow

Enjoy life

[ottobooty]

How i DM knowing I got a Treat :))) for my players

[sawakening]

Georg plays Dungeons and Dragons

He’s made a campaign with The Core Six (Melchior, Moritz, Hänschen, Ernst, himself, and Otto). It’s chaotic at best.

They got through their first dungeon because Ernst rolled a nat-20 and kissed an orc boss to death.

[nike-sga]

Tag ten people you’d like to get to know better!

Thanks @twtd11 for tagging me!

1. Put your playlist on shuffle and name the first four songs

Here You Come Again, Dolly Parton

Drops of Jupiter, Train

Expensive, Todrick Hall

Sweet But Psycho, Ava Max

2. Grab the nearest book. Turn to page 23, Line 27

The nearest ‘book’ is a graphic novel, The Magic Order, and page 23 only has two lines, but the first one is ‘Never’

3. Ever had a song or poem written about you?

I’ve had a book of poems dedicated to me if that counts? Bears Don’t Like Bananas, by my uncle, John Rice.

4. When was the last time you played air guitar?

Last week. I think it was in the kitchen, to a Beastie Boys song.

5. Celebrity crushes?

Currently RaqCass, with a permanent side of Alex Kingston, and a soupçon of Miranda Otto.

7. Sounds you hate/love?

Love: Rain and thunderstorms, when I’m inside and there’s no possibility of my getting personal with them. The sound my dog’s chops make when he shakes his big ol’ head. Stephen Fry’s voice reading Audio Books. My friend’s sneeze, because it sounds like the kind of sneeze you’d get from a Pomeranian.

Hate: Rain, when I’m in a tent. Four dog toy squeakers being operated simultaneously. ‘Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiss...’ at 9am on a weekday. Joints being popped on purpose.

8. Do you drive, and have you ever crashed?

Yes, I drive. I’ve never crashed, as such, but I have had two minor bumps

9. Last book you read?

I started A Discovery Of Witches some time ago but I haven’t finished it yet.

10. Do you believe in ghosts?

It would be more accurate to say I don’t not believe in ghosts.

11. Do you believe in aliens?

Yes. There must be something out there in all that universe.

12. Do you like the smell of gasoline?

Yes

13. Last movie you saw?

Toy Story 4

14. Do you have an obsession right now?

Not really. I’m sort of floating between Hecate Hardbroom (TWW17) and Dungeons and Dragons.

15. Do you tend to hold grudges?

I can. I don’t, often. It’s too much energy.

Uuuuh...I tag @cliotheproclaimer, @roguebeachcomber and @pellucidthings, and, like, seven other people who want to play.

[zippdementia]

Part 70 Alignment May Vary: Escape from Hell

Situation: As the players destroy the chains around the demon train’s heart, they are forced through a passage that appears in the heart chamber, rushed up to the “brain” of the train, the front car engine room, where an old conductor with pits for eyes (and four eyes that may remind one of Verrick’s four eyes), tells them of their success in freeing him and his desire to help them murder devils. He also explains that Arbeyach has been left behind in a discarded train car, still living in the world that Arbeyach created for himself, but now unable to flee it.

Alyss tells the train their next destination: the tower of Mammon and the conductor smiles in anticipation. She uses her phone device to signal to the rebels where they are and their situation, then lowers herself to the ground to try and heal her hurts. Aldric returns her bike to her in a cool roleplaying moment and realizes that she is developing feelings for Carrick, which grows his enmity towards the Paladin.

The players also heal up: the soul stuff that Ratticus gave them heals their hurts completely and also cures the curse that was left upon them by Arbeyach.

Then, rushing across the desert towards the city and Mammon’s tower, the players have one more obstacle to face: they are waylaid by Hecate in her gunship as she tries to blow apart the demon train. 

The demon train fight I’ve set up to be an unusual one: the players are pulled inside the train’s “skin” and actually fight AS the train against the gunship, combining their hitpoints and using the following rules:

Their life force combined makes up their hitpoints. AC is 10. Each turn player can choose either defense, maneuver, or attack (only attack can be multiple players). Hecate fires her ship’s weapons at the beginning of the turn. The player maneuvering through the canyons gets to dodge Hecate, adding to their base AC of 10 by a d20+Dexterity or Wisdom roll. The player on defense can subtract damage by a D20 roll + either constitution or charisma. If no one is on defense, this doesn’t happen. Hecate has the following attacks, and DM either chooses or rolls randomly to determine effect each round:

Missiles: 5 missiles at 6 (1d4+4) each. Instant success.

Dual Lasers: fire twice +13 to hit for 27 (5d10) fire damage

Bombs: Player on maneuver must make a dexterity DC 20 save or else take 39 (6d12) concusive damage, halved on a save. Failure means players roll at disadvantage for all attacks.

Power siphon: a harpoon that steals life. +15 to hit. If it hits, steals 26 (4d12) life, no subtraction.

Then players get to attack. Each player in the attack area can use their normal attacks, using spell slots and all of that as normal, but everything is amplified as the train mimics the attack with its own demonic version (so an attack with Imoaza’s scythe may manifest as clawed hands erupting from the side of the train and tearing into the gunship), adding two more damage dice, but no damage modifiers.

Hecate has 212 hitpoints and AC 19. Her saves are +7. She can’t be affected by conditions. She is immune to poison damage. If there are more than three players, she gets an extra attack for each weapon for every three players.

After a drawn out but dynamic fight where Hecate’s rage builds more and more and her mother, Imoaza, continues to taunt her more and more viciously, Hecate’s ship finally blows an engine and she crashes in the desert.

The players are told to cure up, get a short rest and they’ll be at the vault soon. Mammon interrupts their journey with another psychic visit to his throne room, but the players completely ignore him while he tries to offer deals and a chance to join his side. Like I pointed out before, he’s really grasping at straws here, and they know it. Carrick finally loses his anger, telling Mammon that he’s the lamest devil they’ve come across, and that the players give zero shits about him. Mammon takes the revelation calmly and informs them that they are ants to him, ants he was debating whether to crush or not. But now he’s made his decision. The psychic connection is cut and the players arrive at Mammon’s tower in a fairly spectacular way: the demon train crashes into the side of it, ripping it open, and deposits them inside, as close to the vaults as it can. Then it races off to fight a new, horrible threat, while the Hells Rebels arrive and Puck flies down from the sky to join them in their race to the vault of the crystals.

The Conductor let out a gleeful laugh, the sound odd coming from his weathered and cracked lips and completely out of place with the rest of his austere appearance. “When a demon dies in battle, our souls return to the Abyss! My greatest foe comes. Today I go out in a blaze of glory! Today is the day I go home!”

I’m going to take a break from my structure here to chat for a moment about the difficulty of setting challenge in Dungeons and Dragons, because it is highlighted by the next scene.

I know Xanathar’s guide and the DM’s guide both have different methods for setting and figuring out good difficulty for fights, but you really can’t know how something will go in Dungeons and Dragons until you are playing it. I have three players at level 12. Xanathar’s guide suggests CR 5 monsters will be a decent match for them. I want this vault to be guarded by Abishai tasked with ensuring that those who enter the vaults are worthy, so I pick two black Abishai and a White Abishai (CR 7s and 6, respectively) and run a fight against them as the beasts drop down from among rows of statues of similar looking monsters. It’s a cool set up, the Black Abishai causing the vaults to become shrouded in shadow which then gives the Abishai advantage on their attacks.

But in three rounds, the fight is over: the players wipe the floor with them!

I was ready in case this happened, and have a Green Abishai standing by. He is a CR 15, and he comes into the arena with his fear effect blasting across the room indiscriminately, terrifying not only the players but the surviving White Abishai. This fight is a little more dynamic and long lasting, as Carrick and Imoaza flee in fear and the Abishai takes over Aldric’s mind, commanding him to turn on his fellows. The fight could have gone either way, but a mixture of poor die rolls from the Abishai and Aldric mean Carrick and Imoaza get a moment to break him free from his mind control and turn the tide on the Abishai.

Side note: there is a fun moment where the Abishai leaves a suggestion implanted in Aldric and Imoaza’s mind to flee from him and go stand in a corner, a suggestion that carries on after the Abishai is dead, and leaves Puck and Alyss and Carrick arguing with them to get moving. It’s also where we develop something deeper between Carrick and Imoaza: Carrick uses the bond they established on The Arc to take her hand and break her from the spell’s hold with soft words. Imoaza, not used to feeling anything and with her emotional wall weakened by the suggestion spell, feels a twinge of something for Carrick. It’s upsetting for her and strange, but maybe a little exciting too. Alyss catches the moment and believes that Carrick and Imoaza are already a “thing” setting us up for all sorts of romantic comedy action later... if we want to go there.

After all of this, the players rush back to the hole caused by the Demon Train, Alyss having stored a ton of crystals in a bag of holding, and leap out of the hole onto The Arc, which swoops down to catch them. The monster the train was fighting (in fact, died fighting, its soul returned to the Abyss) was none other than Tiamet, Queen of the Dragons.

A ridiculously tough beast, I know the players can’t defeat her in a fair fight. I use her toned down stats from the Rise of Tiamet final fight, but even then this is a beast capable of one-shoting an entire party with a single breath attack. And yet Aldric also hits like a beast, able to take off over 40 hitpoints each turn he attacks something. So I have to do a lot of tweaking as the fight progresses in order to achieve what I want this scene to achieve: a crazy final fight as the party flees from Hell.

Captain Krisp ran around the deck of The Arc, shouting orders. His generals and confidants: Ikbaldi the Barbarian, Star the Tiefling, Tinia the Cleric, Otto the Warlock, Jacobs his First Mate, and Geth the Rogue, all leaped to their battle stations, manning guns and turrets and swiveling them all to point at the rear of the ship as Tiamet crashed into them, her claws and talons wrapping around The Arc and hugging it close to her like a cat about to tear into a trapped mouse. Her five heads darted and dove down at the ship, tearing metal and wood apart, dodging bullets (or seeming to ignore them) as the gunners launched assault after assault upon her, raining down a barrage that would have destroyed a fortress. Aldric, Imoaza, and Carrick stood their ground on deck, Aldric laughing as gleefully as ever the Demon Train had at the prospect of facing such a mighty foe. He ran forward and leaped towards the nearest head, even as it swung around to regard him with fire in its eyes.

I recently did a podcast where I talked about setting difficulty for encounters in DnD 5e. In it, I come to the conclusion that one of the best ways to go about creating good encounters is to let the game world and your plot tell you what needs to be where and to worry about the challenge afterwards. Basically, don’t  build with numbers: build with story.

In this case, I know I want Tiamet to be the final fight and I want it to be tough, really more of a feel of surviving a siege than a fist fight with a god where they are going to knock her out. Tiamet is (and rightfully so) way above their pay grade. But I also don’t want the fight to be impossible or a straight party kill. That’s why I have Krisp’s team launching barrages of attacks at her, and also why Puck steps in to use some pretty incredible high level magic to shield and block the worst of Tiamet’s attacks (we don’t yet know the limits of Puck’s powers, but the effort does seem to wear him down).

I also don’t want this to be a fight without consequences, so I let the situation and character choice determine where the danger is. For instance, I let the players roll damage for all the gun barrages being launched each turn. I don’t use all of Tiamet’s legendary breath attacks. And when she does unleash her attacks, I make one of them poison (which Imoaza is immune to). Even when she finally unleashes her signature fire breath, rather than make it about pure numbers, where Tiamet’s attacks are left at their full power, I use Puck to reduce damage to a more reasonable place for the player level. I also really focus my attacks on Aldric, who is insistent on taking on Tiamet directly, which to me is letting the player character steer this fight. Aldric is playing it like a crazed bad ass, which means he’s drawing the focus of the attacks. After lasting two orounds in close quarters with Tiamet, he does fall unconscious, and here is where Krisp finally rushes forward with a rocket launcher, lobs a missile into Tiamet’s mouth, and calls to everyone to get below deck, that he’s got a final plan.

There is one last challenge I place here. In order to let Carrick grab Aldric and flee, Imoaza places herself in the line of danger to distract Tiamet for one more round. This works, but then Imoaza has one chance, one dodging roll, to get away from Tiamet before she gets hit by a bite attack from the Goddess of Dragons. She makes the roll, but had she failed, the damage certainly would have killed her and we would have to roll up a new character. It’s a moment that creates the mood I want, it takes this fight from the status of story battle to one of real consequence and danger, but I don’t just throw it in: it’s set by player decision and action.

Imoaza rolled forward through the open hatch leading into the belly of The Arc, jaws snapping shut behind her in a rush of hot air and sparks. She stumbled to her feet and kept running as the jaws tried to force their way through the narrow opening.

She soon caught up with Carrick and Krisp and Krisp’s commanders. Aldric was coming to, having been cured by Carrick’s magic. Krisp was yelling into a phone: “Alyss, is everything ready? The crystals are in place? Good! Then let’s do this!”

Krisp--talking a mile a minute about how everything had to come together in a spectacular fashion in order to make this all work and about how hell was never going to be his forever home--leads them down to the hold of The Arc, where the bottom of the ship has opened up to reveal The Surveyor’s repaired massive ship flying beneath them. Krisp tells everyone to jump down, and crew and commanders alike rush to obey, Carrick and Imoaza joining them. Last to go is Aldric and Krisp himself, who stands for a moment looking around the now empty hold.

“She was a good girl,” Krisp says, his voice uncharacteristically sad. “She served well. I’ll be sorry to lose her.” Aldric places a hand on his shoulder. “As a fellow captain, I know what it’s like to lose something. To lose your mount.”

Krisp smiles. “Well, if we are going to lose her, let’s let the girl go out in style, eh?”

He pulls a device with a large red button on it from his waistcoat, then pushes the button. He grabs Aldric and leaps out of the hold with him, shouting his catchphrase: “Let’s get Krispy!”

And behind them, there is a sudden roar as The Arc explodes in a ball of intense flame, engulfing Tiamet who is still wrestling with her prize. They do not see if it is the end of the Dragon Goddess, for they are pulled inside the Surveyor’s Ship and the hatches battened down behind them, and then there is a sudden jolt as the ship, their new Arc, blasts out from the atmosphere and leaves the world of Hell behind, for the vastness of space, and the first step on the long journey home.

Epilogue

Somewhere out in the blasted desert of Hell, Hecate pulls herself from the crash of her ship and rolls onto the hot red rock. She coughs up black tar and smoke and wheezes as she sucks in clean air. Her eyes are slits of rage as she looks towards the city where her foes disappeared. She shakes a fist of rage towards the sky as she manuevers her snake away from her crashed gun ship.

“Mother!” she screams. “I will have my revenge!”

And then, unexpectedly, a voice answers her from behind. She turns and sees something unusual discarded on the rock behind her, a sword, black as night, and emanating all the power that it had promised to its last bearer, before Aldric lost it and Carrick refused to bring it back. Blackrazor speaks to Hecate, and its voice is pure menace:

“Did I hear you say revenge?

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 29 April 2019

Quick Bits:

Angel #0 spins out of Buffy the Vampire Slayer #4 (the ending events of which are presented again at the beginning here), giving us a flashback of Angel in Los Angeles and a case involving a werewolf. The tone here from Bryan Edward Hill, Gleb Melnikov, Gabriel Cassata, and Ed Dukeshire is bleaker than the Buffy series, but it’s fitting.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Barbarella/Dejah Thoris #3 is a whole lot of flirting. Gorgeous artwork from  Germán García and Addison Duke with some impressive lettering from Crank!

| Published by Dynamite

Batman #70 wakes up from its “Knightmares” for the first part of “The Fall and the Fallen” by Tom King, Mikel Janín, Jorge Fornés, Jordie Bellaire, and Clayton Cowles. It throws down a gauntlet of Bats’ rogues as he fights to escape Arkham Asylum.

| Published by DC Comics

Batman/Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III #1 is the first of these series that I’ve picked up, so I didn’t initially clue in that this wasn’t necessarily how this crossover had played out previously, but this first issue features a world of the two properties mashed-up in a combined reality. It’s an interesting start from James Tynion IV, Freddie E. Williams II, Kevin Eastman, Jeremy Colwell, and Tom Napolitano with some gorgeous artwork.

| Published by DC Comics & IDW

Black Hammer ‘45 #3 features a guest-spot for a young Abraham Slam, who seems to rub the Black Hammer Squadron the wrong way through trying to follow through with ideals and principles. It’s an interesting underlining of whatever potentially grey area operation the squad is on, as Jeff Lemire, Ray Fawkes, Matt Kindt, Sharlene Kindt, and Marie Enger continue to let that plot point simmer.

| Published by Dark Horse

Champions #5 is a tie-in to War of the Realms and also serves as a bit of glue to hold together different parts of the event, building upon things across different areas of the Marvel universe. It also gives us a very heartfelt reunion of Ms. Marvel and Cyclops, wonderfully told by Jim Zub, Juanan Ramírez, Marcio Menyz, and Clayton Cowles.

| Published by Marvel

DC’s Year of the Villain Special #1 gives a trio of teasers, two largely for the two sides of the Justice League/Legion of Doom stuff that has been going on, providing a backbone for the Year of the Villain event, and the third for Brian Michael Bendis’ brainchild of Event Leviathan, which unfortunately feels kind of out of place with the rest of it. As though the two separate stories are competing for resources, rather than being part of a cohesive whole. That said, all of the teasers do their job fairly well, piquing interest in what’s to come.

| Published by DC Comics

DCeased #1 is basically DC’s answer to Marvel Zombies by way of Stephen King’s Cell, but it’s damn entertaining work from Tom Taylor, Trevor Hairsine, James Harren, Stefano Gaudiano, Rain Beredo, and Saida Temofonte. The set-up for the series with Darkseid meddling with the Anti-Life Equation and winding up with something worse is perfect.

| Published by DC Comics

Deathstroke #43 is kind of the conclusion to “The Terminus Agenda”, on paper at least. There’s still an epilogue over in the next issue of Teen Titans and the final page of this one sets up something huge going forward.

| Published by DC Comics

Descendent #1 begins another new conspiracy thriller, building off a child abduction and a “truther”, from Stephanie Phillips, Evgeniy Bornyakov, Lauren Affe, and Troy Peteri. It’s a bit of a slow build, working to develop the characters nicely, but there’s an intriguing mystery here.

| Published by AfterShock

Doctor Who: The Thirteenth Doctor #7 continues the hunt for the Stilean Flesh Eaters as the Doctor and the team cross paths with some familiar faces. Gorgeous layouts and art here from Roberta Ingranata, Enrica Eren Angiolini, and Viviana Spinelli.

| Published by Titan

Eclipse #15 reaches a boiling point in this penultimate issue. Zack Kaplan, Giovanni Timpano, Flavio Dispenza, and Troy Peteri have at least partially turned this arc upside down, causing us to have some serious questions about the morality of either side in the conflict. It adds a great depth to the characters’ actions and makes me unsure as to what exactly I’d like to see in the finale.

| Published by Image / Top Cow

Elephantmen 2261: The Pentalion Job #1 begins a new digital original mini-series from Richard Starkings and Axel Medellin. Burba sees himself released from prison early, only to be set up to do a new enormous heist. Starkings builds this one greatly out of what’s come before in the series and the art from Medellin is gorgeous.

| Published by Comicraft

Fallen World #1 is a very welcome return to the future of the Valiant universe, spinning out of the changes made to the world in 4001 AD and War Mother, with Dan Abnett, Adam Pollina, Ulises Arreola, and Jeff Powell weaving gold out of the fallen threads of the fallen New Japan. You needn’t have read anything prior to this, Abnett does a wonderful job filling in necessary details of the world and the characters. The art from Pollina is probably the best I have ever seen from him, there’s detail, grace, and expressiveness that has leapt so far beyond even the beautiful work he’s done before. He and Arreola make this a damn impressive book to look at. Highly recommended.

| Published by Valiant

Giant Days #50 features a cricket match, including an explanation of the game that makes more sense than I’ve ever seen it explained before. John Allison, Max Sarin, Whitney Cogar, and Jim Campbell deliver another hilarious issue, with one hell of a final page.

| Published by Boom Entertainment / BOOM! Box

The Girl in the Bay #4 is the end to this mini from JM DeMatteis, Corin Howell, James Devlin, and Clem Robins. It answers what happened in order to create two Kathy Santoris, and her murderer’s deal, but it maintains the weirdness set from the beginning.

| Published by Dark Horse / Berger Books

Gogor #1 is an entertaining start to this fantasy series from Ken Garing. The set up for the Domus taking over is interesting, as is the introduction of the seemingly Hulk-like saviour in the titular character. Gorgeous artwork throughout.

| Published by Image

Green Lantern #7 is a standout issue in an already astounding run, as Hal Jordan and a friend he finds in Pengowirr try to escape from Hal’s dying power ring. Great twists and turns throughout from Grant Morrison, Liam Sharp, and Tom Orzechowski. The layouts for many of the pages, playing with the shape of the Green Lantern symbol are very impressive.

| Published by DC Comics

Harley Quinn #61 is the first of this series I’ve picked up, due to Otto Schmidt taking over regular art duties, and I quite like this. This is the first part of “Role Players” from Sam Humphries, Schmidt, and Dave Sharpe, porting Quinn off to an alternate realm steeped in Dungeons & Dragons fantasy tropes. It’s pretty entertaining, with great art from Schmidt.

| Published by DC Comics

Hashtag: Danger #1 is another entertaining addition to the second wave of Ahoy’s comics, with Tom Peyer and Chris Giarrusso’s humorous take on the Challengers of the Unknown formula graduated from back-up to series. It’s rounded out with the usual back-up strip, text piece, and prose.

| Published by Ahoy

Justice League #23 has one hell of a gut punch for an ending (granted, it’s a little undercut by the DC’s Year of the Villain Special, but how could we expect something like that to remain anyway?). Absolutely stunning artwork from Jorge Jimenez and Alejandro Sánchez who only seem to outdo themselves with each subsequent issue.

| Published by DC Comics

Marvel Team-Up #2 continues the team-up between Ms. Marvel and Spider-Man in this Freaky Friday take from Eve L. Ewing, Joey Vasquez, Felipe Sobreiro, and Clayton Cowles. Interesting exploration of Peter and Kamala as they navigate aspects of each other’s lives.

| Published by Marvel

Meet the Skrulls #4 unveils what was a the heart of Project Blossom as fractures continue to develop between the Warner family. Great twists and turns from Robbie Thompson, Niko Henrichon, Laurent Grossat, and Travis Lanham as the series winds up for its conclusion.

| Published by Marvel

Nobody is in Control #1 features some very dense storytelling from Patrick Kindlon, Paul Tucker, and Wallace Ryan in this debut issue that goes down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories and seemingly random information. It reminds me a bit of the structure of Steve Seagle and Kelley Jones’ Crusades from Vertigo ages ago, but with a more likeable protagonist and a decidedly different narrative.  

| Published by Black Mask

The Punisher #11 is the explosive conclusion to “War in Bagalia” from Matthew Rosenberg, Szymon Kudranski, Antonio Fabela, and Cory Petit. When I say “conclusion”, though, I only mean it’s the end of the arc, it doesn’t really conclude anything with Jigsaw or Zemo. Great art from Kudranski and Fabela.

| Published by Marvel

Red Sonja #4 delves a bit more into Sonja’s past and training, seeding something interesting, while the first assault after being resupplied takes place. Mark Russell, Mirko Colak, Bob Q, Dearbhla Kelly, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou are continuing to tell an engrossing, thought-provoking story with this series.

| Published by Dynamite

Savage Avengers #1 is a good debut from Gerry Duggan, Mike Deodato Jr., Frank Martin, and Travis Lanham. It spins out of Avengers: No Road Home, but only inasmuch as depositing Conan in the Savage Land. We’re getting a bit of a gathering of the team here as an ancient cult tries to summon a bloodthirsty deity from a planet past Pluto.

| Published by Marvel

The Six Million Dollar Man #3 is another hilarious issue from Christopher Hastings, David Hahn, Roshan Kurichiyanil, and Ariana Maher. The comedy of errors increases as Steve tries to recharge himself through acting as a lightning rod. Just wonderful stuff.

| Published by Dynamite

Spider-Gwen: Ghost Spider #8 sees Seanan McGuire continue to absolutely nail the character development and interpersonal interactions between the characters in a compelling and intriguing way that hooks you well on their drama, even amidst all of the action, mystery, and excitement. Also, the art from Takeshi Miyazawa and Ian Herring remains incredible.

| Published by Marvel

Star Wars: Age of Rebellion - Han Solo #1 gives us a sweet smuggling run set between A New Hope and Empire Strikes Back as Han and Chewie are still carving out what their place happens to be in this world, from Greg Pak, Chris Sprouse, Karl Story, Tamra Bonvillain, and Travis Lanham.

| Published by Marvel

Transformers #4 maintains the slowburn for this story arc, delivering a bit more information, a Cyclonus that might be insane, and Brainstorm’s funeral. Also, I’d swear that the story is hinting that the newly forged Transformer is the murderer, but that may just be me putting together dots that don’t actually align. It’s really nice to see art here from Sara Pitre-Durocher and Andrew Griffith as they join Angel Hernandez this issue.

| Published by IDW

Volition #5 throws a boatload of betrayals and twists at us as Amber and Hale continue to try to track down their creator...and her dog. Ryan Parrott, Marco Itri, Leonardo Paciarotti, and Marshall Dillon are very nicely raising the tension levels in this issue.

| Published by AfterShock

The War of the Realms #3 sees Jason Aaron, Russell Dauterman, Matthew Wilson, and Joe Sabino continue to juggle the massive amount of characters and threads going into this event (even if some of the tie-in mini-series don’t seem to line up with the main event book itself). Gorgeous art from Dauterman and Wilson.

| Published by Marvel

The War of the Realms: Strikeforce - The Dark Elf Realm #1 is a one shot from Bryan Hill, Leinil Francis Yu, Gerry Alanguilan, Matt Hollingsworth, and Joe Sabino further exploring the team of Freyja, the Punisher, She-Hulk, Blade, and Ghost Rider before they ride off to Svartalfheim in War of the Realms #3. Some interesting character explorations and the nightmare of thousands of fluffy kittens.

| Published by Marvel

Young Justice #5 is huge, potentially exponentially huge, as it seems to pull at the fraying threads of the New 52 and Rebirth to hearken back to the pre-Flashpoint DCU. Brian Michael Bendis, John Timms, Kris Anka, Doc Shaner, Gabe Eltaeb, and Wes Abbott may be playing with fire but it’s a very welcome warmth. Bring marshmallows.

| Published by DC Comics / Wonder Comics

Other Highlights: Amazing Spider-Man #20.HU, Battlestar Galactica: Twilight Command #2, Beasts of Burden: The Presence of Others #1, Black AF: Devil’s Dye #3, Devil Within #4, The Dreaming #9, Elvira: Mistress of the Dark #5, Female Furies #4, From Hell: Master Edition #5, Goosebumps: Horrors of the Witch House #1, Grumble #6, Hillbilly: Red-Eyed Witchery From Beyond #4, Jim Henson’s Beneath the Dark Crystal #9, Marvel Action: Avengers #4, Marvel Action: Spider-Man #3, Outcast #41, Paper Girls #28, Self/Made #6, Star Wars #65, Star Wars Adventures: Flight of the Falcon, TMNT: Urban Legends #12, Under the Moon: A Catwoman Tale

Recommended Collections: Aliens: Dust to Dust, Amazing Spider-Man - Volume 3, Art of War of the Realms, Bloodborne - Volume 2: Healing Thirst, Bone Parish - Volume 1, Doctor Strange - Volume 2: Remittance, GI Joe: A Real American Hero - Silent Option, House Amok - Volume 1, Killmonger, Man Without Fear, Midas, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers - Volume 8, Olivia Twist: Honor Among Thieves, Princeless - Volume 7: Find Yourself, The Quantum Age, The Silencer - Volume 2: Helliday Road, Star Trek: The Next Generation - Terra Incognita, Stranger Things - Volume 1: The Other Side, Takio, TMNT - Volume 21: Battle Lines, Wonder Woman & Justice League Dark: Witching Hour, The Wrong Earth - Volume 1

d. emerson eddy would like to remind you that it’s Free Comic Book Day. Get out there and free some comics from the shackles of oppression. May the fourth be with you.

[thetygre]

30 Day Monster Challenge 2 - Day #5: Favorite Fish-Man

1.)    Abe Sapien (BPRD)

Good old Abraham Sapien. Been with us since the fist arc of Hellboy. Abe’s come a long way since then; met his mom, found his wife, subsequently lost her, reunited with his old steampunk buddies, got elected as antichrist after Hellboy and Liz, went into a coma, mutated a couple of feet taller, and so and so on. Into Abe is thrown a lot of bigger themes that inform us of the Mignolaverse’s overall composure. On the aesthetic side, Abe always brings the ocean, fish, and water with him. Lovecraft’s fear of the ocean, Verne’s fascination, and Melville’s awe of it are all wrapped up in Abe Sapien. In his past life, he even came from a whaling family, and he was part of a secret society of ocean-worshiping spiritualists. That’s the other aesthetic cue in Abe; Victoriana. Even when in body armor and running across the flooded remains of the Gulf Coast, Abe never loses a certain gentility. But as a character theme, more than anything, I think Abe represents tragedy. He’s lost more than anyone; Even Liz can still say she has her humanity. Abe can’t even remember his past life, and now he’s becoming a little more monstrous every day.

But through all that, Abe is still maybe the most relatable member of the BPRD for me. (Well, the superpowered ones anyway.) Abe isn’t really sure of who he is or his place in the world, and he’s still looking for those connections that root a person. At the same time, Abe sticks to the middle of the road, acting as the voice of reason even in unreasonable circumstances. He’s capable of emotional outbursts and faults, but for the most part, Abe succeeds at being a good person. Abe might be the strangest core member of the BPRD, but that he’s never inhuman. We don’t need to be super heroes; just basically good people are enough to keep the world running.

2.)    Davy Jones (Pirates of the Caribbean)

Man, I just love how cool this guy is. Sea monster octopus pirate; that’s a character description that makes my inner ten year old want to jump and down. Davy Jones’ whole character design is just so nifty; tentacle beard, organic peg-leg, crab-claw hook hand, a sweet pipe and a giant hat. Hat’s also important for the other reason I love Jones; plays into so many mythical archetypes. Costumers for PotC explicitly stated they picked Jones’ hat because it looked like horns, and they really wanted Jones to fit his role as essentially the pirate devil. As the PotC spans out, Jones is revealed to have been even more legendary characters; he’s the Old Man of the Sea that Odysseus had to wrestle to go to Hades, and Charon guiding souls over to the underworld. I’ll be honest, Davy Jones’ pathos with the lost love never really struck a chord with me. Bill Nighy’s performance of it was great, though, so props are definitely in order for that. And last, but certainly not least, I can’t not love a man who keeps a kraken as a pet.

3.)    Deep Ones (H.P. Lovecraft)

The classic. The first. Your one and only. It’s beginning to look a lot like fish-men. The blue-collar workers of the Cthulhu Mythos. H.P. Lovecraft’s fear of the ocean and corrupted bloodlines all wrapped into one beautiful, horrible fish creature. Nothing quite beats Lovecraft’s originals; he goes out of his way to describe them as alien, foul, and horrible. They’re another one of those monsters you can practically smell through the pages. I think it’s safe to say that half the other fish-men on this list wouldn’t exist without the Deep Ones. People are still scared of the ocean and the alien things living in it, and the Deep Ones give that fear a face. All the while they call to some primal part of us, an archaic memory that remembers when our species used to be fish, and they tell us to come home. Just as angels call us to come to God, the Deep Ones call us back to the sea. (Also; fat and hunchbacked Deep Ones only. I’m sorry; I wish I didn’t have to make that call. If it was up to me, all Deep Ones would be valid. But these are the times we live in, and sacrifices have to be made, preferably to Father Dagon.)

4.)    The Creature from the Black Lagoon (Universal Monsters)

Deep Ones lite. There’s actually a lot I like about the Creature on its own merits. It’s such a natural creature, as far as monsters go. It lives in harmony with its ecosystem, and its design really conveys that its simply a fish that has evolved into a humanoid shape. You can say the same thing about humans, though, and that ultimately is where we connect with the Creature. He’s also kind of charming in his own way; wide eyes, smiling face, no big pointy teeth. He’s practically a goldfish compared to the Deep Ones. And of course those underwater ballet sequences are still just absolutely beautiful. I think more than the Deep Ones, the Creature can probably be compared to King Kong; a primal, more innocent creature so strange that humanity wouldn’t leave it alone. Mankind’s desire to know more about the mysterious ultimately destroyed that mystery, conveying the paradox of how destructive discovery can be.

5.)    The Asset (Shape of Water)

We’ve come full circle now, I suppose. Centuries ago, sailors dreamed up half women/half fish creatures to ease their loneliness, and now we’ve made a half man/half fish to do the same for women. The Asset is pretty explicitly a makeover of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, even coming from a distant part of South America. There’s also clearly some Abe Sapien in there, which is only to be expected coming from Guillermo del Toro. This might sound weird, but I think the details I appreciate most are the spines and the fangs. I know this whole movie was supposed to be about how the monster was less dangerous than the Creature, but the spines and fangs just make it feel like a more believable creature.

6.)    The Creature (Monster Squad)

But before the asset, there was another Creature from the Black Lagoon reboot in The Monster Squad. This movie is just the gift that keeps on giving. I’d say that the Creature here is the strongest individual design out of the whole batch. He didn’t really do much in this movie, but he made one heck of an impression. Designed by none other than the late, great Stan Winston, this version of the Creature looks like its ready to kick ass and take names. I distinctly get the impression of a piranha from it, and you can just imagine a mob of these guys rising up out of the Amazon and pulling down a river boat.

7.)    Sahuagin (Dungeons and Dragons)

There are a lot of different fish people to choose from in D&D. Kuo Toa, Skum, Locathah, mermaids, Atlanteans, and the list grow longer every year. But my personal favorite are the Sahuagin; brutal, murderous raiders living in a strict tribal hierarchy, worshiping a giant shark, and prone to mutations. While most fish men draw from Lovecraft, I got the distinct impression that the Sahuagin were more pulpy, a bit more Edgar Rice Burroughs. Even their other name, the Sea Devils, sounds like something Conan or Tarzan would fight in a comic book. Their designs are just so cool; fin ears, bullet heads, shark teeth, long tails. Before ‘scary’, these were sea monsters made to look intimidating. They are the most organized antagonistic force under the waves, threatening everything from merfolk to sailors. Their goal? Nothing short of supreme domination of the sea.

8.)    Shark Giant (Bloodborne)

Another Deep One descendent, and this one hits like a truck. There’s a lot to be said for the shark giant on its own merits. It’s lack of eyes make you think that it senses by scent, and remind you of how a shark can sense a drop of blood in water a hundred miles away. There are, of course, the teeth, and how they seem to take up more space than there is for the mouth. The barnacles on its back are both a crest and a fin. Its paleness makes it seem to glow in the dark, like its bioluminescent. It really reinforces the feeling in the Fishing Hamlet that you’re underwater, like the boundaries between land, sea, and sky have been blurred. More than any other monster in the Fishing Hamlet, the shark giant is what reminds me of Lovecraft’s Dagon; a huge, deformed figure skulking over the mud of a submarine nightmare-scape.

9.)    The Children of the Thing That Drifted Ashore (Junji Ito)

The Thing That Drifted Ashore isn’t even really my favorite Junji Ito sea monster story; that would probably be Gyo. But the things that come crawling out of it are some of the first fish people I find genuinely disgusting, evoking that same feeling Lovecraft wanted from his Deep Ones. The Thing had apparently swallowed dozens of people that fell into the sea over the years, keeping them in its stomach. But rather than being digested, the people changed. It’s subtle, but you can still see it; webbed fingers, widened eyes, transparent skin. Inside the Thing, the people were witnesses to the abyss of the deep sea and driven mad by it. I’m reminded of an old version of the story of Jonah I was read as a child, where Jonah looked through the great fish’s eyes and saw the fires of Sheol and the Leviathan at the bottom of the ocean. The people swallowed are reborn, now children of the Thing, belonging only to the deep sea.

10.)    Otto Aquarius (The Venture Bros)

I just love this cute little guy. He’s only a minor character on the Venture Brothers, but he still made an impression on me. A half Atlantean that became a Mormon missionary, he’s just so earnest and eager. He’s an obvious play on superheroes like Namor and Aquaman, but they can’t hold a candle to this sweetheart. He’s clean, he’s polite, he’s socially conservative, he’s useless in combat; Otto’s just endearing. Dump the Asset and get with the real catch, folks.

[queenklu]

So You Think You Can Dragon p13: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Part 1&2 | Part 12

I don’t know what the fuck is going on--but what else is new

At first I was putting off the landsmeet because that felt like it was going to be close to the end, and it kind of is? But then the alienage finally opens up and that’s been teased for A G E S but there’s....only two things to do in it......(though I am a Big Fan of the haunted orphanage, aesthetically; would like it more if Ser Otto wasn’t a balloon animal of a man trying to fight rooms full of cacti). 

And I busted out the queen, using the super sneaky guards uniforms which conveniently made a human, an elf, an old lady, and a big fuck off dwarf ~BLEND IN~~~ but we got busted ‘cause we walked into a room where a guard was getting a very awkward incredibly clothed blowjob, which used the same animation for praying and i just. Man, we’re right here. 

...I tapped him on the shoulder and he sounded the alarm.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

sidenote it is WILD playing a game that’s almost 10 years old. I had to look something up and found myself on a chat page where some guy’s unironic response to “you can’t do that yet” was, and I quote: “that’s so gay.” 

I’ll tell you guys this chunk of the story was the absolutely MOST I used the “load previous save” option--not for blowjob guy, that part I could fight my way out of. But when I was leaving the castle there was supposed to be a big showdown where you get caught and I....man I fought half the battle before I realized: this is not the kind of person Magnus wants to be. If there’s a middle ground, he’s going to find it. 

So. We get caught. And I surrender. 

...Here’s the thing, tho. Surrendering means I get thrown in the dungeon with my good good buddy Alistaire, and, also our clothes are gone??? 

Context? What context?

And I realize pretty quick that I’m not about to sit around and let Alistaire get tortured just because I tried to be diplomatic about shit. 

So we busted the fuck outta there. 

It involved a bit more dress up, a smidge of espionage, a bit more back-saving, and eventually walking through the front door of that castle with none the fuckin’ wiser.

I do realize from a video game stance that I should have used all the fighting to build up points and whatever, but I also appreciate the hell out of a game that didn’t make me do those things when it felt out of character and wrong. 

SPEAKING OF GAME DESIGN 

back at camp, I’m making the rounds and for some reason everyone is giving me props for smooching Zevran--Wynne is now a fan, and Leliana maybe asked to join in a threesome??? and anyway, I sidle over to Zevran and ask him to join me in my tent.

Zevran: NO!!!! I--NOPE, NO I DO NOT WANT TO

Magnus: ...........ookkkkaaaayyyyyy w hyyyyy???

Zevran: I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT EITHER!!! DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO?????

Magnus: ......................................????????????????????

me: 

For Magnus’s sake I am all shook, but from a storytelling perspective I did not expect!!! they’re giving me DRAMA!! 

I mean to say this sure as HELL better resolve but like. Damn, dragon age! Daaaaaaaaammnnn!! 

Part 14