#The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms (Inheritance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jeonggukookies · 10 months ago

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the crown's kingdom || jjk

– summary: after rejecting many suitors, your mother chooses a husband for you, and her choice is none other than your worst nightmare: Jungkook, the prince heir of Aurum. How will you survive an arranged marriage with Jungkook, the one you hate the most?

– genre: royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au, prince!jungkook, queen!reader, arranged marriage - fluff/angst

– note: this is rewritten and reposted as i changed and added some NEW details regarding both oc and jungkook & loosely based on the history of mary stuart !! (i am so sorry)

– word count: 1.2K

The two countries, Caelestia and Luxuria, have been in conflict with each other for many generations now, with constant ongoing invasion battles and military campaigns, shedding hundreds of thousands of blood on each landmass. Being two border countries surrounded by the sea, both countries were hungry for the power, land, and wealth for it to be one.

Tensions escalated even further after your father, the king, had been assassinated by a Luxuria anarchist. Luxuria soldiers saw this opportunity to put the Caelestia castle under siege, seeing this as their chance to finally take the country as their own.

But what they didn’t know is that your mother, the Queen Consort, had given birth to his heir.

The throne of Caelestia, was inherited by the daughter of King Constantine of Caelestia and Queen Consort Nylah, you, two days after you were born.

During your childhood, your mother has been acting Queen Regent, taking care of all the responsibilities on your behalf since you’ve been crowned Queen. She wasn’t like most mothers, letting you live a privileged life, not wanting you to suffer through the hardships of royalty until you were of age.

Despite spending most of your time with your many governesses and trying to play hide and seek in the castle with other noble children, the People of Luxuria still saw you as a threat. And by your seventh birthday, they were finally brave enough to send a message, that they still wanted your throne by seasoning your porridge with poison, intentionally killing your royal taster.

With a failed assassination attempt, your mother sent you to the country of Aurum for your protection away from the Luxurians, hidden away from your own people across the sea.

Not only were you the Queen of Caelestia, but because of your mother’s side, you were related to the Queen of Luxuria, meaning you could claim the Luxuria throne as yours if the Queen of Luxuria dies without a heir and if the people accept you.

Before marrying your father, she had been an Aurum noblewoman with land in Luxuria, and the Aurum court allowed you to be there for your safety and as a part of a small, meaningless alliance.

Living at Aurum Court was almost the same as your own courts. The only difference was being with other Aurum royals. As a child, the Prince of Aurum had been a constant troublemaker, a reigning terror for his own people. He was known for cheekiness and confidence, getting out of tough situations with his charms and good looks.

“Jungkook.” You forced a smile, entering the throne room after being suddenly summoned in the middle of the night. “What are you doing here?”

He pointed in the direction in front of him, and there was his parents, the King and Queen consort of Aurum on their respective thrones with your mother standing next to his mother.

Your jaw dropped, not expecting her to be standing in front of you. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had seen her in person. The last few years, you’ve only been corresponding with letters to her. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s no way to greet your mother.” She came forward to give you a quick hug and then returned back to her original position. “The Luxuria troops are getting stronger at the border.”

“And I’m sorry, how does this matter revolve around me and my country?” Jungkook asked.

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook’s comment. As children, your personality always clashed with Jungkook. The two of you always tried to avoid each other at all costs.

Although you and Jungkook were raised together in the castle, experiencing the same exact royal lessons of courtesy, ballroom dancing and diplomacy, you never once could get along with Jungkook, turning everything with him into an argument or competition whether it was for academic endeavors or favoring the people of

the court.

“I took a risk coming here as Luxuria has barely allowed travel between our two countries,” she said. “I came here to finalize the alliance, that the two of you would wed.”

Jungkook sighed. “It happened, didn’t it?”

“What happened?” You asked, not understanding the context. “Hasn’t Jungkook been engaged with Princess Comet of Cometes since they were six?”

“The King legitimized his first-born and mistress’s son,” his mother explained.

Your heart dropped upon hearing the news. “She is no longer the Princess of Cometes?”

“I am afraid not, but good news, Jungkook, you have a new bride,” your mother announced.

“This can’t be,” you insisted. “Surely, there’s someone else.”

“My child, you will marry our son and make him the king of two countries, and then later put your claim on Luxuria once the queen dies. There, you two will have three countries,” the King said.

But you never once wanted to rule Luxuria.

“We have given you protection and will continue to do so for this alliance.”

“But we cannot be wed,” Jungkook argued.

“You will especially since you’ve scared all the other suitors away,” your mother said.

You were fiercely known for your independence and stubbornness, always speaking your mind. Your honesty and independency allowed you to earn your title as the Ice Queen, but that was all because of Jungkook.

Through the game of telephone and writing secretive notes around the castle, the whole castle knew how you rejected possibly the best suitor for love, Kim Namjoon. He would have given up his country for you, and everyone knew it.

At the time you were thirteen, still lacking tact, you met with Namjoon in the library and told him that giving up his own country for someone was foolish and idiotic. And Jungkook, hiding behind the curtains of that room, ran with it, spreading the word that you broke Namjoon’s heart, needing more than him and his country as a power hungry queen.

Kim Namjoon’s heart wasn’t the only one you broke. Prominent and wealthy families from neighboring realms had sent their sons to court you, yet their efforts left you unimpressed and unmoved.

As the years went on, there were less and less potential suitors. No one wanted their son to marry someone who was an intimidating person, and no one especially wanted a queen that could not be controlled.

“It’s time for this childhood rivalry of yours to end.”

“Mother, you know he’s the reason why suitors are afraid of me.”

“Get over it,” Jungkook gritted through his teeth.

“How dare he disrespect me as a queen?”

“He was thirteen.” Your mother groaned. “You will marry Jungkook for your people, for your country.”

You stepped forward, distancing yourself away so no one could hear what you were about to say. “And you and I know he will not love me.”

As fortunate as your life was, there was still a burden to bear, a burden even heavier as a royal. You still sought for an union to secure your financial and political status in society. Despite being a queen and having almost everything you want, the one thing you want the most is the one thing you knew you couldn't have: love.

She sighed. “And we both know love does not matter for people like us.”

“But did thou not love my father and he thee?” Despite his death, the story of your father and his legacy lives on, including his love story with your mother.

“Indeed, we loved each other truly,” she said. “But stories like his and mine happen once in a lifetime. Perhaps, the promise of love and the future of reconciliation can come.”

Taking a look over your shoulder. You see Jungkook smirking. “Well Ice Queen looks like we need each other after all.”

________

hello hello hello!

thank you for reading the prologue for this new series :) i am very excited! please let me know if you need more context or visuals of some things were confusing.

#bangtanwriters-net #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #crown kingdom #royalty au #jungkook royalty #enemies to lovers #jungkook angst #mine

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wherethefireliliesgrow · 9 months ago

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Moonlight Sunrise (Part 1)

Minatozaki Sana x reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, non-idol

TYPE: Short fic Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Slowly making your way down the dusty, unfamiliar roads, you passed several guards waving large indigo-purple flags.

“Only two more days before the labyrinth opens!” they yelled, “Find the Luminite Stone and save the princess from the labyrinth!”

Several men, presumably the best knights and warriors of their kingdoms, crowded around the guards, sizing each other up and boasting about their wins.

As you passed by the crowd, you quickly pulled down your hood, trying to avoid any suspicion. There was a low possibility that anyone recognized you, as you were more of an assassin, always with your face covered. However, you were worried that others from the same profession might be present as well.

It was almost time for the annual labyrinth challenge, where warriors and knights from all over the world traveled to the Minatozaki kingdom, one of the most powerful kingdoms existing, to save the princess and win her hand in marriage. The only child of King Minatozaki had been cursed by one of the eastern witches after they were accidentally omitted from the baby’s birth celebration. It was rumored that she had one of the most angelic faces to grace the earth, but right after her 17th birthday, she disappeared from public view altogether.

A labyrinth of a thousand acres suddenly appeared at the borders of the kingdom, shrouded by dark clouds and vine-covered walls thousands of meters high. In the core of the labyrinth was the Luminite stone, a stone that grants the beholder any wish, and the princess’s soul was also bound to the stone. The princess was said to only be seen in the labyrinth, forever lost in the dark.

King Minatozaki loved his daughter dearly. Although he was reluctant to marry her off to just anyone, he knew that he himself couldn’t manage to retrieve the stone with his daughter's soul from the labyrinth. He wanted his daughter free from the grasp of the labyrinth, so the only way to do so was to hold a competition every year when the gates to the labyrinth opened.

Anyone who managed to make it out alive with the stone would be able to have their wish granted, but at the same time, as they now had the stone, they would be in control of Princess Sana, and the entire kingdom would be inherited. This prompted countless greedy men to try, hoping to have their deepest desires fulfilled and to possess the most beautiful human to grace the earth. However, not once had anyone made it out alive from the past ten competitions, all disappearing mysteriously.

You couldn’t care less about owning an entire nation, let alone marrying a random princess that you had never seen. You were there for the one wish that would be granted by the Luminite Stone. You had someone to save, and that brought you out from the private, invisible life as an assassin.

The sun was setting as you finally reached the golden gates of the castle. Its towering walls, adorned with intricate carvings and banners bearing the kingdom's crest, loomed majestically against the dusky sky. Each night leading up to the competition for the week, the King hosted lavish banquets within the castle's celestial halls.

These gatherings weren't just about food; they were a spectacle, ensuring the competitors were not only well-fed but also immersed in the grandeur of the kingdom. Newcomers were welcomed with open arms, and given the chance to register, mingle, and familiarize themselves with the labyrinth's complexities before the daunting challenge ahead. After all, this was probably the last time they would ever have something to eat before they met their end in the labyrinth.

The banquet hall buzzed with hundreds of men, their voices echoing off the walls. You spotted a few familiar faces from your past travels but made a beeline for the reception, preferring not to draw attention. After all, the labyrinth held not only unknown monsters but human threats as well.

“Name?” the page asked without looking up, his tired face buried in countless scrolls of paper.

“Hwang Y/N,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably and pulling your hood even higher over your face.

The page paused, his hands trembling slightly as he looked up at you. His eyes widened in shock, and he pushed his glasses closer to his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Hwang Y/N? The NightWalker?”

You nodded, expressionless, as the man cowered in fear.

“I-I didn’t expect you to participate in these events.”

“Is that a problem?”

“N-no… of course not. I guess even assassins have an eye for beauty,” he nervously laughed, expecting you to agree.

You narrowed your eyes at his comment, disbelieving how even those who worked for the princess treated her as an object.

“You should keep your mouth shut before I cut off your tongue,” you whispered in his ear, watching with satisfaction as he fumbled with his pen.

Before you could do anything else, a warm arm wrapped around your shoulders. Instinctively, you reached for your small knife, but the intruder's hand firmly grasped yours, firm yet unthreatening.

“Now now, Hwang. That’s not how you greet an old friend, is it?”

You turned to see Momo, one of your close colleagues before she became head of security for the Minatozaki Kingdom.

“Hirai,” you sighed, pulling her into a hug.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger. It’s been, what, three years since I last heard from you?”

“Five,” you grinned, feeling more at ease with Momo by your side.

“Yes! Exactly! Ever since you took down the Kim Clan, you just disappeared,” she sighed dramatically, leading you toward a table filled with exotic cuisines. She grabbed a bottle of champagne, taking a sip before passing it to you.

“The hero of the century, gone without a sound, forever remaining a mystery. Face unseen, name forever known. Until now,” she said as if narrating a fairy tale. “She shows the world her face, to save the damsel in distress.”

You rolled your eyes and took a swig of champagne. “I’m not here for the princess or power.”

“Whichever reason you are here for, I won’t pry. I’ll just be cheering you on from the sidelines.” Momo smirked, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. Her respect for your privacy was always something you loved about her.

“Anyway, I have to get back to my duties. Let’s catch up tomorrow before the challenge.” She says loudly, before whispering in your ear, “take the door on the left, and go down two flights of stairs. You’ll find the backdoor to the garden.”

As if nothing happened, she straightened up and breezed away toward a small crowd that was about to break into a fight.

You watched Momo easily tackle a barbaric man down to the floor, without drawing her sword. The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed as Momo stood up with one of her feet on the man’s stomach, looking challenging for anyone daring to cause more trouble in her land. She caught your eye and grinned, giving you a goofy thumbs-up before changing back to her serious face.

You chuckled, grabbing an apple and the champagne, before slipping to the darker corners of the kingdom undetected. Momo working here was a blessing in disguise, she gave you the chance to get to investigate the labyrinth before the challenge.

As you navigated down a murky corridor, the air thick with the scent of age and dampness, you descended what felt like more than two flights of stairs, each step creaking under your weight. At last, you stumbled upon a wooden door, its frame nearly crumbling with decay from years of neglect and exposure to the elements.

Pushing it open with a groan, you were surprised to find yourself greeted by a scene of unexpected beauty. The garden beyond was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting ethereal shadows upon the grounds. Dewdrops reflected the moonlight like diamonds on the grass, their gentle shimmering a stark contrast to the dark, cloudy skies looming over the labyrinth just meters away.

The metal walls that surrounded the garden appeared rusted and weather-beaten, their once sturdy facade now worn and rusted. You couldn't help but wonder if they were enough to keep people out, let alone the rumored monsters said to lurk within the labyrinth's depths.

Taking another swig of your champagne, you wandered around the walls, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the still night air. Peering into the swirling mist, you strained your ears and thought you heard faint roars emanating from within. Yet, in the eerie silence of the garden, you couldn't be certain if they were real or merely figments of your imagination, born from the ominous atmosphere that surrounded you.

"Guess I won’t be getting anything out of this tonight," you thought, sighing as you took a seat on one of the forlorn benches near the metal bars.

Taking an apple out of your coat pocket, you polished it on your sleeve. Just as you were about to bite into it, an eerily soft voice echoed from the shadows looming over the corner.

"Can I have some?" A hooded figure emerged, causing you to leap to your feet.

Despite your assassin training, you hadn’t heard her approach.

The figure slowly removed her hood, revealing long, almost white blonde hair that seemed to reflect the moonlight. She was around the same age as you, her face perfectly sculpted but haunted, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I mean no harm,” she raised her ghostly pale arms in surrender.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion but nodded nonetheless, despite the blood in your body pumping in a fight. It was obvious that this being was not entirely human, but you were in no condition to fight a monstrous being before the competition. The stone was what was important, so you were willing to do anything to avoid conflicts before the challenge.

The girl walked slowly towards you, her posture and grace as if she came from royalty, and sat down on the bench. She looked up at your standing figure expectantly, giving you a soft smile as you finally sat down.

You reached into your coat to pull out a small knife, and the girl immediately flinched. But you simply used the knife to peel the apple, before slicing a piece and putting it onto her hand.

“Thanks,” she muttered, before nibbling on the piece of apple.

You took a good look at the girl. She was thin, too thin, as if she would be blown away by the wind.

“You can call me Luna,” she said finally, still nibbling on the small piece of apple.

You gave a small chuckle at the irony of her name. She did indeed look like the moon goddess herself.

“What’s so funny?”

You shrugged, continuing to slice more pieces of apples for the girl. You saw her glaring at you from the corner of your eye, letting out huffs of frustration when you never said anything.

“Normally when someone introduces themselves to you, you do the same in return,” she said annoyed. Her annoyance made her seem human, and this eased your nerves a bit.

“I’m Hwang Y/N,” your lips twitched, trying not to smile at the way Luna chewed on the apple angrily.

“I like your name,” she said grudgingly, reaching over to grab your champagne without asking.

“What about it?” It wasn’t often that someone didn’t flinch when they heard your name.

“Hwang,” Luna explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, before chugging down half the bottle of champagne.

“It means bright, right? Like the sunrise.”

“Yeah, and?” you asked, reaching over to grab the champagne from her hands. “Stop stealing my shit.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the sun,” she muttered. “Wish I could see the sunrise.”

“Why can’t you?” you asked, turning around to look at her.

Luna ignored your question, instead turning her body towards you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” she raised her big eyes to look at you, her eyes suddenly glowing a faint crimson in the honey-brown hues.

She was definitely not fully human.

You shivered slightly, both in fear and something else, attraction. No, it must be because you felt sorry for her. The poor girl seemed to not have access to much food.

“Thought I could get some clues here before the challenge,” you said honestly.

“Are you looking to win the princess over, too?” she asked with a hint of bitterness in her tone. “To control her as if she was a puppet?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

You hesitated, knowing it wasn’t smart to share anything with strangers, you knew that. But there was something about this girl that you couldn’t seem to put a finger on, it was as if her aura could power all your feelings. You couldn’t do anything but tell her the truth. It was as if she casted a spell on you, her glowing eyes controlling every move.

“I need that stone. I need to get that wish so that I can save my sister.”

Luna’s eyes softened slightly, the glowing red fading and turning back to the original brown color. You felt your body instantly relax.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s sick. She’s been sick for a few months and there’s nothing the doctors can do. Time is running out so I have to hurry.”

The image of your little sister lying in bed, her once lively face now sunken and yellow, her eyes devoid of their usual spark, sends a shiver down your spine. The very thought grips your heart. It was her condition that drove you to show your true identity and take part in this dumb challenge, revealing yourself to the public eye, and relinquishing your assassin status. Now that everyone knew what you looked like, it was inevitable that a bounty would be put on your head.

“I’m sorry,” Luna said, her voice gentle.

Her hand raised slightly as if she wanted to hold yours in comfort but thought better of it.

You shook your head and looked down at your knees. You couldn’t let anyone sense your weakness.

You heard Luna get up from you, this time finally being able to hear her movements.

“I hope you win, Y/N,” she said, her voice soothing, passing warmth throughout your body, instantly making you feel better.

She put a small black object in your lap, a compass.

You looked up and found her walking backward towards the metal walls, a smile playing on her lips. She looked younger when she smiled, innocent even.

"Take the path on the far right, then follow my compass," she instructed, her voice echoing faintly as she effortlessly passed through the metal bars and vanished into the dark mist.

"I'll lead you the way."

You shivered, utterly enchanted and spooked by that humanlike being.

After a moment, you finally shifted your attention to the compass in your hands. It was an exquisite piece, adorned with golden rings and silver arrows.

You flipped to the back of the compass, and there, engraved in elegant wording:

Minatozaki Sana

Next chapter

Been wanting to get this out to you guys for a while now! It's quite different from what I usually write, so let me know if you want to see more of this.

#gxg #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #wlw #twice x reader #twice fic #kpop fic #wherethefireliliesgrow #itzy #twice #sana #twice sana #sana x reader #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader #sana imagines #fem reader

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jonsnowunemploymentera · 3 months ago

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There's something about this sequence of figures that gives me pause.

Those old histories are full of kings who reigned for hundreds of years, and knights riding around a thousand years before there were knights. You know the tales, Brandon the Builder, Symeon Star-Eyes, Night’s King … we say that you’re the nine-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, but the oldest list I’ve found shows six hundred seventy-four commanders […] Jon II, ADWD

GRRM is such a meticulous writer that I’m inclined to think there’s a reason why these three figures, in particular, are mentioned. And there’s a reason why they seem to culminate in Jon.

Brandon the Builder

Though Jon does not carry the Stark name, he carries their legacy, one that dates back to the Long Night. For he now holds the combined titles of King of Winter...

Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. Catelyn V, ASoS

“I am the Lord of Winterfell,” Jon screamed. Jon XII, ADWD

...and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow. But only one. The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face. Jon XII, ASoS

Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those. Jon VII, ADWD

This combination of legacies—the Wall’s chief steward and a king in the north—coincidentally parallels the infamous Night’s King, who may or may not have been a Stark as well (but we’ll get to that later).

But more than leadership, Jon’s inheritance may lie in magic itself. The Wall, imbued with the magic that Brandon the Builder wove into its foundation, does more than stand as a barrier. It affects those who stay within its shadow, e.g., Maester Aemon and Melisandre. But no other character has as deep a connection to the Wall’s magical properties as Jon Snow:

“Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall.” Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. Jon VII, ADWD

The connection runs so deep that the Wall seems to reflect Jon himself, almost like a mirror:

Jon had given his chief captive the largest cell, a pail to shit in, enough furs to keep him from freezing, and a skin of wine. It took the guards some time to open his cell, as ice had formed inside the lock. Rusted hinges screamed like damned souls when Wick Whittlestick yanked the door wide enough for Jon to slip through. A faint fecal odor greeted him, though less overpowering than he'd expected. Even shit froze solid in such bitter cold. Jon Snow could see his own reflection dimly inside the icy walls. Jon X, ADWD

The Wall's dual properties—functioning as both a mirror and a shield—bring Serwyn of the Mirror Shield to mind, who is positioned as a narrative parallel to Symeon Star-Eyes.

Symeon Star Eyes

Like Brandon the Builder, Symeon Star-Eyes has been celebrated for thousands of years, even being co-opted by the Andals as a knight, despite living long before chivalry came to the Seven Kingdoms. This highlights a fascinating parallel with Jon, a knight who isn’t one in truth.

According to legend, Symeon lost his eyes (though we’re not told how), and afterwards, he placed star sapphires in the empty sockets.

“Symeon Star-Eyes,” Luwin said as he marked numbers in a book. “When he lost his eyes, he put star sapphires in the empty sockets, orso the singers claim. Bran, that is only a story, like the tales of Florian the Fool. A fable from the Age of Heroes.” The maester tsked. “You must put these dreams aside, they will only break your heart.” Bran VII, AGoT

These sapphire eyes evoke creatures of ice, often distinguished by their blue eyes which shine as brightly as the stars. This includes the Others:

“What gods?” Jon was remembering that they’d seen no boys in Craster’s Keep, nor men either, save Craster himself. “The cold gods,” she said. “The ones in the night. The white shadows.” […] “What color are their eyes?” he asked her. “Blue. As bright as blue stars, and as cold.” Jon III, ACoK

Their wights:

And suddenly Jon was back in the Lord Commander’s Tower again. A severed hand was climbing his calf and when he pried it off with the point of his longsword, it lay writhing, fingers opening and closing. The dead man rose to his feet, blue eyes shining in that gashed and swollen face. Ropes of torn flesh hung from the great wound in his belly, yet there was no blood. Jon III, ACoK

The corpse queen, who may or may not have been a female Other:

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Bran IV, ASoS

And, the legendary ice dragons:

Of all the queer and fabulous denizens of the Shivering Sea, however, the greatest are the ice dragons. These colossal beasts, many times larger than the dragons of Valyria, are said to be made of living ice, with eyes of pale blue crystal and vast translucent wings through which the moon and stars can be glimpsed as they wheel across the sky. Whereas common dragons (if any dragon can truly be said to be common) breathe flame, ice dragons supposedly breathe cold, a chill so terrible that it can freeze a man solid in half a heartbeat. The Shivering Sea, The World of Ice and Fire

Given the scant information about him, we don’t know who—or what—Symeon Star-Eyes was. Yet, through his eyes, he holds a connection to the North and its ice magic, a legacy Jon has a share in.

Both Jon and Symeon Star-Eyes are Other-adjacent; Symeon with his blue eyes which shine as stars and Jon with his black armor made of ice.

“Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice […] Jon XII, ADWD

A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Prologue, AGoT

Holistically, Jon and Symeon’s associations with these creatures might be positioning them as figures with the ability to leverage northern magic—much like Bran the Builder and his ice Wall.

It’s quite intriguing how the Wall serves as a conduit through which Jon is linked to various elements of Northern mysticism. Symeon’s blue eyes are not only reminiscent of the Others but also share similarities with the Wall itself.

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal [...] Bran III, AGoT

By the time Jon left the armory, it was almost midday. The sun had broken through the clouds. He turned his back on it and lifted his eyes to the Wall, blazing blue and crystalline in the sunlight. Even after all these weeks, the sight of it still gave him the shivers. Centuries of windblown dirt had pocked and scoured it, covering it like a film, and it often seemed a pale grey, the color of an overcast sky … but when the sun caught it fair on a bright day, it shone, alive with light, a colossal blue-white cliff that filled up half the sky. Jon III, AGoT

Earlier, I noted that the Wall serves a dual function, acting as both a mirror and a shield for Jon. It was then that I referenced Ser Serwyn of the Mirror Shield.

Like Symeon Star-Eyes, Serwyn was a First Man whose legend was later co-opted by the Andals. Songs often portray him as a knight, though he existed long before knighthood came to Westeros. But Serwyn's legend goes even further, for later traditions cast him as a knight of the Kingsguard.

And besides the legendary kings and the hundreds of kingdoms from which the Seven Kingdoms were born, stories of such as Symeon Star-Eyes, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, and other heroes have become fodder for septons and singers alike. Did such heroes once exist? It may be so. But when the singers number Serwyn of the Mirror Shield as one of the Kingsguard—an institution that was only formed during the reign of Aegon the Conqueror—we can see why it is that few of these tales can ever be trusted.The septons who first wrote them down took what details suited them and added others, and the singers changed them—sometimes beyond all recognition—for the sake of a warm place in some lord's hall. In such a way does some longdead First Man become a knight who follows the Seven and guards the Targaryen kings thousands of years after he lived (if he ever did).The legion of boys and youths made ignorant of the past history of Westeros by these foolish tales cannot be numbered. Ancient History: The Age of Heroes

Serwyn of the Mirror Shield’s most significant act was the slaying of the dragon Urrax, which he accomplished by blinding the beast.

Legend has it that during the Age of Heroes, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield slew the dragon Urrax by crouching behind a shield so polished that the beast saw only his own reflection. By this ruse, the hero crept close enough to drive a spear through the dragon’s eye, earning the name by which we know him still. Fire & Blood

Since Serwyn was a First Man who lived during the Age of Heroes, I doubt that Urrax was one of the fire-breathing dragons from the Valyrian Empire, which came to be much later. I wonder, then, if Urrax was an ice dragon—and if Serwyn struck out its crystal-blue eye.

I find it fascinating that Serwyn used a spear to remove a dragon’s eye, while Symeon Star-Eyes was said to wield a point-tipped staff. These weapons, both tied to the theme of sight, suggest a deeper connection between these figures, even if we don’t know exactly when they lived or if their paths intersected. What’s particularly telling is that Sam is cut off—by Jon, no less—before he can finish his thoughts on the distortion of history, and how much of it has been lost, obscured, or inaccurate…

Until we know more, we can only speculate. But the thread spins back to Symeon, whose eyes were as blue as the ice dragons’, and Jon Snow, who often compares his blue ice Wall to those legendary creatures.

The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent. Jon VIII, ADWD

The snowfall was light today, a thin scattering of flakes dancing in the air, but the wind was blowing from the east along the Wall, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan used to tell. Jon X, ADWD

This links back to Serwyn, whose mirror shield, used to slay what may have been an ice monster, parallels Jon’s Wall of ice.

But Serwyn of the Mirror Shield is not the only narrative parallel to Symeon Star-Eyes. Many times, Symeon is mentioned alongside another knight, one who actually bore the white cloak of the Kingsguard: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

“True knights would never harm women and children.” The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them. “True knights.” The queen seemed to find that wonderfully amusing. “No doubt you’re right. So why don’t you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I’m sure it won’t be very long now.” Sansa V, ACoK

“Wylla.” Lord Wyman smiled. “Did you see how brave she was? Even when I threatened to have her tongue out, she reminded me of the debt White Harbor owes to the Starks of Winterfell, a debt that can never be repaid. Wylla spoke from the heart, as did Lady Leona. Forgive her if you can, my lord. She is a foolish, frightened woman, and Wylis is her life. Not every man has it in him to be Prince Aemon the Dragonknight or Symeon Star-Eyes, and not every woman can be as brave as my Wylla and her sister Wynafryd … who did know, yet played her own part fearlessly. Davos IV, ADWD

There’s an intriguing duality of ice and fire in Symeon Star-Eyes being mentioned alongside the Dragonknight. Jon stands to inherit elements of both their legacies: as a First Man like Symeon, he has a connection to the ice magic of the North, and like Aemon the Dragonknight, he embodies the roles of Valyrian prince, a warrior of fire, and a commander of knights all at once.

This particular aspect of one hero having multiple faces, so to speak, lends itself to other fascinating groupings:

Dunk stared at the grassy lists and the empty chairs on the viewing stand and pondered his chances. One victory was all he needed; then he could name himself one of the champions of Ashford Meadow, if only for an hour. The old man had lived nigh on sixty years and had never been a champion. It is not too much to hope for, if the gods are good. He thought back on all the songs he had heard, songs of blind Symeon Star-Eyes and noble Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redywne, and Florian the Fool. They had all won victories against foes far more terrible than any he would face. But they were great heroes, brave men of noble birth, except for Florian. And what am I? Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall? The Hedge Knight

Through Aemon the Dragonknight and Ser Ryam Redwyne, we move beyond the mythical lone heroes of the Age of Heroes—such as Serwyn and Symeon Star-Eyes, who lived thousands of years ago—and into the more recent icons of Westeros’ history. As Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard and in Ryam’s case, Hand of the King, we see a balance of legendary heroism told through songs and the real-world responsibility of leading men. They highlight the dual—and often difficult—nature of heroism that requires both valor and duty.

And Jon himself looked toward Ser Ryam and the Dragonknight, heroes who inspired his childhood games and shaped his earliest ideals of heroism and valor.

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. “I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,” Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, “Well, I’m Florian the Fool.” Or Robb would say, “I’m the Young Dragon,” and Jon would reply, “I’m Ser Ryam Redwyne.” Jon XII, ASoS

This creates a fascinating roadmap for Jon, who right now needs to save the world as a warrior (Azor Ahai) and a commander (leader of the broader night’s watch—which encompasses all men, for all cloaks and banners turn black once darkness settles in). The way the individual legacies of Serwyn, Symeon Star-Eyes, Aemon the Dragonknight, and Ser Ryam Redwyne converge in Jon Snow suggests that his journey extends beyond mere physical labor in the coming mystical war from the North.

Ser Ryam’s reign was short-lived, and his abilities as a ruler are often questioned. While some may argue that his brief and flawed tenure mirrors Jon’s time as Lord Commander, this comparison feels misplaced. Context is key! Jon quickly follows in Ser Ryam’s footsteps as a leader, becoming Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch within a chapter. Thus, his role as ruler of the realm may still lie ahead. And this naturally leads us to the final figure in Sam's sequence of legends: the infamous Night’s King.

The Night’s King

So far, we’ve explored the parallels Jon shares with figures celebrated for their valor. But in Martin’s world, nothing is black and white. While Brandon the Builder and Symeon Star-Eyes are remembered as heroes, the Night’s King introduces a grey area—showing that reputation, especially over time, exists on a spectrum.

I often hesitate to position Jon as a Night’s King figure, largely because the fandom tends to approach this idea from a one-dimensional lens, often portraying him as a tyrannical villain. Such a framing completely misses the complexity of Jon's arc. He has always been a hero, and while he may forsake certain vows, like the Night’s King of legend, he does so out of necessity, not selfish ambition. His journey has been about redefining what it means to protect the realm, even if that means stepping outside the bounds of traditional 'honor'.

In ASoS, Jon begins to grasp the idea of a ‘bastard’s honor’—a flexible moral code that defies society’s rigid expectations. Like his father, who stained his honor to save his sister’s son, or Jaime Lannister, who became a kingslayer to protect King's Landing, Jon learns that true honor sometimes means defying societal norms. Doing the right thing may force him to break from the Night’s Watch’s rigid vows, especially when they no longer serve the greater good.

Jon’s evolving understanding of honor reaches a new complexity in ADWD, as he navigates what it means to lead a ‘neutral’ institution that ultimately relies on the southern lords for resources—especially the Boltons and Lannisters. The Boltons, who now occupy Winterfell, have betrayed the true meaning of the castle as a protector of the North. Winterfell—'where winter fell'—is in enemy hands, with the Boltons as human monsters in the South, mirroring the mythical threats Jon faces from the North. Meanwhile, the Lannisters, still claiming to be 'Protector of the Realm', have done more harm than good.

This balancing act between neutrality and political involvement reaches its breaking point in Jon’s final ADWD chapter, when he makes the fateful decision to march south against Ramsay Bolton. The result is mutiny and his assassination. But this is not where his story ends—he will return, and his resurrection will force him to reflect on what it truly means to be a ‘defender of the realm'. Jon's choice—a rejection of neutrality—will kickstart a decisive shift in his arc, as he begins to involve himself in the affairs of his Stark family, further linking him to the legacy of the Night’s King, who was likely a son of Winterfell as well.

As Jon was resolute in marching south in part due to Arya, so too was the Night’s King enticed to break his vows for a daughter of the North.

As the sun began to set the shadows of the towers lengthened and the wind blew harder, sending gusts of dry dead leaves rattling through the yards. The gathering gloom put Bran in mind of another of Old Nan’s stories, the tale of Night’s King. He had been the thirteenth man to lead the Night’s Watch, she said; a warrior who knew no fear. “And that was the fault in him,” she would add, “for all men must know fear.” A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. Bran IV, ASoS

Jon’s 'corpse queen' can take many forms, but Arya is the strongest parallel if we see her as a catalyst for major change.

While Arya is no Other, she shares Jon’s Northern roots and strong magical ties. In many ways, she’s a reimagined 'corpse queen'—a 'bitch from the seventh hell' who is becoming an agent of death, bonded to a direwolf named after a witch-queen.

But the theme of a woman presenting temptation to this king of the night doesn’t end with Arya, for Melisandre tempts Jon time and time again.

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. […] Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. A girl in grey on a dying horse, he thought. Coming here, to you. Arya. He turned back to the red priestess. Jon could feel her warmth. She has power. The thought came unbidden, seizing him with iron teeth, but this was not a woman he cared to be indebted to, not even for his little sister. […] “You do not believe me. You will. The cost of that belief will be three lives. A small price to pay for wisdom, some might say … but not one you had to pay. Remember that when you behold the blind and ravaged faces of your dead. And come that day, take my hand.” The mist rose from her pale flesh, and for a moment it seemed as if pale, sorcerous flames were playing about her fingers. “Take my hand,” she said again, “and let me save your sister.” Jon VI, ADWD

Melisandre, with her foreign magic and public sacrifices to her terrifying red god, is deeply mistrusted by the Night’s Watch brothers. And Jon’s growing association with her, as many suspect a sexual relationship, contributes to his rapidly declining reputation. Though he has thus far rejected Mel’s advances, Jon will come to realize through death that he should have leaned into her power. She warned him of 'daggers in the dark', but he ignored her and lost his life for it. Now, her blood magic may be the key to bringing him back, and it could be through this that Jon 'loses his soul'—just as the Night’s King did long ago—by becoming one of the undead.

But there is still a third woman who may take on the role of Jon’s 'corpse queen': Val, the wildling princess.

When they emerged north of the Wall, through a thick door made of freshly hewn green wood, the wildling princess paused for a moment to gaze out across the snow-covered field where King Stannis had won his battle. Beyond, the haunted forest waited, dark and silent. The light of the half-moon turned Val’s honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. “The air tastes sweet.” Jon VIII, ADWD

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely. Jon XI, ADWD

Unlike his aversion to Melisandre, Jon is drawn to Val. While Mel represents temptation toward a foreign power, Val is Jon’s anchor to the North—icy and rooted in the old magic. Interestingly, both are linked to royalty: Mel, once a slave, is seen as Stannis' true queen, while Val, a wildling, is still called a princess. In this way, both evoke the idea of the corpse queen—a woman outside Westerosi norms, yet still recognized as a queen.

Beyond his relationships with these women, Jon’s arc in Dance is a delicate balance between his duties as Lord Commander and the actions of a King in the North. By letting the wildlings south of the Wall and arranging marriage alliances, Jon blurs the lines of a neutral institution, fueling the black brothers’ dissatisfaction and leading to their mutiny. This duality within him—blurring the lines between the Watch, Winterfell, and the wildlings—parallels his growing association with the Night's King.

But unlike the Night’s King, who aligned with the Others and forsook his vows, Jon’s prophetic dream (Jon XII, ADWD) suggests he may have to become king to save the realm. This once again highlights the need for a more flexible moral code.

… and woke with a raven pecking at his chest. “Snow,” the bird cried. Jon swatted at it. The raven shrieked its displeasure and flapped up to a bedpost to glare down balefully at him through the predawn gloom. The day had come. It was the hour of the wolf. Soon enough the sun would rise, and four thousand wildlings would come pouring through the Wall. Madness. Jon Snow ran his burned hand through his hair and wondered once again what he was doing. Once the gate was opened there would be no turning back. It should have been the Old Bear to treat with Tormund. It should have been Jaremy Rykker or Qhorin Halfhand or Denys Mallister or some other seasoned man. It should have been my uncle. It was too late for such misgivings, though. Every choice had its risks, every choice its consequences. He would play the game to its conclusion. He rose and dressed in darkness, as Mormont’s raven muttered across the room. “Corn,” the bird said, and, “King,” and, “Snow, Jon Snow, Jon Snow.” That was queer. The bird had never said his full name before, as best Jon could recall. Jon XII, ADWD

Jon waking from this glimpse of destiny during the hour of the wolf speaks volumes. This period, marking the darkest part of the night before dawn, is a fitting symbol for Jon as he stands atop the Wall, battling the creatures of darkness. It also recalls Cregan Stark’s brief but pivotal tenure as Hand of the King, when he resettled the realm after a devastating war. How Jon’s own rule will unfold is uncertain—will he reign as King of Winter before stepping aside, in line with the Oak King and Holly King myth, or serve as regent to a young king, like Cregan and Ser Ryam did?

Whatever path he takes will redefine the legacy of the Night’s King. It will coincide with his role as a 'corn king'—a figure who symbolizes the cyclical turning of the seasons, from winter to spring, from death to life. Jon will be a force for good, a symbol of hope. This theme of renewal also connects him to Brandon the Builder, a figure defined by creation and the promise of new beginnings.

Jon’s journey could encompass many roles: the lone hero like Symeon Star-Eyes, the necessary but harsh leader during the Long Night like the Night’s King, or the creator of a new era like Brandon the Builder. His story will come full circle, and perhaps he will stand as the 1000th Lord Commander when it does, marking a new chapter in the legacy of the Watch—and the realm itself.

#agenda posting 😌#jon snow #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #legends of ice and fire #the long night #the others #brandon the builder #the wall #the night's watch #the night's king #symeon star-eyes #serwyn of the mirror shield #aemon the dragonknight #ser ryam redwyn #why tf is this so long?? it took forever to writeasdffvvfddss

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avionvadion · 2 years ago

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So I just got all floating thirteen stone monuments (the ones that look like flowers) in TotK, and I kinda like how they explained what role Skyward Sword Zelda took on and passed down.

Like, yeah. Zelda and Sky!Link brought civilization back to the surface, creating what is essentially Hyrule. But it wasn’t a kingdom. They were both from a little village in the sky. Neither are particularly greedy nor ambitious for power. Them naming themselves royalty never made sense to me.

But the stone monuments explain that before Rauru and Mineru came down to earth from the heavens, Sonia (Skyward Sword Zelda’s descendant) had been a priestess.

Given that Skyward Sword Zelda was literally Hylia reborn, and all of her female descendants inherited her powers… it makes sense that they would be priestesses. They have the powers of the goddess Hylia. Assuming Zelda returned to goddess-hood after living out her mortal lifespan, they’re also able to talk to her.

Hyrule only gained a “royal family” after Rauru came down, and Sonia only became a member of said royal family after marrying him- thus changing the duty of Hylia’s descendants from being priestesses to princesses.

Which is neat.

Also I love the fact that Rauru is canonically able to sing, and Mineru dance, and Sonia just watches them in amusement.

Also, baby girl Zelda is living her best life building constructs with Mineru, aldjskskks. Her attendant tried to be like, no, Zelda, it’s dangerous! And Zelda just ignored her to hop up on a construct and ride it. 10/10. Zelda is finally able to be the chaotic researcher she always wanted to be, with the familial support she’s always wanted.

Zelda was also the one who came up with the idea of making the sky islands, so she’s literally just copying what Hylia did before Skyward Sword. 🤣 Which is hilarious.

TLDR:

So, like, timeline wise-

Hylia creates the sky islands. Reincarnates as a mortal. Her mortal self, Zelda, descends to the surface with her hero, Link, and they create the “land” of Hyrule.

Zelda basically becomes revered, as she is literally the goddess, and is given the status of priestess.

Hundreds of years pass, Rauru and Mineru descend from the heaven. They establish the “Kingdom” of Hyrule, and Sonia (Zelda’s descendant) gives up her status as priestess to marry him, and all female descendants after are princesses.

TotK Zelda is zapped into the past. Tells them what’s up with Ganondorf. Gives them the idea to lift some of the land up into the sky as a guide for Link, doing exactly what the original Zelda once did back when she was still Hylia.

Then… Oot/MM happens, Ganondorf being reborn, and then Twilight Princess, with that Ganondorf being defeated and so on so forth until Ganondorf’s spirit reawakens as Calamity Ganon and gets sealed away, then awakens again ten thousand years later and is properly destroyed in BotW, and the original Ganondorf wakes up in TotK.

#totk #totk spoilers #tears of the kingdom spoilers #tears of the kingdom #totk rauru #totk sonia #totk zelda #skyward sword #skyward sword link #skyward sword zelda

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squeakadeeks · 1 month ago

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Much like for the other OCverses, heres my stockpile of Delta stuff + the full lore. I dont draw it as much and only settled on its style very recently but well. here you go.

this is an outdated design lineup but it conveys the general vibe, in order its Rhea, Rem, Pierrot, and Raken.

Raken is the ""boss"" as the nightmare lord, something akin to a librarian of nightmares (creating, cataloging, and dispatching nightmares.) he took on Rem as his acolyte first and the two have been working together for thousands of years, Pierrot defected from the dream kingdom more recently (hundreds of years ago) after learning of the dream queen's plans, and Rhea is a very very new addition (few months).

the main conflict is the dreaming kingdom, the main regency that creates and dispatches dreams, going awol and trying to protect people from the waking world by trapping them in neverending, perfect dreams. Raken and Rem get that this is Not Great and are working to stop them and save people.

Rhea and Rem are the main protagonists, both are talented lucid dreamers that are able to manipulate the environment and reality around them.

Rem is wicked smart and extremely competent. Rem is the sort of head hech between the three henchmen. At first hes this charming, upbeat organized friend trying to preserve their morale during their fundamentally morally complex and messy task of giving people nightmares to wake them up. He’s someone Rhea and Puck turn to for advice, and he calls the shots outside of Raken.

Oh also he doesnt have eyes because he voluntarily gave them up as a display of loyalty to Raken, of which Raken did not ask for and was deeply disturbed by but whats done is done.

Rhea is sociable and charismatic. Shes optimistic and has an intense, perfectionistic ambitious drive. She doesnt just want to solve the problem, she wants to solve it the best its ever been done with triumphant applause. She works very hard to find a “perfect” resolution that convinces the dream queen to stop, addresses the harshness of the waking world, and doesn’t involve giving people a worse alternative in the form of horrific nightmares every night, as unrealistic as that outcome is. Rhea is very skilled with dreaming magic largely from natural talent and unusual creative angles to problems. she also thrives with the cutie patootie offensive, charming people instead of having to fight them.

Rhea and Rem are these top of the line prodigies, and Pierrot is just......sort of there. He’s not especially talented in any one category, nor is he immediately deft from a social perspective. Pierrot is sort of a loser ngl, hes nowhere nears as talented, skilled, smart, or capable as the others, he just wants to do the right thing and for his life to be easier but hes constantly stuck in situations that are over his head, perpetually struggling. He has a good heart and strong moral compass and is actually able to see problems far more clearly than Rhea, who gets tunnel vision around perfectionism, and Rem, who gets swayed by his emotions very easily.

For the first half of the story, the three henchmen are best friends, but after Rhea defects to do her own thing and Pierrot goes with her, Rem snaps and they go from "besties squad" to squaring up on sight. Rem takes them leaving as directly personal, a "youre bad and I hate you" instead of "hey i dont want to give people nightmares anymore". if you watched the she-ra reboot, its a lot like how catra processes things.

after they leave he goes full sicko mode and starts creating nightmares for a less noble cause, from "i have to do this for the greater good" to "fuck you 10,000 years spider mouth hatman torture nexus blast" and is obsessively fixated on Rhea and Pierrot. Through unfortunate events he inherits the title of nightmare lord and things Do Not Go Well once he takes the mantle. (because Rem used to be a real person but Raken is a pure dream denizen, at one point during a fight Rem says "I wish you didnt exist" and since Rem is objectively real but Raken only exists in the dream concious space well....he accidentally deletes his dad and finding out him and rhea can do that freaks him the fuck out even further)

while the dream kingdom is getting more desperate in their attempts to "save people" and Rem is going completely off his rocker in the corner, poor Rhea ends up being the only and only person trying to pull everything back together.

I have a few alternative endings about what happens as the resolution depending on how mean i want to be, but most of them involve Rhea finding some hodgepodge solution and waking up again, Rem finally chilling the fuck out and becoming a more stable nightmare lord.

At some point I keep meaning to draw the foil trio in the dreaming kingdom, Lélio (Rem's foil who has everything he wants), Isabella (Rhea's foil because if you think im not also going to write an insane wlw situationship you are wrong) and the sandman as Pierrot's foil. Also the dream queen and more tangibly what the two kingdoms look like between dreams and nightmares but ideas are many and energy is little.

#my art #i didnt mean to write out basically the ENTIRE plot and lore #but here we are

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asherbakugou · 9 months ago

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The Deal of Gods and Humans

Prince Laenor of House Velaryon sat in a plush velvet chair within his wife's small study, sipping sour Arbor Gold from a golden chalice in silence as he watched Crown Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen stare out the window of her study. The light highlighted the features of her youth, reminding him of the heavy burden that had been placed upon his shoulders and was now shared between them. She was a little girl, still, with the weight of a Kingdom upon her shoulders and yet she stood with the strength of a dragon against the lit towers aiming to bring her crashing down.

"I'm sorry," Laenor murmured, tearing his wife from her thoughts. "If only the Gods had not made like this. If only they had made me like my father or Prince Daemon then maybe–"

"Stay your tongue!" Rhaenyra ordered, sharply. She whirled around, pale grey skirts swirling along her legs as she stalked towards him. "Had the Gods not made you this way then I would never have agreed to this marriage, no matter that my inheritance would be stripped away. I agreed to take you as my husband because I can trust you within this nest of vipers my home has become. You are my husband and my future King Consort, the man who shall aid my rule and support me."

Laenor gave a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, "I am the husband that cannot give his wife heirs. The man that cannot see a woman for the beauty she is, and feels no lust for the pleasures others speak of."

"We shall figure something out. It will just take time."

"What if you took a paramour? He could give you children that I could claim as mine. They would be mine in name and that is all that matters."

"And if they resembled any but me? Or you? They would be called bastards even if they were an exact copy of Rodrick Arryn or Jocelyn Baratheon as long as they did not have the Valyrian coloring. The Queen and her supporters would make our lives a living hell if she even had an inkling that they were bastards. Even now, she seeks to undermine me."

"I thought the wedding was her only move," Laenor stated, sitting up. Worry shone in his grey-purple eyes. They might not be in love as other matches were but they were partners.

"No. Every day she gathers the Ladies of the Keep for tea and speaks behind my back, spreading rumors of my virtue, of your taste in men, of how I am a heathen whore unfit to be the Heir to the Iron Throne," Rhaenyra sneered, sitting down in the weirwood chair behind her desk. A present from Lady Jeyne Arryn and Lady Amanda Arryn for her wedding.

"She dares speak ill of the Crown Princess? And none stop her or bring her words to the King or you, yourself?"

"Why would they? Each of them come from the Reach or Westerlands, supporters of her son as Heir and future King."

"Then we must dispel the rumors," Laenor stated, reaching into his doublet. He pulled out a letter, setting it on the desk between them. "My dear Laena has sent us a letter. She reminds me of the tales my father used to tell us before bed. Of Sea Serpents, Giants, Gods . . . and Demigods."

"Demigods?" Rhaenyra whispered, remembering the tales Daemon had once told her. "Children of both God and Man. What do those tales have to do with our problems?"

"For years we have hid how we worship the Fourteen Flames, let those of the Seven deem our culture as heathenistic and disrespectful. I believe she means for us to seek out our true Gods and ask for their help."

"They are Gods, Laenor. What could we possibly give them in return for three children?"

"Anything they wish. Rhaenyra if you wish to be Queen this might be our only option. We need trueborn heirs and who better than the Gods that shaped us and gave us dragons?"

"The same Gods who allowed hundreds of thousands of people be wiped by the Doom. The ones who allow us to be ridiculed and shamed even as Kings, Queens, and Heirs of Valyrian Houses. The only ones left of Old Valyria, might I add," Rhaenyra snapped, glaring.

Laenor did not let her flames deter him. "And what other option do we have? Let Prince Aegon be named Heir because you have no children to rule after you?"

Rhaenyra snarled, teeth baring as Syrax sang within her soul, black teeth bared as flamed gathered in her chest. "Watch yourself husband. I could take that as treason."

"But I speak the truth," Laenor stated, Seasmoke humming in the back of his mind, tail swishing across the dusty ground of his cave. "You said we would need trueborn children and I have given you a suggestion. It is either this, your give birth to bastards after taking a paranour, or remain childless and have your titles taken. Take your pick, wife."

Charged silence fell within the study as the two dragons stared each other down. Eventually, Rhaenyra acquiesced.

"Fine. In two days time we travel to Dragonstone. We will call it a honeymoon of sorts, as if we seek alone time for . . . things. The Temple of the Fourteen will hear our prayers and we shall see if the Gods will answer."

"Then it is decided."

—Temple of the Fourteen—

The Temple of the Fourteen was almost hidden behind Castle Dragonstone, even with how large it was. The rotunda had 14 stained glass windows, each displaying the symbol of one of the 14 Gods or Godesses sitting above the corrosponding statue. Made entirely out of black dragonglass with runes carved in and filled with Valyrian steel, the Temple was truly of Valyrian make and ancestry.

Over the two days planning their week long trip to the Isle of Dragonstone, they had argued over which statue to pray too, eventually agreeing upon the Goddess Meleys. She ruled over fertility, love, sexuality, mothers, and childbirth, so they had come to the realization that she would be a better fit than Arrax or Aegerax.

"It's beautiful," Laenor murmured, High Valyrian rolling of his tongue with an Essosi lilt that Lord Corlys and his sister both had. It brought a heat to Rhaenyra whenever she heard it even if she preffered how it sounded when Daemon spoke.

"It is." Rhaenyra and Laenor came to a stop before the white dragonglass statue of Meleys. Stood in a patch of dirt, a large myrtle tree had grown alongside her, manipulated to lean over her seemingly sheltering the Goddess who wore a floor length dress with long slits up the side leaving her most of her legs and bare feet exposed.

Held in her left hand was a mirror, as pearls draped across the exposed cut of her shoulders while long sleeves fell around her forearms. Perched upon her shoulder was a dove while a peacock stood at her side, long beautifull feathers carved and painted in detail.

"Do you remember the prayer?" Laenor asked as they both stared up into the gentle features carved into the statue.

"I have not had the time to forget it," Rhaenyra murmured dryly, unsure of if she should speak normally. Together they kneeled, bowing before the Goddess' statue.

"O' Meleys, O' Queen of the Gods, Goddess of Love, Goddess of Fertility, Goddess of Motherhood, Goddess of Childbirth, we seek your aid. As Heir to the Iron Throne and Heir to Driftmark, we ask you to provide us with heirs and a spare. To allow us to further our bloodlines, O' Queen of the Gods. Name a price and we shall pay it for three children borne of our blood."

The pyre that stood to her right suddenly lit with pale pink-whire fire, startling both of them. So focused they were, neither saw the statue move until she spoke, voice soft but firm, loving and kind.

"Greetings, Princess Rhaenyra, Chosen Heir. Greetings, Prince Laenor, Chosen Guardian. I have been awaiting your call for many moons."

Neither could find it within themselves to speak, staring at the talking statue with awe and fear in equal parts.

"Be not afraid. Your call has been anticipated and awaited eagerly." Her soft look melted to something sharp and protective. "The Promised Heir shall come from your blood, Rhaenyra, but due to your father's folly, in one line of fate they fall and the world is taken in the Long Night. No one is left, no dragons, no people, no wildlings. Only wights. To make sure this never comes to pass We, the Fourteen Flames, the Seven-Who-Are-One, and the Elder Gods have decided to intervene. We have decided to interfere with fate itself to make sure our favored survive and fight back the Long Night."

"Us? But my father said– when he told me of the prophecy . . ."

"Tessarion gave the prophecy to Aegon in the hopes that he would unite Westeros to prepare them for the Long Night. But after making them kneel he in turn kneeled for the Seven-Who-Are-One who have no control over any family of Valyrian Blood. We are not the only the ones that have been disrespected or forgotten.

"The supposed followers of the Seven have perverted and twisted the words of the Seven-Who-Are-One to fit their agendas, destroying the faith that once was. The Elder Gods are slowly being forgotten as we are, and with fewer and fewer worshipping us, we are dying."

"Dying?" Laenor asked, horrified. Every story ever told spoke of how a God could not be killed.

"Not in the way you understand but yes. Magic is being forcibly taken from your world, one of the few weapons that would secure your future. But we believe we have a way for this world to survive. Do you accept the responsibility, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Laenor Velaryon?"

They both hesitated, but looking upon her face, one that looked similar to Aemma's in Rhaenyra's eyes and one that looked sinilar to Rhaenys' for Laenor and they made their decision.

"We accept this responsibility, My Queen."

She smiled softly.

"From us you will be given 14 children, born of each of us with our favor to save the Targaryen, Velaryon, Celtigar, and Stark lines. The Seven-Who-Are-One and the Elder Gods have decided that their gifts will be given in secret to aid you. But I have another gift to offer you." Meleys' smile grew wider. "Would you like to hear the names of your children and who they are the child of?"

"Yes! Please, My Queen," Rhaenyra added, blushing fiercly at the outburst. While afraid to have so many children, a part of her was curious to know her future.

"The First. Son of Arrax, King of the Gods, Jacaerys Targaryen."

"The Second. Daughter of Tyraxes, Goddess of Peace. Alyssa Velaryon."

"The Third. Son of Caraxes, God of the Seas. Lucerys Velaryon."

"The Fourth. Son of Vhagar, Goddess of War. Maegor Velaryon."

"The Fifth. Daughter of Vermax, God of Travel. Visenya Velaryon."

"The Sixth. Son of Aegerax, God of Creation. Aerion Velaryon."

"The Seventh. Daughter of Tessarion, Goddess of Dreams. Daenys Velaryon."

"The Eighth. Daughter of myself, Goddess of Love. Aemma Velaryon."

"The Ninth. Son of Syrax, Goddess of Chaos. Saeryn Velaryon."

"The Tenth. Daughter of Meraxes, Goddess of the Sky. Rhaella Velaryon."

"The Eleventh. Son of Gaelithox, God of the Sun. Aegon Velaryon."

"The Twelfth. Son of Vermithor, God of Smiths. Aemon Velaryon."

"The Thirteenth. Daughter of Shrykos, Goddess of Beginnings. Valaena Velaryon."

"The Fourteenth. Son of Balerion, God of the Underworld. Baelon Velaryon."

"Tonight Tessarion shall visit you to give you the instructions on how to allow us to give you children. Be ready. Good luck."

The statue straightened back into her precious position and fell still, allowing complete silence to fall within the Temple.

"Well," Laenor began, mumbling. "I believe we should head to the Keep, should we not? A drink or two might help."

"I agree." With that the two retreated back to the castle to talk about what had just happened, and drink enough wine to help settle their nerves before Tessarion came to visit.

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