#SHE BROKE YOUR THRONE AND SHE CUT YOUR HAIR…. AND FROM YOUR LIPS SHE DREW THE HALLELUUJAHHHH!!!!

[cobra-wives]

if i am shaven, then my strength will leave me, and i shall become weak, and be like any other man.

judges 16:17; samson and delilah

[freakattack]

[gaymergal]

Instead of a sware jar, I need a wip jar 😫

Every time I open a blank document and start working on a new fic idea i owe my unfinished wips a quarter.

*puts 7.25 in a jar*

*opens new document*

This one fore sure will get finished 🥲

[choface]

-

[puckgoodfaggot]

verse 1: Now I've heard there was a secret chord That David played and it pleased the Lord But you don't really care for music, do ya? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth The minor fall, the major lift The baffled king composing 'Hallelujah'

verse 2: Your faith was strong, but you needed proof You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew ya She tied you to a kitchen chair She broke your throne and she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

verse 3: You say I took the name in vain I don't even know the name But if I did, well, really, what's it to ya? There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn't matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah

verse 4: I did my best, it wasn't much I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool ya And even though it all went wrong I'll stand before the lord of song With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

[vivemonroi]

Can we talk about Hallelujah and how it represents Solavellan? We've long considered Hallelujah as the hymn for Solavellan, but I never fully realized how deeply it might reflect their love.

I combined lyrics from Leonard Cohen’s version and Rufus Wainwright’s rendition to get a "full picture."

Content spoilers!

I imagine that it’s Lavellan singing to Solas, sharing how she sees him and his story.

Now I′ve heard there was a secret chord That David played, and it pleased the Lord But you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth The minor falls, the major lifts The baffled king composing Hallelujah

The "baffled king" could represent Solas and his god-like status during the Evanuris era. Even with his power and knowledge, Solas could be seen as someone vulnerable, struggling with the burdens of his choices. This reflects his grandeur and his inner conflict, showing that despite his god-like status, he was still susceptible to doubt, regret, and even love.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

Now that we know more about Solas and Mythal’s relationship, I think that the "her" mentioned is actually Mythal, and Solas was willing to do anything for her. This includes obtaining a physical body and standing by her side no matter what.

She tied you to a kitchen chair She broke your throne, and she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

But eventually, Mythal leaves Solas, who remains attached to her. She "broke his throne," meaning she pushed him to rebel; she made him cut his hair… and now the guy is bald. Clearly, this represents his betrayal.

The Hallelujah signifies the deepest, most sacred love — he still loved her, even then. But their relationship was ultimately toxic for both of them.

Maybe I've been here before I know this room, I've walked this floor I used to live alone before I knew you I've seen your flag on the marble arch Love is not a victory march It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Now Lavellan is singing about herself and her life before Solas. She was alone, especially after the Conclave and becoming the Herald of Andraste. The Dalish rejected her, and humans weren’t her people — much like Solas himself, upon awakening to a world that was no longer his.

With him, she discovers a love deeper than any she has known, she realizes that loving someone is not a "victory march." Her love for him is filled with pain and bittersweetness. It's hard to love him, yet she love him still.

There was a time you'd let me know What's real and going on below But now you never show it to me do you?

This is about the time they shared during the events of the Inquisition. He taught her about the Fade and the ancient gods, but after Trespasser, he vanished, concealing his true self beneath the mask of Fen’Harel.

And then there’s the line, “you’d let me know what’s real.” Remember what Solas said after they defeated Corypheus, just before he walked away forever?

“I want you to know that what we had was real.”

And remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving too And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Both could represent the time they shared or her attempts to reach him after Trespasser. The "holy dark"— maybe the Blight?

You say I took the name in vain I don′t even know the name But if I did, well, really, what's it to you?

She didn’t know his true title, the Dread Wolf, a part of his very nature and ancient past. Yet she wonders: if she had known, would it have changed anything?

Now there's a different versions for Lavellan who want to save Solas and Lavellan who want to stop him.

The redeemed and happy version.

There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn′t matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah

At first glance, it may seem like the holy love, the holy Hallelujah, represents his love for Mythal, and the broken one for Lavellan. But I think it's the opposite: Mythal is a god, yet their love is broken; Lavellan is mortal, but her love for him is divine. Both of them have the power to redeem him, in different ways — one through letting go, and the other through allowing him to be loved.

I did my best, it wasn′t much I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch I′ve told the truth, I didn't come to fool you

The words point directly to Solas, she tries to convince him, that their love can find a way to endure. She isn't like Mythal, she accepts him, his nature. But he's afraid, he's not allowing himself to move forward.

And even though it all went wrong I′ll stand before the Lord of Song With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Even in the end, Lavellan still holds onto her love for Solas, with nothing on her tongue but their sacred love.

She is his future.

Now to the grim and sad version

Maybe there's a God above And all I ever learned from love Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

He deceives her, and all that love has taught her is sorrow. Mythal' and Solas' history confirms that.

She remains steadfast, standing in his path, even if it means his end, because her love and his history taught her "to shoot at someone who outdrew you."

And it′s not a cry you can hear at night It's not somebody who′s seen the light It's a cold and it′s a broken Hallelujah

In this version, their love is doomed to be cold and broken. There is no light. She has given up on him, yet the suffering remains, deep and unrelenting. Still, it is a Hallelujah.

He is all alone, facing his most terrible fear. Yet he believes he deserves it and it's the only thing that can redeem him.

Thank you for reading this! I know I’m being delusional, but it helps me sleep at night.

[entheognosis]

Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen Now, I’ve heard there was a secret chord That David played, and it pleased the Lord But you don’t really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth The minor fall, the major lift The baffled king composing hallelujah Your faith was strong but you needed proof You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya She tied you to a kitchen chair She broke your throne, and she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the hallelujah Baby, I've been here before I know this room, I've walked this floor I used to live alone before I knew you And I've seen your flag on the marble arch Love is not a victory march It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah You say I took the name in vain I don’t even know the name But if I did, well really, what’s it to you? There’s a blaze of light in every word It doesn’t matter which you heard The holy or the broken hallelujah I did my best, it wasn’t much I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you And even though it all went wrong I’ll stand before the lord of song With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.

Leonard Cohen

[sad-orlesian]

"She tied you to the kitchen chair

She broke your throne and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah"

[imagininghim]

A very broken Hallelujah

A/N: I've recently been listening to the song Hallelujah and I can't get this imagine out of my head, I hope you enjoy!

There is not enough Lucifer imagines and smut out there so please request away, or write some because your girl is in desperate need!

Blurb: You're on a hunt for a demon with the Winchesters, Castiel and a certain little devil at a lounge. The boys ask you to pose as a lounge singer to attract the attention of the demon but little do you know, that's not the only attention you catch.

Pairing: Lucifer x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings: not a one, just some sweet and fluffy devil loving.

"You want me to do what?" I questioned as I stared blankly at the two boys from the backseat of the impala.

"You know, just sing a song or two while Sam and I hunt for the black eyed bastard." Dean said with a smile. "It won't be that bad, I've heard you sing in the shower before. You're great!" Before I could argue Sam spoke up.

"What Dean is trying to say is, we just need you to distract the crowd while we search for him, as soon as we find him, we'll signal for you and we can leave." Sam said with hope in his voice.

"Why can't we just send Lucifer to find the demon, I'm sure he already knows where he is." I said sending a glance across the seat at the former archangel.

"We can't trust him enough to actually help, which is why Cas is going to sit in the crowd with him and keep an eye on you and him while we hunt." Sam responded simply, I let out a sigh knowing there was no way I was gonna win this argument.

"Fine, but you both owe me." I said with a huff.

"Deal."

We drove the rest of the way to the lounge in silence, every now and then I could feel a set of eyes trailing over me, I looked over at Cas who was sitting next to me, focusing on the road ahead and then at Lucifer who was simply staring out the window. I shrugged it off, thinking it was a coincidence and turned back to the window.

Once we arrived, we all shuffled out of the car. Sam and Dean, came prepared already dressed in suits while Cas and Lucifer wore their normal attire.

"(Y/N), I packed you a bag with a dress and some heels." Sam began, handing me over the duffel bag. "They have a dressing room you can get ready in, you'll be on in fifteen minutes, so you better get going." I nodded before sending a glare at Dean and making my way into the lounge.

After I got dressed and freshened up, the makeup I had already been wearing, I heard the stage manger call my name. Taking in a deep breath, I made my up the stairs and onto the stage.

As I over looked the crowd, I locked eyes with a pair of light blue ones. For a moment, it looked like they flashed red but I just shrugged it off as being nothing.

Walking to the mic, silence fell amongst the crowd as a piano began with a familiar tune. I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes, beginning to sing.

"Now I've heard there was a secret chord, that David played, and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor falls, the major lifts, the baffled king composing Hallelujah" I reopened my eyes to only find them staring back into Lucifer's. I continued to stare as I sung, feeling as if it was just the two of us in the room.

"Your faith was strong but you needed proof, you saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you, she tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah." As the song continued, Lucifer and I never once broke eye contact, he began leaning forward and placing his elbows as I sang. Looking as if he was locked into some sort of trance.

"Maybe I have been here before, I know this room I, I've walked this floor, I used to live alone before I knew you, I've seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah." I closed my eyes as the song went on as an image appeared in my thoughts.

It was all pitch black but the faint sound of the piano played on, I looked around as I heard footsteps approaching.

"Care to dance." I turned around to see Lucifer standing in an all black suit, with his hand held out to me. I glanced his hand and then back at his eyes, which were now illuminating a bright red. I placed my hand in his and nodded. Taking ahold of me, he slid his hand around my waist and pulled me close.

"There was a time you let me know, what's real and going on below, but now you never show it to me, do you? And remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving, too, and every breath we drew was Hallelujah"

We continued to dance, holding on to one another while staring deeply into each other's eyes. It wasn't until I heard what sounded like the flapping of wings, that I took notice. Outstretched behind Lucifer was his wings, they were black and battered but they were still breathtaking.

"Can I touch them?" I questioned as I stopped dancing, and continued to stare in awe of his wings.

"You can see them?" Lucifer questioned in slight shock.

"Yes and they're beautiful." I reached out my hand before glancing at him, he nodded in response and ran my fingers through the soft silkiness of his feathers, he let out a soft moan as I continued.

"You know, they say only your soulmate can see your wings. The person you're destined to be with." Lucifer said softly as I turned to look at him.

"Maybe there's a god above, and all I ever learned from love, was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you, and it's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah." The song finished up, and I reopened my eyes as the crowd erupted in clapping and cheering. Breaking the eye contact from Lucifer, I noticed Sam signalling me that they had finished the hunt. I took a small bow and made my way off the stage.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in once I reached the dressing room, I glanced up in the mirror to see Lucifer standing behind me.

"You sang beautifully." He said simply. I turned around to only take in notice of his wings in person.

"Yo-your wings." I stuttered dumbfounded that I could actually see them.

"It's you, (Y/N)." He began coming towards me, cupping my cheek in his hand.

"It's always been you."

[the-white-snake]

She tied you to a kitchen chair She broke your throne, and she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah ♪

The other half of a previous post. I ended up liking that one more and forgot about this front view until now.

[nixiefics]

A Tangle of Souls - Chapter 4

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Jaena)

Tropes: Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Targaryen typical incest, smut, swearing, drinking, canon typical violence and death

As Jaena entered her chambers, the faint scent of jasmine wafted through the air, mingling with the soft glow of candlelight that danced across the room. Neseya sat gracefully at the small table by the window, her silhouette outlined against the backdrop of the setting sun. Dark tendrils of hair cascaded over her shoulders like liquid midnight, framing her features with an air of mystique.

Their fabricated bond, spun by the intricate webs of deception orchestrated by Jason Lannister, served as a precarious facade in the halls of King's Landing.

Despite the scant acquaintance, Jaena's movements exuded a quiet determination as she approached Neseya, her steps measured and purposeful. Neseya, her pretence carefully crafted to exude maternal love, met Jaena's gaze with a practiced warmth that masked the uncertainty lingering beneath the surface.

As Jaena drew nearer, the tension between truth and falsehood hung palpably in the air, a silent testament to the intricate dance they were entangled in.

"So, Neseya, why exactly are you here?" Jaena's voice sliced through the silence, each word laced with suspicion as she broke the tension that hung in the air like a heavy fog. Her arms folded across her chest, a barrier of defiance against the world she sought to unravel.

Neseya's lips curved into a smile, a mere whisper of amusement that danced upon her features like a fleeting shadow. "Straight to the point, I see. Very well," she conceded, her voice a melodic cadence that belied the gravity of their conversation.

"I orchestrated our convergence in King's Landing," Neseya continued, her gaze steady and unwavering. "You see, I harbour ties to the Lannister family, connections I've kept hidden until now. But my intentions toward you, Jaena, are not tinged with malice. No, those sentiments I reserve for others. With you, I see potential, an opportunity waiting to be seized for mutual gain."

As Neseya spoke, she took a sip from her goblet, her movements leisurely as if time itself bowed to her whims. The goblet, a delicate vessel of crystal, caught the fading light, casting prisms of colour across the room in a kaleidoscope of hues.

Jaena's brows furrowed in disbelief, a ripple of scepticism marring the porcelain smoothness of her features. "Opportunity? What kind of opportunity involves parading me around as the daughter of a prince I've never met?" Her voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, cut through the air.

Neseya leaned forward, the hint of a smile playing upon her lips as she considered Jaena's words. "A profitable one, my dear Jaena," she replied, her voice a whisper that carried the weight of her ambitions. "You see, in this game of thrones, power is everything. And with the right connections, we can secure a place of great influence in Westeros."

Jaena scoffed, her disbelief palpable in the air between them like a thick fog. "Influence? Is that what you think this is about? Daemon Targaryen, knowingly or otherwise, abandoned me to a life secluded from the world; Jason Lannister took me and raised me like a prize pig, ready to slaughter only when he was ready-"

But before Jaena could finish her sentence, Neseya raised a hand, silencing her with a solemn gaze that held the weight of centuries in its depths. "Your father and Lord Lannister's motivations are of little consequence now," she interjected, her voice a gentle admonition that cut through the bitterness that threatened to consume them both. "What matters is what we can achieve together. A life of freedom from the confines of a lonely tower, and the opportunity to forge your own path in this world."

Jaena's features softened, the icy facade melting away to reveal a glimmer of hope that shimmered like a distant star in the darkness. "And how do you propose we accomplish this?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

Neseya's smile widened, a flicker of mischief dancing in the depths of her obsidian eyes. "With the help of someone who wields far greater power than any king or prince," she replied cryptically, her words hanging in the air like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. "The Red Priestess of R'hllor, Kinvara, possesses many abilities. Rest assured, Jaena, she will visit you soon with requests. And when she does, you will be ready to comply."

Queen Alicent Hightower's private quarters, despite their opulence, carried an air of uneasy formality that evening. The dinner was meant to be a private affair, but the presence of Jaena, the girl who had arrived earlier that day claiming to be the trueborn daughter of Daemon Targaryen, added a layer of tension to the room.

The table was set with meticulous care. Alicent herself had ensured that the finest linens and the most exquisite of the Red Keep's porcelain were used. The golden candelabras flickered gently, their flames casting long shadows on the tapestried walls.

Queen Alicent sat at the head of the table, her demeanour composed but her eyes betraying a hint of wariness. To her right sat Aegon, slouched in his chair, his fingers drumming on the table impatiently as he eyed the goblet of wine before him. He had already emptied two and was on his way to a third, his disinterest in the evening’s proceedings clear.

Helaena sat quietly beside him, meticulously dissecting a plate of roast fowl, her eyes occasionally darting to the centrepieces, where a collection of exotic beetles in glass cases had been arranged for her amusement. Every so often, she muttered something under her breath, her cryptic words lost to the others in the room.

Aemond, ever the epitome of seriousness, sat across from Helaena. His single eye, sharp and calculating, never left Jaena for long. His scepticism was palpable, and he maintained a stoic silence, his fingers absently tracing the scar that ran from his forehead to his jawline, a permanent reminder of the childhood altercation with his nephews and cousins.

To the left of Alicent sat Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. His presence was imposing, his demeanour one of controlled authority. He observed the proceedings with a critical eye, his expression revealing little of his thoughts. Everyone agreed that Ser Otto was a skilled man in his position, but serving two kings had made him haughty, direct, abrupt with others, dominant, and proud. The more he served as Hand, the more imperious he became, and holding the second most powerful position in the kingdom had made him very ambitious.

Jaena, the centre of attention, was seated next to Otto. Her long silver-blonde hair, so reminiscent of the Targaryen lineage, had been done in a Pentoshi style that ended in a bun that made Alicent cringe at the thought of the weight.

"Tell us more about Pentos," Aemond prompted, his tone polite but edged with a challenge. "I've heard it is a city of great wealth and some intrigue."

Jaena smiled, a practiced, serene expression. "Indeed, my prince. Pentos is a place of beauty and mystery. Its people are as varied as the colours of the sea, and its traditions are rich and ancient. I spent much of my time painting the landscapes, capturing the essence of its vibrant culture."

Aegon snorted into his goblet, not bothering to hide his disbelief. "Sounds like a convenient story to me," he muttered, taking another long drink of his wine.

"Aegon," Alicent chided softly, her gaze flicking to her eldest son with a mixture of frustration and resignation.

"It's true," Aegon continued, ignoring his mother's reprimand. "Why should we believe you, Jaena? You show up out of nowhere, claiming to be our cousin. What proof do you have?"

Jaena's eyes met his calmly. "I seek no throne, no power," she said, her voice steady. "I only wish to be acknowledged for who I am. The truth will reveal itself in time, as it always does."

Helaena, who had been quietly observing a beetle, looked up suddenly. "The truth is a many-legged creature," she said softly, like smoke, curling and lingering long after she had spoken.

Aemond glanced from his sister to Jaena and his eye narrowed. "How convenient for you to say. But words are wind. Proof is what matters."

Otto Hightower leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. "Proof can be difficult to come by, especially in matters of lineage," he said, his tone even. "But it is not beyond our reach. We will investigate your claims thoroughly, Jaena. Rest assured, we will uncover the truth."

Alicent raised her hand, signalling for calm. "Enough," she said firmly. "We are here to dine as a family. Let us set aside our doubts and questions for now and simply share this meal."

The servants began to bring in the courses, starting with a delicate soup of river trout, followed by roasted venison with a sauce of rich, dark berries. The food was sumptuous, but the atmosphere remained taut with unspoken tension. Conversation was sparse, punctuated only by the clink of silverware and the occasional murmur from Helaena.

Aegon, growing increasingly inebriated, leaned closer to Jaena. "So, cousin," he drawled, "your egg did not hatch."

Jaena's smile didn't waver. "It did not," she replied calmly, even as her eyes darted to her lap. "But perhaps one day, I will claim my own as Prince Aemond did."

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk. "Being a dragonrider is not for the faint of heart. It requires true courage and strength."

"Qualities I am sure you possess in abundance, Prince Aemond," Jaena said, inclining her head.

Otto leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Jaena. "Tell us, girl," he began, his voice calm yet commanding, "how do you intend to prove your claims? Do you have any tangible evidence, any relics or documents, that might support your story?"

Jaena met his gaze steadily, carefully considering her words. "My mother, Neseya, possesses the proof of my lineage," she said. "She has kept records and documents from my birth. They include a letter from Prince Daemon and a seal that can only be his."

Aemond scoffed. "Letters can be forged, and a seal proves little. It’s a weak claim at best."

Otto raised a hand to silence his grandson. "We will examine these items when they are presented. Until then, we must proceed with caution but also with an open mind."

The dinner dragged on, each course more lavish than the last, but the conversation never fully thawed. Alicent made a few attempts to steer the talk toward lighter topics, asking Helaena about her latest insect collection and Aemond about his training, but the underlying tension was impossible to ignore.

As the final course was cleared away and dessert — a delicate lemon cake with honeyed cream — was served, Aegon, now thoroughly drunk, stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I've had enough of this charade," he declared, his voice slurred. "Enjoy your painting and your stories, Jaena. But don't expect me to believe them."

He staggered out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Alicent sighed, her expression weary. "I apologize for my son," she said to Jaena. "He is... troubled."

Jaena inclined her head gracefully. "There is no need, Your Grace. I understand."

Helaena looked up from her plate, her eyes wide and distant. "The spider weaves its web, unseen by those who tread too heavily," she murmured.

Aemond rose from his seat, his gaze still locked on Jaena. "I will find the truth of your claims," he said quietly, a promise and a threat all in one. "And if you are who you say you are, then you will have my respect. But if not..."

"There is no need for threats, Aemond," Alicent interjected, her voice sharp. "We will handle this matter with the dignity it deserves."

Otto nodded in agreement, his expression stern. "Indeed. This is a delicate matter, and we must approach it with the gravity it warrants. Jaena, you will provide us with whatever evidence you have. We will examine it thoroughly, and until then, you will remain our guest."

Jaena met Aemond's stare without flinching. "I welcome the truth," she said softly. "It is the only thing that matters."

Otto leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "You speak well, girl," he said, his tone colder. "But words can only carry you so far. If you are not who you claim to be, understand that deception will not be forgiven lightly in this court."

Jaena nodded, her demeanour unfazed. "I understand, Lord Hand. I assure you, I have nothing to hide."

Otto held her gaze for a moment longer before leaning back in his chair. "We shall see. My men will collect the records from your mother tomorrow. I will personally ensure they are authenticated."

As the dinner came to a close, the tension in the room remained thick, the air heavy with unspoken words and unresolved doubts. Alicent watched as her children left the table one by one, her heart heavy with worry for the future. Jaena, the mysterious girl with the silver hair, had brought with her a storm of uncertainty, and it was clear that this was only the beginning.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls of the chamber as Prince Daemon Targaryen reclined in a plush chair, his dark eyes scanning the room with a predatory gaze. The silence was thick, interrupted only by the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. A goblet of wine rested on the table beside him, untouched, as he read through a new book of Valyrian histories.

Pentos lay sprawled beneath the window, a sprawling city of pale domes and minarets, nestled beside the vast expanse of the Shivering Sea. The city's cobbled streets wound through bustling markets, where merchants from distant lands hawked their wares – spices, silks, and gems that glittered like stars under the midday sun. The scent of exotic foods and the sound of foreign tongues filled the air, a testament to the city's worldly nature. Elegant manses of wealthy magisters dotted the landscape, their high walls guarding secrets and wealth alike.

Daemon found a strange comfort in the city’s chaos. Yet tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere, clouded with concerns for his family. His wife, Laena Velaryon, was heavily pregnant. The maesters had warned of complications, and though Daemon put on a brave front, the worry gnawed at him. His twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, were thirteen years old, standing on the cusp of womanhood, their bond unbreakable. Their fierce spirit and determination reminded him so much of himself, and he would do anything to protect them.

A knock echoed through the chamber, pulling Daemon from his thoughts. He turned his head sharply, irritation flashing across his features. “Enter,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

A servant stepped in, head bowed, holding a parchment sealed with the royal crest. Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he took the letter, dismissing the servant with a flick of his wrist. He broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, his eyes scanning the elegant script of his brother’s hand.

"Daemon,

I write to you with a matter of utmost urgency. You are to come to King’s Landing at once. There are rumours that require your attention, and I require your presence here.

Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name

King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men

Lord of the Seven Kingdoms

Protector of the Realm"

Daemon’s brow furrowed as he read the letter again. What could be so urgent? He had heard whispers; rumours of a girl claiming to be his daughter. But he dismissed such talk as the idle gossip of court. He had always been loyal to his family, fiercely so, but this... He crumpled the letter in his hand, the parchment crackling under his grip.

"Viserys always with his cryptic messages," Daemon muttered to himself. "What game are you playing, brother?"

Daemon rose from his chair, his movements smooth and purposeful. He strode to the window, staring out over the darkened landscape of Pentos. His mind raced with possibilities. A girl claiming to be his daughter? He had sired no bastards, or so he believed. The idea of a child, his blood, roaming the world unknown to him, gnawed at his insides.

He turned away from the window, his decision solidifying. King’s Landing held answers he needed, and he would uncover them. His path was set, and he would not shy away from whatever awaited him there.

His thoughts drifted back to Laena, resting in their chambers. He worried for her and the unborn child she carried. Despite his fierce exterior, the love he held for his family was boundless. Baela and Rhaena needed their father, and he would ensure they had him for as long as he could fight.

Just as he was about to call for his preparations to begin, another knock came at the door, this one softer, more deliberate. Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “Enter,” he said again, his tone edged with curiosity.

The door opened to reveal a figure draped in red and gold, her eyes a striking shade of amber that seemed to glow in the dim light. She stepped forward with a grace that spoke of confidence and power.

“Prince Daemon,” she said, her voice smooth and melodic. “I am Kinvara, a servant of the Lord of Light. I bring you a message.”

Daemon’s curiosity turned to suspicion, his gaze locking onto Kinvara with a steely intensity. “A message? From whom?” His hand drifted towards the hilt of Dark Sister, ready to draw the blade at a moment’s notice.

“From the flames,” Kinvara replied, her eyes never leaving his. “And perhaps, from your future.”

Daemon's lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes remained cold. “I have no time for the riddles of red priestesses. Leave now, or I will cut you down.”

Kinvara didn’t flinch. Instead, she raised her hands, and the temperature in the room seemed to rise. The flames in the hearth roared higher, casting an otherworldly light. She began to chant softly, the words foreign yet resonant.

“Look into the flames, Prince Daemon,” Kinvara said, her voice almost hypnotic. “Your path is entwined with this girl’s fate. To ignore it is to court disaster for your family.”

The flames twisted and turned, forming shapes and images that caught Daemon’s eye despite himself; he saw visions—himself in King’s Landing, a young girl with silver hair, and a throne room filled with tension and intrigue. The images flickered and shifted, but the message was clear.

Daemon’s hand dropped from Dark Sister’s hilt, his eyes fixed on the flames. The hostility in his gaze softened into reluctant curiosity. “Very well, Kinvara. Speak, and let us see what else the flames have to say.”

As Kinvara continued, the shadows danced around them, and Daemon listened intently, ready to face whatever destiny awaited him in King’s Landing.

The corridors of the Red Keep were a labyrinthine maze of secrets, but Aemond knew them well. As a child, he had explored these hidden passages with an insatiable curiosity, learning every twist and turn, every creaky floorboard and shadowy alcove. Tonight, that knowledge served him well as he made his way silently to the private quarters where Jaena had been given a room.

The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the narrow windows, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls. As Aemond approached Jaena's door, he heard a soft, melodic voice. He pressed his ear to the cool wood, straining to catch the words of the song she was singing. It was a lullaby, unfamiliar yet hauntingly beautiful, sung in the ancient tongue of Old Valyria.

"By the fires of the great Qelbar,

Where dragons soared and stars were born,

Close your eyes and dream so sweet,

In lands where night and day do meet.

In silver seas and golden skies,

Where shadows dance and phoenix flies,

Rest your head and find your peace,

As starlight weaves a dreamer's fleece.

The mountains high, the rivers wide,

In dreams, dear child, you'll safely bide.

The fire's glow, the dragon's roar,

Will guard you now and evermore.

So sleep, my love, and do not fear,

For in your dreams, I will be near.

The ancient songs, the tales old,

Will guide you to the light of gold."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat. The melody was filled with a sorrowful longing, a connection to a past that was as much myth as memory. Gently, he pushed the door open a crack, careful to keep silent as he peered inside.

Jaena sat on the edge of her bed, hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. She was lost in her song, her eyes closed as if she were seeing something far beyond the confines of her room. Spread out before her was a collection of paints and brushes, a blank canvas waiting for her touch.

Aemond watched as she reached for a brush, his eye tracing the graceful curve of her neck and the delicate line of her shoulders. Her figure, accentuated by the soft gown she wore, was both slender and womanly, exuding a quiet strength that intrigued him. She dipped the brush into a pot of deep blue paint, then brought it to the canvas, beginning to sketch out the faint outlines of a mural. Dragons took shape under her hand, their forms fluid and majestic, intertwined with stars and swirling mists.

The song faded into a gentle hum, and Jaena opened her eyes, a serene smile playing on her lips. Aemond, entranced by the scene, took an involuntary step forward, the door creaking slightly under his weight.

Jaena's head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. "Who's there?" she called, her voice steady despite the sudden intrusion.

Realizing he had been discovered, Aemond pushed the door open fully and stepped into the room. "It's just me," he said, his tone attempting to be reassuring.

Jaena's expression shifted from surprise to curiosity. "Prince Aemond," she acknowledged, setting her brush down carefully. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Aemond hesitated, searching for the right words. "I... heard your song," he admitted. "It was beautiful. I didn't mean to intrude."

She regarded him for a moment, her gaze probing yet kind. "It's an old lullaby from Valyria," she explained softly. "Always brings me peace."

Aemond nodded, stepping closer to the mural. "You're quite talented," he observed, his eye tracing the lines of the dragons she had begun to paint. "It looks almost alive."

"Thank you," Jaena replied, a hint of pride in her voice. "I find peace in painting as well. It helps me feel connected to my surroundings."

Aemond's gaze lingered on her, a mix of admiration and something deeper, something he couldn't quite name. "I understand that feeling," he said quietly. "I feel it best astride Vhagar."

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, the tension of the dinner earlier in the evening seeming to dissipate in the soft glow of moonlight and the quiet intimacy of the room. Aemond took a step closer, drawn to the serenity that seemed to emanate from Jaena.

"I apologize for my harsh words earlier," he said, his voice sincere. "It's difficult to trust in these times, but I don't want to judge you unfairly."

Jaena's eyes softened, and she gave a small nod. "I understand, Prince Aemond. Trust must be earned. I hope that in time, you will see that I am not here to cause harm."

Aemond inclined his head, accepting her words. "Perhaps, with time, we will come to understand each other better."

As he turned to leave, Jaena's voice stopped him. "Aemond," she called softly. He looked back, meeting her gaze. "Thank you for listening to my song."

He gave her a small, genuine smile. "Good night, Jaena."

"Good night, Prince Aemond," she replied, watching as he slipped back into the shadows of the secret passage.

As the door closed behind him, Jaena returned to her painting, her heart lighter than it had been in days. She dipped her brush into the paint, the lullaby's melody still echoing in her mind, and began to bring her vision to life on the canvas, feeling a newfound sense of hope.

Hey everyone!

I just wanted to drop a quick note about something that really helps me out. If you’re enjoying my fanfiction, I’m thrilled to hear it! However, simply hitting the 'like' button doesn’t help spread my work for others to see and enjoy.

If you could use the 'reblog' button and share your thoughts in the comments, it would make a huge difference. Reblogging promotes my work to a wider audience, and your feedback (both the good and the constructive) helps me improve my writing.

Thank you so much for your support and understanding!

Best,

💕 Nixie 💕

[fearthhereaper]

"She tied you to a kitchen chair

She broke your throne, and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah"

[eclipse-song]

She tied you to a kitchen chair She broke your throne and she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

I’ve had this sketch sitting around for Ages and I wanted to finish it tonight. This is a Sonoi and Tarou song

[puckgoodfaggot]

verse 1: Now I've heard there was a secret chord / That David played and it pleased the Lord / But you don't really care for music, do ya? / It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth / The minor fall, the major lift / The baffled king composing 'Hallelujah'

verse 2: Your faith was strong, but you needed proof / You saw her bathing on the roof / Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew ya / She tied you to a kitchen chair / She broke your throne and she cut your hair / And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

verse 3: You say I took the name in vain / I don't even know the name / But if I did, well, really, what's it to ya? / There's a blaze of light in every word / It doesn't matter which you heard / The holy or the broken Hallelujah

verse 4: I did my best, it wasn't much / I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch / I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool ya / And even though it all went wrong / I'll stand before the lord of song / With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

if you are not jewish and want to express your opinion, you can reblog and tag this completed poll instead

[littlewhispersmokesigns]

your faith was strong but you needed proof you saw her bathing on the roof her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya she tied you to a kitchen chair she broke your throne and she cut your hair and from your lips she drew the hallelujah