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perseephoneee · 3 months ago

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mistletoe [ficmas day 4] [loki laufeyson x afab!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

author's note: okay so despite the fact that literally nothing about y/n is like this fic, while writing this i was thinking of "a job a million prs would die for" which is an excellent loki fic although i frequently hate it bc i want an even happier ending lol but what can you do

playlist:

princess leia's theme -- john williams

only when it snows -- nova miller

'tis the damn season -- taylor swift

Stark’s holiday parties were legendary in a catastrophic way. An evening that would normally start with typical merriment would end with some disaster. Never a life-threatening one, just one that caused the cleaning crew to have to pull a late shift.

Loki was unsure why he was being invited to go.

Was Thor convinced he was ‘rehabilitated’? Yes. Does that mean anyone liked him? No. He preferred solitude, away from Midgardians. Just because he decided he wasn’t going to conquer the planet didn’t mean he was good.

Loki was forced to share a suite with his oaf of a brother. It was one of the worst punishments Stark could’ve mustered. Only one of them, though.

You were the other one.

You and your obnoxious Christmas cheer and determination to make him enjoy humanity. It was exhausting being around you. He would’ve killed you if he thought he could get away with it.

“How’s this look?” you asked Loki, holding up a snowflake you had just cut out. He was in the common area enjoying a cup of tea in solitude. Until you came bounding in with your blasted crafts.

He gave you a look.

“Oh c’mon, gimme something to work with. I’m really putting in my all,” you sighed, returning to your snowflake extravaganza. Loki ignored you, sipping his tea instead. It wasn’t as good as most Asgardian teas, but it was good enough. One of the few luxuries he could enjoy on Earth. The sound of snipping scissors filled the room. Loki imagined taking the scissors and slitting your throat with it. “Are you going to the holiday party?”

“The what?” Loki questioned, brows furrowed. You put your scissors down.

“The holiday party. For Christmas. That Tony is throwing.”

Loki had a vague idea of what Christmas was, although he preferred the classical version that included Krampus and coal. Of course, there were Nordic holidays, but none that anyone here (besides Thor) would celebrate. Loki also, most definitely, did not get an invite.

“I refuse to attend anything that imbecile hosts,” Loki murmured. You chuckled knowingly.

“In other words, you didn’t get an invite.” Loki glared at you. “You could come with me.”

“I most certainly will not,” Loki snapped. You raised up your hands in a ‘surrender’ pose. You went back to your crafts, ignoring him. He spoke after a few moments. “Why would you ask me?”

“You seem lonely,” you shrugged. Loki opened and closed his mouth, information and surprise coating his features. “And I want to crack you like an egg.” You imitated cracking an egg, and Loki narrowed his eyes further. He stood up, done with the conversation, and wanted peace and quiet. He could likely find it shortly before Thor returned from working out. You waved goodbye as he was heading out.

Loki was still aggravated when he got back to his room and was upset to see Thor was back early. His brother was sprawled on the living room couch watching Midgardian TV. Loki had little hope of getting to his bedroom without being forced to engage in conversation.

“Brother! Where have you been?” Thor called out, arms crossed behind his head.

“Out,” Loki sighed. He stared at one of the paintings hanging on the wall, something Stark chose, which was why it was abhorrent. Loki tapped his foot, his brother’s attention still on the TV. I heard that there will be a soiree. I assume you’re attending?” Loki asked, keeping his voice light. Thor looked over at him.

“One of Stark’s parties for the Midgardian holiday of Christmas,” Thor paused his show, peering at Loki. “Do you want to attend?”

“Why? So I can watch your ridiculous Avengers preen around like peacocks?” Loki scoffed. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Invites open if you decide to attend,” Thor turned back on his show. “I would be happy to see you there.”

Loki left for his room after that, closing the door behind him. The room wasn’t to his liking, but decorating it the way he might’ve would mean that he intended to stay. Which he didn’t. Someday, he would go far, far away from this Hel. This was a temporary stepping stone. Nothing here was of substance.

He glanced at the nice clothes in his dresser anyway, even if he didn’t intend to stay.

This is insanity, Loki thought to himself as he stood inside his room. He was wearing a suit, and there was not one pop of green evident anywhere. He didn’t know why he bothered. You and his brother only invited him to be nice, not because he belonged there. He didn’t belong anywhere.

A knock at the front door broke him out of his thoughts.

Loki walked over to the front of his suite and opened the door. To his surprise, you were the one knocking. He blinked as he took in your appearance. You were dressed in cocktail attire, the dress hugging your figure, lips painted in a color he’d never seen on you. You looked him up and down like you were also noticing him for the first time.

“I was coming here to convince you to come,” you said, a slight smirk on your lips. “But it appears you’re ready to go.”

“I was still deciding.”

“Totally,” you chuckled. “Are we going or what? I’m already behind three whole drinks.” You stepped aside to let Loki out. His arm brushed against yours as he closed the door, sparks shooting up his spine that he elected to ignore. You walked right next to him as you went the two flights to the ballroom. Of course, Stark spared no expense in decorations. There was a live orchestra, several decorated trees, strings of lights and ornaments, and plenty of booze to spare.

Loki rolled his eyes at Thor, chatting with several women and proving that not much had changed since their time on Asgard. Loki looked over to see you grabbing two flutes of champagne from a waiter. Before he could assume one was for him, you downed both of them and quickly found another waiter to return the glasses to. He looked at you in fascination.

“What?” you said, wiping your mouth. “I get nervous in social situations.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Loki sneered. “You’re always a thorn in my side.”

“You’re very easy to annoy,” you grinned, and part of Loki enjoyed that he was the reason you were grinning. Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something and perking up when you found it. “Now that I’ve located the bar, I am going to get myself something with hard liquor. Care to join?”

Loki had nothing better to do. Especially as people continued to give him a wide breadth. It wasn’t unknown that he had been staying at the tower, but it was still considered a hindrance to most. Not that it ever seemed to bother you.

Loki stayed by your side most of the night because it was either that or spending time with his brother. At some point, you had gotten Loki to talk about things he was interested in. Nothing deep, but you both delved into a heavy discussion on certain books as well as made ill-placed bets on some of the other inhabitants of Avengers Tower. Loki resented the fact that he found himself having actual fun, especially as hours into the party; Thor decided it would be funny to have people try to lift Mjinior. Everyone with a Midgardian alcohol tolerance was on their way to not remembering the night, but a delightful buzz filled the air. You dragged Loki closer to the action, taking his jacket sleeve in the process. You still stayed close to him even when you reached your destination, and Loki could smell your perfume from your proximity.

He continued to have fun, especially as he watched Stark struggle to move the hammer. Romanoff and Barton didn’t even try. Rogers got it a little bit, which led to a look of concern on Thor’s face that Loki would be enjoying for months. Other party guests participated, and at some point, Barton noticed you and Loki.

“How about Y/N and Horns try their hand?” Barton called out, cheers piling on. Loki sent one glare to get most to shut up, refusing to embarrass himself with such frivolous things. You just shrugged, not as inebriated as most humans there but still feeling the effects. Loki worried you’d trip in your heels as you made your way to the hammer, cracking your knuckles as you waved at the small crowd. They cheered as you wrapped your hands around the leather handle, took a deep breath in, and lifted.

Everyone, including Loki’s, jaw dropped as you easily lifted the hammer. You faltered back a step, obviously expecting some adversity. You twirled it in your hands, looking shocked yet proud. You spun on your heel towards Thor, throwing the hammer at him. He managed to catch it, still looking at you in shock.

“Does this mean I’m the new god of thunder?” you questioned, hiding a smile.

“Oh, I hope so, I need more eye candy,” Stark drawled. You, Romanoff, and Loki all glared at him. “Kidding, as long as Bruce is here, I’m happy.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Banner muttered, one of the only attendees to abstain from drinking and, therefore, one of the few sober onlookers.

Stark was still relentlessly teasing Rogers for not being as ‘pure’ as you walked back to Loki. You had to reassure Thor that you did not want his title or his hammer. You stumbled a little, and the several whiskey sours you downed caught up to you. Loki grabbed your arms to study you, and you smiled at him gratefully.

“Can we sit down? My feet are killing me,” you grumbled, and Loki obliged. He didn’t like being surrounded by that many people anyway. You found a quiet corner away from the main room, a little dimmer but with the same twinkling lights and Christmas decorations as the rest of the party. You sat down on a red settee and started removing your heels, sighing in the process. Loki stayed focused on the different ornaments on the tree rather than your exposed calf.

“Are you still going to be friends with me?” you questioned. Loki turned to you in surprise. “You know, because I lifted the hammer and all.”

“I’m not jealous if that’s what you’re inferring,” Loki raised a brow, hands in his pockets. You stood up and joined him, so much smaller now that you were just in your dress. “I’m not surprised, though,” Loki murmured.

“Well, I’m surprised,” you shook your head. “Not sure what about me is worthy.”

“You’re kind, even to people like me.” He said the last part as an afterthought, but you heard. You seemed to always hear what he was saying. You glanced up, smiling. He looked up to see dozens of hanging stars and mistletoe hanging above you.

“Mistletoe,” you murmured, the lights reflected in your eyes.

“I don’t understand why Stark would hang up something poisonous when any of these drunken idiots could ingest it.”

“It’s tradition,” you responded. He still didn’t know why you were smiling.

“Tradition?”

“If you’re under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them,” you shrugged. “Christmas tradition.”

“Humans are appalling creatures.”

“You’re the one standing under the mistletoe, buddy,” you laughed. Loki noticed you scrunched your nose when you laughed.

“I would never force myself on someone because of a stupid tradition,” Loki scoffed, but you still weren’t perturbed. In fact, you seemed thoughtful.

“It wouldn’t be force,” you said. “Not for me.” You basically whispered the last part, but Loki was no fool. He understood what you were saying. But because you were kind, you didn’t push. Instead, you looked as if you might walk back to the party, away from him. Loki stepped closer to you instead. You looked up, alarmed. “What are you doing?” you stammered.

“Tradition,” he smirked, leaning in and kissing you. It was short, it was calm, and it was one of the best things Loki had experienced in his existence. Being with you under the lights and mistletoe, surrounded by warmth and laughter. It made him long for more. When he pulled away, he saw stars and longing in your eyes. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, stepping back. He expected nothing more from this; he would just have this one moment to cherish.

You pulled him back, kissing him again. Much firmer, and Loki swore he could taste the whiskey you drank on your lips. When you broke away this time, you were grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” you grinned, grabbing his hands. “C’mon, let’s rejoin the party.”

Loki was thankful he let you talk him into attending, even if it was for something as simple as a holiday party.

loki taglist : @eleniblue @iwrite-things @youneedanap @huntress-artemiss @linaax @pisces-celeste @marygoddessofmischief @gruftiela @saay-karani @foxherder @lover-of-books-and-tea @lilaclaufeyson @gardasngan @evasmlp @swampespresso @awnmaknees

#loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fic #marvel #marvel fic #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #my writing #ficmas #ficmas 2024

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justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months ago

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Amee Vanderpool at SHERO:

Before World War II, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had identified German, Italian, and Japanese aliens and claimed they were “suspected” of being potential enemy agents. These people, some of them American citizens, were legally kept under surveillance, and following the attack at Pearl Harbor, people from “enemy nations” and all people of Japanese descent were immediately considered suspect and referred to the US Army. In 1942, Executive Order 9066 was enacted by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Under this order the entire west coast was deemed a military area, and was divided into military zones. Curfews were established that included only Japanese-Americans. Voluntary evacuation of Japanese-Americans from a limited number of areas, totaling about seven percent of the entire Japanese-American population, was begun. The issue of human rights had been briefly brought up at Congressional Hearings prior to the issuance of these new laws, but in 1942, no one felt these rights were important enough when compared to securing the United States. On March 29, 1942, Japanese-Americans on the west coast were given a 48-hour evacuation notice, and most of their land and private property was abandoned and never recovered.

From the end of March to August of that year, approximately 112,000 persons were sent to racetracks or fairgrounds, which had been re-labeled as “assembly centers.” People were tagged like cattle and sorted for removal to a more permanent "relocation center" where they would be imprisoned for the remainder of the war. In these "relocation centers,” also called "internment camps,” four or five families shared tar-papered army-style barracks for nearly three years or more until the end of the war. The people in these camps shared eating facilities and restrooms and had limited opportunity for work or school. Nearly 70,000 of these evacuees were American citizens, who were denied their due process rights as the federal government froze their ability to appeal their circumstances under the guise of “American security.” This was just 80 years ago. On Tuesday, Texas Governor Gregg Abbott, through the the Texas General Land Office, offered Donald Trump the 1,400-acre Starr County site to build new detention centers to fulfill his promise of mass deportations of undocumented immigrants. Texas Land Commissioner Dawn Buckingham said in the Tuesday letter that her office is “fully prepared” to enter an agreement with any federal agencies involved in deporting individuals from the country “to allow a facility to be built for the processing, detention, and coordination of the largest deportation of violent criminals in the nation’s history.”

We are again on the brink of repeating some of the most shameful and abhorrent lessons that America should have learned long ago. While Donald Trump and his Project 2025 implementation team move to enact the fascist promises made during the election, many of Trump’s cronies are already aligning themselves to profit from the impending migrant prison system that will be nothing short of a concentration camp. Due Process Rights will again be frozen, as amnesty and human rights will cease to exist within these militarized zones. Dismissing any warnings about where we are headed by calling these claims hyperbole will cease to matter after Donald Trump assumes his office on January 20, 2025.

Amee Vanderpool wrote an excellent blogpost on SHERO that the dark days of internment camps (or concentration camps) are back again, this time aimed primarily at undocumented immigrants. But will it stop with just undocumented immigrants? Absolutely not.

#Concentration Camps #Internment Camps #American History #Donald Trump #Trump Administration II #Executive Order 9066 #SHERO #Amee Vanderpool #Substack #Japanese Internment

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 4 months ago

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Galadriel x Sauron: One Royal Couple to Rule Them All

Many fellow fans don’t understand why Galadriel would ever join Sauron, of her own free will, in his plan of world domination.

To me, this due to two things:

Whitewashing of Galadriel’s character and refusing to see how much she craves absolute power. There are so many bad takes about her character, it’s hard to address them all in here. I’ll just say she’s not the “Virgin Mary” of Tolkien lore; she’s not a “fairytale princess”, nor a “damsel in distress”;

Misunderstanding of Sauron’s plans. Even if you aren’t familiar with Tolkien lore nor have read the books, “Rings of Power” already explained what Sauron’s goals are, and what he wishes to accomplish.

Sauron’s Masterplan

Let’s start with Sauron’s masterplan. What does he want?

But today, a new age begins. Under me. Your new master. Sauron. And with a new age, I bring a new vision. A path to unconditional conquest. For I seek a new kind of power. Not of the flesh, but over flesh. A power of the unseen world. One we shall use to enslave the peoples of Middle-earth to our very will. Many Orcs will die. But out of the chaos, we will forge a new and perfect order. No longer will we be hunted as the demons who broke Middle-earth, but rather worshipped as the saviors who finally healed it. By bringing its peoples together, to rule them all as one!

From a perspective of Tolkien lore, this speech was a bit over the top, even for Sauron himself. But I understand why the show writers went with this, it’s meant to illustrate that Sauron is evil, and a tyrannical dictator.

Sauron doesn’t see himself as a villain; he thinks he’s the hero, here. Because he’s a demigod and one of the Ainur; he helped shape the world the seeks to dominate. He looks at the ruins of Middle-earth and how the Valar aren’t doing anything to help. He’s the only deity who’s willing to do anything about it. And so, he steps in and makes it his personal mission to rebuild Middle-earth (“heal it”).

He would never call himself “Sauron”, either, because that’s the name the Elves created to mock his own (“Mairon”). And it means “the abhorrent” instead of “the admirable”. He would call himself Tar-Mairon, “King excellent”. But, again, the show had to go with this otherwise casual viewers wouldn’t know who this character is.

This is Adar spelling Sauron’s plan to Galadriel in 2x08. When I first watched this scene I must confess I was confused and thought this could be one of Sauron’s deceptions, actually.

This is Sauron’s masterplan and the reason why he created the “rings of power” (the “power of the Unseen world”) in the first place. But this brings another interesting question; perhaps Adar himself was on board with Sauron’s masterplan of healing Middle-earth until he saw his methods.

Adar, in 1x06, told Galadriel a bit about Sauron's plan, as well, when he reveals to have killed him:

After Morgoth's defeat, the one you call Sauron… Devoted himself to healing Middle-earth, bringing its ruined lands together in perfect order. He sought to craft a power not of the flesh… But over flesh. A power of the Unseen World. He bid as many as he could to follow him far north. But try as he might… Something was missing. A shadow of dark knowledge that kept itself hidden, even from him. No matter how much blood he spilt in its pursuit. For my part… I sacrificed enough of my children for his aspirations. I split him open. I killed Sauron.

Repentant Mairon, himself, already told this to Galadriel in 1x08:

When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise, at last, I felt the light of The One again. And I knew if ever I was to be forgiven... That I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin.

Mairon wish to “heal” Middle-earth comes from his own desire to escape Morgoth’s bounds. That’s the reason behind the “heal yourself” quote from 2x08. Mairon wants to kill “Sauron”, as well, and erase every trace of his former master from the world.

But he can’t, nor can he escape his bounds to Morgoth, because, like Tolkien wrote, they are too strong (“Rings of Power” suggested there might have been some blood oath/binding involved) and he falls back into evil. And this is why he gets so triggered when Celebrimbor calls him "shadow of Morgoth", and he snaps, and kills him in a rage fit:

But Sauron regrets this in the next minute, and he cries. Because this is not him, this chaotic destruction is not who he is. He’s a control freak, a mastermind, always planning and scheming, he’s patient, and organized to the point of obsession. These are Morgoth’s bounds and corruption of him reaching the surface. And when he looks up all he sees is Morgoth.

Sauron’s masterplan is the unite everyone on Middle-earth; all kingdoms and all races (Elves, Dwarves and Men) to live together in peace and harmony. No more wars, no more suffering, no more pain; only a world of beauty, order and perfection. The qualities he was created to have by Eru himself, and his contributions during the Ainulindalë, when he helped shaped the world alongside the Valar and the other Maiar. This is why he tells Celebrimbor this, in 2x07: I see the end, Celebrimbor. So clearly. I have seen it from the moment I awoke.

The problem here isn’t his masterplan per say: this is not an evil plan by any means. But he was corrupted by Morgoth, and his ways are also corrupted. This is how he self-deceives himself. Mairon’s love for order becomes a obsession with domination; and Sauron knows he has to become a tyrant and to enslave everyone to his will, in order to create his perfect world.

To him, the end justifies the means, and he’s willing to use chaos and destruction (Morgoth) to achieve his masterplan. And this is perfectly embodied in this quote from him, in 2x01: “out of the chaos, we will forge a new and perfect order”.

Where does Galadriel fits in all of this?

He thinks she’s the missing piece. Sauron believes her “light” will keep him in check, and somehow control his bounds to Morgoth. But as I’ve discussed before in this post, her “light” isn’t really hers, it’s the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, and it shines on every Elf that was born during the Years of the Trees, in Valinor.

It’s Galadriel’s beauty that blinds Sauron. And why is that? Because she’s the physical form, the materialization, of everything he was designed to love by Eru himself. I already talked about this in this post. This tells us their attraction is not only spiritual (the “they are higher beings” nonsense), but also physical (sexual).

The reason why Mairon was attracted to her in the first place was because Galadriel, unconsciously, reminded him of Morgoth. Galadriel and Morgoth share the same chaotic energy; the same arrogance, greed and lust for power. This is yet another one of the ways Mairon self-deceives himself; he thinks Galadriel would allow him to escape Morgoth’s bounds, but it's the other way around. On a unconscious level, he’s always seeking his former master. And that's why he wants to serve her, and to bind himself to her.

And we, the audience already saw him pitching this desire to Galadriel herself, in 1x08:

Sauron: This is it. You bind me to the light. And I bind you to power. Together, we can save this Middle-earth. Galadriel: Save? Or rule? Sauron: I see no difference.

And this blood binding is exactly what he does in 2x08, using Morgoth’s crown; the dark magic artifact that’s already infused with his own blood because Adar used it to destroy his previous physical form.

This is a silent conversation happening between them, through their new bound. And Sauron probably showed her many things, namely: the connection they shared in Season 1 was true and real because he “felt it, too” (and not a deception on his part like Galadriel believed); his proposal was honest (he would, indeed, make her the Queen of Middle-earth), and his entire masterplan.

But Sauron is not only an expert on deceiving others, but himself, too (like Celebrimbor told him, in 2x07). Meaning, in his mind, Galadriel as the “Queen of queens” would be a good thing. Except it wouldn’t. She would be far worse than him, with the power he would provide her with.

Which leads me to the next point:

Galadriel Lust for Ultimate Power

To understand this, we need to go back to the source: Tolkien. What does he says about Galadriel?

[Galadriel] had no peace within. Pride still moved [her] when, at the end of the Elder Days, the final overthrow of Morgoth, she refused the pardon of the Valar for all who had fought against him, and remained on Middle-earth. Unfinished Tales [of Númenor and Middle-earth]

A penitent: in her youth [Galadriel] a leader in the rebellion against the Valar (the angelic guardians). At the end of the First Age she proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return [to Valinor]. She was pardoned because of her resistance to the final and overwhelming temptation to take the [One] Ring for herself. Tolkien, Letter 320

Galadriel, in Tolkien lore, is a “penitent”, a “repentant sinner”, because she turned her back on literal heaven (Valinor) due to her pride and her greed for power (wanting a kingdom of her own), and for this she was banished by the Valar: Tolkien work is infused with Christian doctrine whenever people chose to ignore or not, it’s still there. And this is true in “Rings of Power”, too, only her desire for power is connected with her desire for Sauron, in the show.

Now, to understand her connection with Sauron, and want she truly wants, we need to look at “The Mirror of Galadriel” chapter in “Fellowship of the Ring”, the first book of “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy. Overall, the scene with the Mirror is somewhat similar to the Peter Jackson adaptation, only Sam is also there in the book version, and he wants to see Elf magic.

This takes place thousands of years after the “Rings of Power” timeline, and Sauron has been defeated, at least, 5,000 years ago.

The last night before the Fellowship departs Lothlórien, Galadriel offers Frodo and Sam the opportunity to look into her Mirror, and they accept.

With water from the stream Galadriel filled the basin to the brim, and breathed on it, and when the water was still again she spoke. “Here is the Mirror of Galadriel,” she said. “I have brought you here so you may look in it, if you will.” The air was very still, and the dell was dark, and the Elf-lady beside him was tall and pale. “What shall we look for, and what shall we see?” asked Frodo, filled with awe. “Many things I can command the Mirror to reveal,” she answered. “But the Mirror will also show things unbidden, and those are often stranger and more profitable than things which we wish to behold. What you will see, if you leave the Mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be. But which it is that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell. Do you wish to look?” [...] "Remember that the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them. The Mirror is dangerous as a guide of deeds.”

Sam sees the “Scouring of the Shire” (which was cut from the Peter Jackson adaptation). Frodo sees several visions, and the last one is the Eye of Sauron itself.

“Do not touch the water!” said the Lady Galadriel softly. The vision faded, and Frodo found that he was looking at the cool stars twinkling in the silver basin. He stepped back shaking all over and looked at the Lady. “I know what it was that you last saw,” she said; “for that is also in my mind. Do not be afraid! But do not think that only by singing amid the trees, nor even by the slender arrows of elven-bows, is this land of Lothlorien maintained and defended against its Enemy. I say to you, Frodo, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought. But still the door is closed!”

Galadriel then reveals to Frodo that she’s the ring-bearer of Nenya, one of the Three Elven rings of power. And is with the help of its power, she protects the realm of Lórien. However, Nenya is not the only magic at work here, and I think the ring works as an amplifier of Galadriel’s power (like the Mirror itself), and not as the actual “source”. And the protective spell around Lothlórien is something similar to Girdle of Melian, not only because of Nenya's presence, otherwise Galadriel wouldn’t be able to leave her kingdom, ever.

Praising Galadriel as “wise and fearless and fair,” Frodo offers to give the One Ring to her: “I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me.”

This is the when Galadriel’s trial begins; she had the intention of test Frodo, and now she’s the one being tested.

Galadriel laughed with a sudden clear laugh. “Wise the Lady Galadriel may be,” she said, “yet here she has met her match in courtesy. Gently are you revenged for my testing of your heart at our first meeting. You begin to see with a keen eye. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer. For many long years I had pondered what I might do, should the Great Ring come into my hands, and behold! It was brought within my grasp. The evil that was devised long ago works on in many ways, whether Sauron himself stands or falls. Would that not have been a noble deed to set to the credit of his Ring, if I had taken it by force or fear from my guest?

“And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair! She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful.

Then she let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! She was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad. “I pass the test,” she says, “I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.”

They stood for a long while in silence. At length the Lady spoke again. “Let us return!” she said. “In the morning you must depart, for now we have chosen, and the tides of fate are flowing.”

Let's go back to Galadriel’s “dark form”; both adaptations are similar and true to Tolkien’s words:

Sauron: Fair as the sea and the Sun. Stronger than the foundations of the earth [...] Not dark. Not with you at my side.

In place of a Dark Lord you shall have a Queen. Not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn. Treacherous as the sea. Stronger than the foundations of the earth.

The detail that makes all the difference: Sauron proposal was to make her “a” queen, she’s the one who added him to the deal. They both agreed in placing crowns in each other’s heads.

And she wanted to take Sauron's offer, she craved what he offered her; as she confessed to Celebrimbor, in 2x07:

What prevented her from accepting in 1x08 wasn’t the “tyrant” bit, but believing him to be deceiving her, and his proposal being a mere illusion, and not honest. Because he's "the great deceiver" after all.

This is Galadriel’s true heart's desire. She craves this; ultimate power, and to be worshipped by everyone. That’s the reason why Sauron offered her this, in the first place, and why the One ring will give her the same temptation thousands of years later. Sauron has many glorious titles (“Lord of the Earth”; “Ruler of Middle-earth"; “God-king”, “King of Men”, “King of Kings”), and Galadriel wants them all for herself (“In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen”).

Sauron's offer will haunt her for thousands of years, because that’s what she truly wants, she's *that* power hungry, folks. For that D, too. And, in 2x08, what we saw was the beginning of Sauron’s grouping of Galadriel's mind, for centuries into the future, too:

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand

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starleska · 9 months ago

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can we talk about the brilliant execution of Dot and Bubble's big reveal!!!

i am still absolutely gobsmacked by what a well-written episode Dot and Bubble is. startling, disarming, confrontational, and tremendously impactful. and holy shit i really really want to talk about how excellent the 'twist' (which really should've been obvious in retrospect 😭 was done):

as a white person it took me about ten minutes to clock that Lindy's friend group were a nightmare Aryan Tupperware Party collective: all white, all blue-eyed, and even Gothic Paul was dressed in blues and whites, with no black at all. but you know how i responded to that? mentally i went 'oh i'm sure it's nothing!' and shoved it aside. and i think it is exactly that insidious tendency to ignore, normalise, and validate overt and covert racism that the episode does such a tremendous job of tackling! everything in the episode gives us the lore we need to understand Lindy and the people of Finetime are white supremacists. Lindy's disgusted face and immediate blocking of The Doctor versus the amount of time she spends with Ruby. Lindy's shock at the Doctor and Ruby occupying the same room implying segregation on the Homeworld. Lindy calling the Doctor and Ruby 'criminals' not for being in the Bubble, but for breaking segregation. Lindy using Ricky September, a white influencer, to calm herself down not just from the monsters, but from interacting with a Black person. the tradwife aesthetic of the Finetime residents making a comeback in real-life right-wing racist circles. ugh, there's so much and it was all right in our faces!! yet many of us who aren't POC had the privilege of going through the episode baffled and uncomfortable, without being able to put a finger on why until the final bit of the episode. doesn't that tell us how quickly and easily we've all taken to ignoring both micro and macroaggressions? that we needed talk of being 'contaminated', improper use of the word 'voodoo', and Lindy straight up telling the Doctor that face-to-face contact was unacceptable, to understand they're white supremacists? oh my God 😭😭 what a genius play, to make Lindy so detestable from the start. she's an arrogant, vain, self-absorbed, moronic, uncompromising, traitorous bitch...and by layering that abhorrent personality and then giving us the reveal of her white supremacy, there is no argument even the most wishy-washy of people could have re: their awful views. Lindy and her friends are revolting racists who are so wrapped up in their own echo-chamber 'bubble' that they would genuinely rather be devoured alive than challenge their own narrow, bigoted views. i'm still blown away by the power of Ncuti's final scene. the disbelief, the frustration, the sadness and the fury...and yet the Doctor still tries to save them against all odds. i think the most common response to this episode was 'The Doctor should have gone all Time Lord Victorious on them', and you're right - he should have! but doing that would've affirmed the beliefs of the real-life racists viewers. the Doctor responding not with violence or righteous vengeance is a very deliberate writing choice: we are supposed to come away feeling revolted that he needed to behave that way, to almost be supplicant to the white supremacists. because that is the real-life view of so many people who don't even view themselves as racist: Black people need to 'perform' to a higher standard, than white people just to be considered worthy of respect. the more i watch it, the more i'm convinced this is the best episode of the whole season, and one of the best Doctor Who episodes we've ever had. we were taken off-guard by having an episode overtly about racism set in the future rather than the past, because our tendency is to assume equality is a natural consequence of becoming technologically advanced. this clearly isn't the case, and Dot and Bubble is a masterclass in confronting racism head-on rather than dancing around it for the comfort of white viewers. just. aaargh!!!! absolutely amazing 🔥🔥🔥

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fatallyaddictedtofiction · 2 months ago

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Can we all just thank Mary Shelley for writing Frankenstein please? Because I'm continuously stunned.

"When i first sought [sympathy], it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness amd affection with which my wholw being overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what I should seek for sympathy?"

"Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding."

"But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal."

"No guilt, no mischeif, no malignity, no misery can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendant visions of beauty and the majesty of goodness."

"The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man has friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone." (this one is my favourite)

"I have murdered the lovely and the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have devoted my creator... to misery."

"You hate me, but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself."

#frankenstein #mary shelley #frankenstein's monster #frankenstein's creature

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ewanmitchelll · 7 months ago

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Imagine you were betrothed to Aemond Targaryen until circumstances impeded the match to concretize. Now, years later… will you and him be persuaded this is the right timing to amend things?

Warnings: drama, light smut. Long post.

***

• I

As the second child and oldest daughter of Lord Gwayne Hightower, you are privileged to be sent to your aunt’s household and there be raised as her royal ward.

Your Hightower charms do manage to captivate Queen Alicent at the time of your arrival—as well as King Viserys, by then very alive and in good health, who treats you as his own daughter. In the meantime you are settling at court, you ought to share the same apartments with your royal cousin, Princess Helaena, the first of your regal relatives to make your acquaintance.

“Greetings, Y/N. In green and black wheels, our fortune will gravely depend on it, I’m afraid. But you are a welcome addition to our misadjusted family.”

At first you do not understand the meaning of her words, however, your kindness speaks louder than reason so you flash her a smile—rather than pushing her away as so many have done before, which surprises the princess.

“Noble families are often troubled homes to be raised within, cousin. Every privilege comes with a price and aren’t we all willing to pay for it? Either way, thank you for receiving me. I hope you can find in me a friend to rely on.”

Initial distrusts put aside, Helaena nods her head. The idea of having a friend melts away her defenses and makes her smile to you.

“Do you like embroidery?”

“I fear I do not excel at it, but it is a pastime of mine”, you smile warmly.

“Very well. Come and follow my lead, I’d like your help to proceed with my work on it.”

“Gladly”.

And a bond is now forged.

Aemond watches as you walk almost arm in arm with Princess Helaena. You are dressing a green gown with long sleeves and your red hair falls loose behind your back. Some of the curls does in fact remind him of his mother.

But in secrecy the teenaged boy thinks you are prettier than the Queen.

“You should speak to her”, he struggles to hold back a sigh at the voice of Aegon. “Aren’t you doing your duty and welcoming her properly, brother? My, where are your manners?”

In order to avoid Aegon’s annoyance further, Aemond does in fact go after you. Like a shadow, he moves silently. Once spotting you at the gardens, he awaits for the best moment to get to you. With Helaena out of the sight, Aemond takes his chance.

“If the rumors are true, we are marrying when we reach age”, you turn around only to spot this long silver haired male who is likely the same age as you, counting three and ten summers.

You curtsy out of respect. Aemond nods his head in turn.

“Well, I wasn’t told of marriage prospects yet, but I would be lucky if this proves to be true”.

“Lucky? I lack my brother’s charms”, the boy chuckles in abhorrence. “Surely you must have met him.”

“I believe we have been introduced, yes. But I do not think he has any charms, if anything he’s an annoying prince”, you are pleased to find the Targaryen male chuckling. “And whom might you be, suitor of mine?”

Aemond does not admit at first, but you do strike him a positive impression, reminding him of the damsels he used to read about in chivalric novels.

“Lord Aemond Targaryen, Madame”, and here he does a proper bow.

“Cousin Aemond”, the way you break formalities so easily leaves him disconcerted. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things, one hopes.”

“Naturally so. Would you care to spend the rest of the day with Helaena and I?”

Aemond’s reason urges him to leave you, but his tongue decides otherwise.

“I believe I am free off my duties, so why not?”

Later that evening, one could not stay too far from the other. Aemond soon comes to find out how much you and him have in common. To his surprise you are very educated.

“I prefer the philosophers of the East”, you tell him. “They are deeper in thoughts and observations about life. The ancient ones, in the days of Old Valyria, left some good works.”

“How’d you reach out to it?”, asks the prince, impressed.

“Well, living nearby Old Town has some advantages”, you laugh quietly. “Daeron has helped me with it.”

Something about his younger brother doesn’t sit well with Aemond. A sensation close to jealousy comes uninvited. But the prince disguises it well, though.

“How’s he by the way? I barely remember him now. We’ve been apart for many years.”

“He’s doing great and he misses his siblings too”, you tell him. “It is very lonely the journey to become a maester. And yet… if I can say anything about your younger brother is that he possesses a very sensitive soul.”

“Hum. Probably he’d be a better companion than Aegon”, he chuckles low.

This twilight you two are pacing around the castle. For a pair of youth, it is striking to see both of you discussing philosophers, historians and all that is in between. Then as day turns into night and dinner is prepared, you are forced to part ways.

“Are you not coming to join us for dinner?”, you ask him expectedly.

Aemond isn’t sure how to react about the suddenly expectation he spots in your y/c eyes. He is left again disconcerted. A feeling he doesn’t appreciate at the same time he is found eager to please you.

Why? A voice asks him. But he refuses to find the answer.

“I will… just change my robes.”

Your lips spread in a large smile and it is a sight that warms his heart.

“Good. I’d like to see you there, my lord.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Hesitantly, one says farewell to the other in a very typical young manner—even though you and him shall meet within five and ten minutes.

You are very pleased to be told you are betrothed to Aemond. The sight of your delight, that you make no effort in disguise, is a good omen to all, and even the wayward prince is not immune to it.

“How can you be this content in becoming my wife?”, he asks you when you are found walking towards the yard where the prince is to be trained under the guidance of Ser Criston Cole. “I have no dragon to call mine own.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”, and you list his virtues and why each one earned you fondness. “A dragon doesn’t make you any less, my dear Aemond.”

But he cannot find a way to answer you properly for Ser Criston has summoned him to practice. It does little good to his pride when perceiving your presence. Your beaming presence. You are there to support him in ways few of his family ever did.

He casts you a long gaze and you hold it, pleased with the subtle certainty that he feels what you feel too.

Nevertheless, it’s you who eventually feels like an outcast for not being one who claims a dragon. In this comes your dear Helaena, who says:

“High you may fly, but not to skies you will find your might.”

You cast her a long glance. For a while you don’t speak a word but then curiosity gets the best of you.

“What is the price?”

Helaena ponders whether she can trusts you with her dreams. Eventually though, she realizes you are far more trustworthy with them than most of her relatives ever cared to comprehend such.

“A price of blood, I fear.”

You nod. Casting a glance to the clouds that begin to wipe out the blue that painted bright skies, you speak:

“What’s there to come, cousin? What have the Gods spoken?”

Putting aside her embroidery, Helaena slides to your side. Then she gently takes your hand and holds it quickly, showing in her way her fondness to you.

“If you are inclined to follow your heart, patience you must nurture for a hard path lies forward to us all.”

You have nothing else to say, baffled by these prophetic words. Nonetheless, if Helaena is resigned to whatever destiny she sees, you opt to trust in her and take the heels of such advice. After all, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Do you dance, cousin?”, this day you and him are set at Dragonstones to attend the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen, who died in childbirth.

Aemond took you for a walk around the sands, misliking the whole ceremony. Now, as wind blows a cold breeze, he notices your red curls are made a mess, a victim of weather; a view of wilderness he most appreciates.

“Not if I can help”, says he with a serene countenance.

“Not even if one’s partner is… tolerable?”

“You trick me to your will, cousin”, and here he takes hold of your hand. And makes you twirl. “Are you pleased to remove my pride?”

“You cannot fault me for your own doings, Aemond”, and you wink at him before getting to start a race.

The prince rolls his eyes, but maybe acknowledges some truth in your word. As he starts to get after you, though, Aemond spots a large creature not too far from where both of you are.

For a moment he stops what he’s doing. For a moment, only a flying living old dragon could take his eyes off you.

Vhagar calls him, he knows.

But when you turn your head with your inviting smile, Aemond patiently leaves a new idea for later. Perhaps nothing is too dull in Dragonstone, after all.

An event that might drag both of you to a tragedy droll is set to happen, and who could foretell the consequences of an inconsequent choice?

***

• II

Old stones in old piles come to your eyes as the first rays in the morning come through the window glass and wake you up. You stare at that familiar wall, a witness of time, once the keeper of your safety… and now turned into golden cages.

You turn at your side of bed. It is a large, wooden made, very cozy indeed. But the warmth of your line blankets annoys you and you toss them aside. Impatience rises in your chest and before you know, your eyes are tearing up again.

I should have gotten used to it by now.

But can one easily accept the task of moving forward after getting to feel loved in the way professed by bards? You could still remember his laughters, his secret smile… the long days spent at library, sharing a lecture or when you opted to discuss about eastern old philosophy right at the dinner table, earning a quizzical glance of your royal aunt and an amused one of your regal uncle.

You miss his scent. You miss how unexpectedly he could be when pursuing your fingers and intertwining with his.

Years have gone by. You are not that mischievous, lively child anymore. You are now a damsel, whose prospective future is put on hold.

“Oh Aemond”, you move barefoot towards the window and opens it, suffocating, eager for some fresh air. As you do, you come across the sight of green hills and small villages not too far from the castle you spent your early childhood. No sign of clouds, nor even of… dragons.

One more day. Even now, your unending hopes are crushed. Again.

“You cannot forget your promise”, you whisper angrily in gritted teeth as if he’s somewhere unseen. “You told me you’d have my heart until you died, that you’d make me your wife. But you are very much alive! Oh, can the Gods be this cruel?”

When you close your eyes, you can still remember the last day you met. He had lost his eye and the two of you escaped to the sands where stars were the only witnesses of such daring move.

“Will you still be my wife after all of this happened?”

“I will”, you assured him firmly, your warm hand holding tightly his cold one. “How dare you consider I would ever leave you?”

Aemond chuckled. The sound of it was miserable to you. Could he be blamed for it, though? You comprehended him more than he’d know.

“I must say I have grown suspicious. Besides, an one eyed prince is not a charming prospective as a husband.”

“I object”, and here you force him to look at you, holding his chin gently with your right hand. “I will never forgive myself for not being there when those foolish, stupid kids did that to you. I would gladly take my heart out as proof of my unending loyalty to you.”

Aemond blushed. A weak, crimson shade of pink painted his pale cheeks. You didn’t know his thoughts, how could you? But they were about you and you alone.

“I could never doubt you, my lady Y/Nickname. Apologies if I misled you to believe so. I just… felt so unworthy of your affection.” Before he could hold his tongue, words were spitted out. “Do you love me?”

You too blushed underneath moonlight. You were frightened, but more so that he’d not correspond you. Even so, despite the uncertainty you felt, you risked speaking the truth.

“I do. I… love you, Aemond.”

Aemond blushed deeper, looking away for a moment. Then he turned at you, open mouthed, ready to give you his heart too… when a scowl was heard:

“Well well, it appears we found two besotted younglings prompted to do something only two besotted imprudent younglings intend to do.”

Uncle Daemon’s remark was enough to make one part of the other. Despite the mockery in his tone, used to impede either of you to notice he was in fact with Rhaenyra throughout the day, his words left its mark.

Ever since that day, though, you haven’t seen Aemond again.

Aemond stares at the moon, dancing alone in her majesty nightly reign. No stars are seen, no clouds are there to omit her from the mundane sight.

A cold breeze blows his silver locks, messing with his hair. The prince pays no mind to it. Today it is not about the looks nor about the power he is hungry to possess.

Having dismounted Vhagar, and already aware that many troubles lay ahead of him as soon as he walks through that door, Aemond’s thoughts that evening go towards you.

“I wish I told her I loved her”, he confided his whore. “Every night I dream of her face, her y/c eyes and red locks staring at me. Her sweet demeanor haunts me. Like a prey that has outwitted the hunter.”

“Is it how you perceive the object of your true affections, my prince? A prey that has not fallen the web of your traps?”

He remembers looking at the older woman quite offended.

“I said no such a thing. She is… unreachable now. Literally so, even in my dreams. Y/N is the embodiment of purity, whose virtues are endless. No words can do justice to the goodness she possesses.” He paused, melancholic somewhat. “It is just, methinks, that she’s out of my grasp now.”

“Have you considered writing for her?”, the maternal tone he never heard in his own mother seemed to smooth his broken heart at that moment, only to cover the pain these words gave him. “She never knew you loved her too. You have a dragon, Aemond. What’s there to stop you from purchasing her?”

“Duties.” Aemond’s embargoed voice broke out of his masked pride. “Duties are the death of love.”

Whatever happened in the past should remain so. As Aemond crosses the grand door and takes the stairs to get to the Council meeting, though, he cannot conceive that he failed you. For he never wrote to you again—despite all of these promises…

“There is my brother! Loyal like a hound”, Aegon’s voice is enough to make Aemond sweep away the agony he’s been through the day. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.”

Aemond opts not to answer. He takes his seat and leaves the talking for the council. The Dowager Queen gives him a look, an inquiry one, but the prince avoids it.

“Well”, Otto finally begins the Council. “Apparently, Rhaenyra has not been sufficiently encouraged to make peace, so war it is.”

Aemond doesn’t like to remember that he’s partially the reason why conflict has turned inevitable. He’s still daunted by that monstrous image of Vhagar devouring the Velaryon boy.

He didn’t mean it. But what are intentions when it comes to war?

Perhaps it’s for the best that you’ve been taken away from me, Y/N.

Aemond never asked why you disappeared, but there was no need to. The Queen’s brother thought wise that you continued your education in Oldtown—perhaps more moved by Otto Hightower’s counsel, who was genuinely worried over you concerning the bluntness in Rhaenyra’s children—especially after what had happened to Aemond.

He reasonably accepted it, but he also resented it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t accept your absence. It makes no sense to him why you were withdrawn… and after what he’s done, anger and guilt consume him still.

Despite the angst in his thoughts, this is no time to self scourge. Aemond promptly participates in the council of war, listening to all and making acceptable suggestions here and there.

“Diplomacy failed”, says the prince before the king. “To war we must wage.”

The first steps to conquer allies and strength old alliances are thus shaped. Later, without Aemond’s acknowledgment, the idea to fortify Houses Targaryen & Hightower through marriage is returned.

“Perhaps we should have Daeron to bring Lady Y/N”, Otto contemplates.

“Is she going to be safe here?”, says Alicent, genuinely concerned. “If she comes over and falls in the enemies’s hands, Gwayne is not going to forgive me for this.”

“Gwayne knows what’s best for our family’s interest. Y/N is too precious to fall simply into Rhaenyra’s side. I’ll make sure of that.”

As the wheel turns, destiny is designed.

***

• III

Aemond is vibrating this day. He’s managed to collect great victories in the battles ahead all thanks to the strategies he traces with Aegon. Due to Rhaenyra’s incapacity of playing the game of thrones, both brothers seem to finally see eye to eye.

“It is for the best that we work together on this”, Aegon tells Aemond one of these days. “No one wants a safer realm than I do. I know you may judge me unfit for the throne I never wanted, but Aemond… we are family. May our differences be set aside for the sake of our cause.”

War is not a merely word drawn out of bards pens to mark the deeds of men and save for posterity their names. This is not about glory, but a conflict built over anguished, vicious souls, plagued by ambitious.

War is not fought alone, this Aemond knew it well. Aegon has his reasons to fear his younger brother, but he cannot be alone in such a time. They are already doomed for fighting a kin.

“Your cause is mine, Your Grace”, says Aemond, leaving his ambitions aside for the sake of the misadjusted family he’s born into. “To suggest otherwise is a treacherous, incommendable thought.”

“Good”, Aegon cannot conceal his relief. “I knew I could count on you.”

How odd it is to find peace in times of war.

Yet can it be called peace when Aemond is far from it? Plagued by old demons, he is in constant struggle to firm his steps. He cannot trust in anyone of his family, despite affirming his loyalty to Aegon.

But what else is there to be done? He has a role to play and this is no time to getaway of it.

Whilst the Seven Kingdoms bleed and burn, you remain safe at Old Town. Occupying yourself with books, embroidery and music have proved to be good to for your mind.

Indeed, Old Town is safe for you in many ways. You could still manage to take philosophy to your bed late night, you could still read how many books you want. You upheld many privileges being the son of Ser Gwayne.

You could dance merrily with Lord Daeron, but he reminded you often of Lord Aemond. And by the end of every night, you are forced to tell that he never loved you for he never bothered to write you.

We are at war, you tell yourself. Perhaps it’s for the best.

So you accept this is your fate. Maybe to remain unmarried, which is good—your library is still the safe haven you can go to, for you charmed the maesters there and no one can forbid you to touch untouchable books.

But is knowledge a good medication for a broken heart? You are yet to know.

“Daughter of mine”, your father’s voice startle you; for he is not expected. “I knew I’d find you reading at the gardens again. At times I think you have too much of the Tyrells in you”, says Ser Gwayne, alluding to his wife, Lady Margaery Tyrell, your mother.

You greet him like the devoted daughter that you are.

“What is there for me to do? Men sharp their blades and I sharp my brain.”

Ser Gwayne is proud for the intelligence you have developed. Had you been a son, he’d not been concerned over the matters of his succession.

“If only your brothers had the same concern. But your grandsire knows your worth is too high to be wasted around here.”

Your heart races, your mind accelerates, but your face remains unreadable.

“What is it you mean, dear papa?”

“What I mean is that you are going back to King’s Landing. Your mother protested against it, for you are our only daughter and these are perilous times to be sent to the capital”, by the way he sighs, you know Ser Gwayne agrees with his wife. “However, your grandsire has better plans for his favourite granddaughter. He wants to marry you off to Lord Aemond Targaryen. I don’t think the old man will rest until he tangles both houses into one same blood.”

He chuckles and you force yourself to join him in laughters. However, deep inside you feel weak, unwell even. How can this be? To marry him… the object of your childish desires, the man whom you opened your heart to…and yet never received any token in return.

“Is this certain? What’s with the rush?”, you hope you are disguising well your own atonement.

“It is, it’s been agreed at last. The late king lamented profoundly when you left the court, but in all honesty… I think you deserved better than a prince like Aemond”, and here your father pauses. “You must be aware of who he’s become. The war has started because of him.”

It is as if he’s expecting you to dissuade him of the idea, perhaps he wishes you to. You look away, finding an excuse to gaze at the flowers that colour the gardens.

True, you are more than aware of what he’s become. Some courtiers mock him, calling him a monstrous green in allusion of the Queen’s party against Rhaenyra’s, which is black. You have the sad news confirmed, albeit reluctantly, from Daeron’s mouth.

But this is not who he is, surely. He is proud, arrogant even, shielded in himself. Traits that you’ve become familiar with in girlhood. Traits that have not been righteous directed, turning him porcelain skin to iron.

Your reason conceives he’s not suited for the sensible woman you’ve grown to. Daeron would be a better fit and perhaps your father hopes you to admit that.

To Ser Gawayne’a sore disappointment, you’ve made up your mind. Your affection has deeper roots than he’d know, and it is firmly planted in you that all else cannot find place in your heart.

“I am not here to change anyone, my father. I take him as who he is.”

“Very well”, the lord sighs. “You’ll be sent with Lord Daeron, your cousin. He’ll fly with you to the capital in Tessarion.”

“I am not afraid of dragons, father.” You smile and lean to press a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“If you are happy, then I am bound by honour to concede it to you, my daughter.”

The bells of liberty finally begin to ring.

***

• IV

Aemond has recently returned after smashing Rhaenys and Meleys. Victory is at last on his side and the prospectives are better. He’s been having an eye at Harrenhal though and he’s about to set his way there when he’s been summoned by his mother.

How strange. We’ve been barely speaking to. What, in Gods name, does she want?

What happens next is certainly getting out of his senses.

“Son”, she welcomes you with Helaena by his side. His sister is smiling in her own way,

Either something good is about to happen or I am about to fall on a trap. It is unusual to find contentment in Hel’s face.

“Mother”, he nods his head, keeping his guard high. “You summoned me.”

“I did. You may think I have forgotten that my son is to be wedded, but I have not.”

Aemond is discomforted. A dangerous topic that he learned to despise ever since you departed. But he keeps his expression neutral.

“I have no inclination to be married whatsoever.”

“I believe you may change your mind”, to his surprise it is Helaena who speaks. “We are bringing her back, Aemond.”

A shiver crosses his spine.

No. This cannot be.

“Her?”, he plays cynical.

“Yes. Lady Y/N is coming with your brother. It’s time for you to settle down, my dear child.”

Aemond feels a fuel of anger and resentment. Mostly because years separated you two, but the powerlessness of taking you back, to let you go.

Despite the confusion, nothing betrays his composed mask.

“I wasn’t consulted about this.”

“No one is hardly consulted where marriages are concerned”, Alicent laughs away. “Besides, I thought you liked her.”

Aemond doesn’t answer.

“Well, she’s coming soon. You better not disappoint.”

But he’s been anxious. Restless. No news of war can take his mind off you. He could have written about you, but his insecurities took the best of him.

When you departed, there was no warning. Neither was consulted about the matter, apparently. And yet…

A sound of dragon breaks the silence of the night. Aemond knows this is Daeron’s. And you are coming too. The prince leaves the yard and moves to the dragon’s pit.

He realizes a little too late that the whole family is there to welcome you. The prince opts to stay in the shadows, watching from a safe distance.

His good eye is mesmerized by how handsome you’ve grown into. Your hair is as red as he remembers; your curls, just as wild, a victim of wind. But you have curves now; your breasts are full and large, your hips giving a positive indicator of your fertility.

Your face… is just as divine as it was in his boyhood days. Your traces softened, and your lips still easily spread in a gentle smile.

You haven’t changed a thing, dear Y/N.

Aemond, troubled by the reminiscences of what has never been dissipated as he had hoped, quickly leaves. But for how long will he be able to avoid you?

You conceal the disappointment for not seeing him there to welcome you. But what could you expect when you two parted without saying goodbye?

“He’s coming soon”, Helaena tells you assuringly. “No need to worry, my cousin.”

“Oh, I am not worried. Not at all”, you smile as convincingly as possible.

But it’s difficult to keep your composure when he’s not present to attend the feast given on your behalf. The sound of music does not entertain your ears—it is as if Old Town’s tune was merrier. Or perhaps it all feels cold because he’s not there.

However, a distraction comes in the person of Daeron, to whom you’ve grown close in the days spent back home.

“Shall we dance, cousin? What a waste of beauty to stay here, away of the light.”

You chuckle lightly as you cede him your hand.

“Why, your flatter me with your poetic soul, Daeron. Let us dance then like the last time.”

In this moment, you don’t see him coming discreetly to take his place by his side. You miss his stare, his longing gaze following your steps. And yet… when you do meet his eyes, you take every control you have to act in a nonchalant manner.

Oh Aemond. How come years have gone by and you affect me so?

He’s now a handsome lad. Handsomer indeed than you’ve pictured him. Taller and serious, using an eyepatch to uncover the eye that was taken from him in that unfair circumstance you remember.

It feels impossible to reach out for you. Oh, Aemond. Please do not lock me outside.

Music ends after what it seems an eternity. There is no need to Daeron lead you back to your seat for this is a task Aemond takes himself.

“Lady Y/N Hightower”, the prince greets you formally and it hurts you to detect cold in his voice. You swallow back the tears and you remember to curtsy.

“My lord Prince”.

Aemond offers you his hand and he can tell that he affected you, perhaps not in the same way he wanted, for you hesitate before taking it. Cold and warm mix, like last time.

“May I lead you out of this spectacle?”

“If the king permits…”

“I do not think he cares.”

Silence hangs. You nod your head, afraid of bursting into tears right before the crowd. Perhaps your father has been right in protecting you. Who is this man you are now betrothed to?

For a while, undetected, the pair leaves the salon. It’s late by now and by this hour wine has had its effects. Somewhere close to yard is where Aemond stops walking. When you turn at him, he’s no longer cold.

“You left me, Y/N.”

Oh. Here it is. The subtle accusation. But it’s better than nothing, you tell yourself.

“I wasn’t told I would depart to Old Town, Aemond. I did not give my consent to it, but we both know how little power, if we have any at all, do we possess to command our destiny.”

Aemond avoids your gaze for a moment and you recollect his fragilities. You dare to shorten the distance and hold his hand. To your surprise, he does not shy away as your fingers lace.

“Do you honestly believe I left you because I wanted to? After all I told you?”

“What else could I have thought, Y/N?”

“You could have asked. You could have said anything.” And there they are: the puddle of water. “You never wrote me in these years!”

Aemond closes his eye, breathing heavily. Despite you trying to let go of his hand, he keeps holding yours firmly. Only then, you see pain in his eye when he opens it again.

“I was miserable when you left me alone in this world.”

“As if!”, you hiss. “You never cared for me!”

You turn away from him, instantly regretting for this decision to come up and try again. You’d think he’d leave you, but Aemond is no quitter.

“I love you, Y/N”, he pulls you against him one more time, this time closer than before. “I was stolen the chance to tell you that I love you! I fucking loved you! I could not find a replacement for the nest you made in my heart, nor could fix the hole you left in me!”

“Then why”, you sob, “didn’t you write?”

“Because”, he pauses, and here he lifts your chin after wiping away your tears, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of never being sufficiently enough for you. Hence why I figured that a better match was found to you. I thought…”, the prince chokes for a moment, struggling to hold back his own tears. “I thought you’d not love me anymore after I lost my eye.”

You cup his cheeks and make sure this time he looks at you.

“How dare you to nurture this thought? I have loved you since the first day I put my feet on this soil. I have known not other sentiment but the deepest shades of affection from the day you comforted me. I… I would never take anyone but Aemond Targaryen as my husband.”

A small smile tugs at his lips.

“I am unlovable, dear Y/N. Haven’t you heard what I’ve done?”

“No one is unlovable. I am not here to fix your wrongs, Aemond. I am here to help you make your rights.”

“You’re not leaving now.”

This is not a question. You smile.

“No. I am staying.”

Saying so, he leans forward and locks his lips with yours. You breathe in, dive into it.

He’s finally yours and you are finally his.

***

• V

You’d not think, nor Aemond, that the Gods amused themselves by testing the veracity of what one felt for the other. That the love surpassed years and obstacles is, some would say, an indication of divine favor.

But this is not what troubles your or his mind. When his lips are against yours, when his hands are locked with yours, when your legs are wrapped around his waist, when he is pleasing you… oh these past ghosts are long exorcized.

“I adore you”, he whispers against your ear, kissing your neck as he caresses your left breast. “Fuck, I am yours, eternally yours, Y/N.”

You moan loudly, singing out his name. Your hand is now against his hair, using the other to crave your nails into his skin, getting a groan out of his lips.

“My husband”, you bite his bottom lip. “I love you. Oh Gods! I cannot believe this is not a dream.”

“Not at all”, he smiles at you. “It’s you and me throughout time, dove.”

“No more whoring I pray”, you tease him, aware of his encounters with the woman of the brothel.

“I thought you knew that already. Never more.”

And saying so he dives into your neck, there staying until his eager mouth slips to your chest.

The synchronicity is so good that doesn’t take much time before you and him reach climax together.

“Mm, stay here”, you lock him with your legs. “Do not remove it out of me.”

Aemond laughs quietly as you smile, gently touching his face and his sapphire eye.

“Naughty uh?”

“We must compensate for the time wasted”, you tease him.

As he lies his head next to your shoulder, thus cuddling against you, you take the time to hold him tight, unwilling to break the spell. However, Aemond knows the inevitable must be said.

“We must discuss something, beloved. I am expected to take Harrenhal.”

Although you know this could not be postponed, you avoid his gaze and keep quiet for the moment. But Aemond knows you, and he sees the struggle in keeping yourself composed, the anxiety coming to your countenance.

He lifts his face and caresses your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“I told you I’ll love you until the day I die and I have no intention to leave you a widow so soon.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but you understand you’ll face experienced warriors in there…”, and despite the efforts, fear comes to the speech.

“It may take a while, but I’ll beat those fools. I must do it for my brother’s sake.”

“Very well”, you know there is nothing you can do before his stubbornness… and his loyalty to the green cause.

“Y/N…”, he looks anxious now and you are surprised to find it in his features. “I cannot wage wars knowing you didn’t give me your blessing.”

You break to a soft smile, turning to his side and stroking his long face and hair.

“I consent, my husband. But do not dare to leave me alone in this world.”

“Never.”

To assure you he means it, he kisses you passionately. Not too soon after that, you and him burn the bed with the awake of long repressed desires one feels for the other.

***

• Epilogue

With the green victory uncontested, peace remains at long last. Despite the bad fame, Harrenhal is your new home and you are its new lady.

Whatever opposition you might find when your husband came to pick you up with Vhagar, none was left to resist the new residents.

Throughout the long reign of Aegon II the Wise and Good Queen Helaena, you provided Aemond a bunch of children to turn this gloomy castle into a merry and lousy household. These are:

1. Aerys and Rhaella, a pair of twins, who would keep the Targaryen tradition.

2. Rhaegar, raised in Oldtown—would marry a cousin Tyrell.

3. Visenya, many years later married to Maegor, third son of King Aegon & Queen Helaena.

4. Daena, would be married to Lord Brynden Tully of the Riverlands.

5. Baelor, would be raised as a squire at the capital and turned out to marry another child of Aegon & Helaena, a daughter they had named Alyssa. A coincidence of the fate? Who knew?

6. Maekar, later sent to become a Maester at the Citadel.

7. Aegon, later made lord of Summerhall. He’d take as wife his younger sister.

8. Alysanne, probably your favourite daughter—she’d grow to marry the brother she loved best, the lively and chivalric prince Aegon.

An ending very fitting for a love that was tested by time and won it over without much need of persuasion.

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