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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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The Arrangement (1)

Summary: You managed to convince Astarion not to go through with the rite of profane ascension. He remains a vampire spawn, and you now offer your blood from time to time to help with his sanguine hunger until a solution is found. Even though you had both decided to stay as friends back in Moonrise Towers, lines begin to blur once more as other cravings come to the surface… and things with Astarion are seldom uncomplicated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+. Endgame spoilers. Blood drinking. Mutual pining. Biting. S*xual tension. Mentions of past trauma.

Series masterlist . AO3

"He's upstairs."

You nodded curtly, but before you could turn in your heels and head to the wooden staircase, you felt a hand grip at your arm.

"He hasn't been paying his due," Bork, the Blushing Mermaid tavern's publican, said with a rise of his brows.

"Noble room again?"

"Yes."

As expected. Astarion would sooner be caught dead again than having to stay at a merchant or peasant room.

He adored all things lavish and that extended to his accommodations, naturally.

"I'll cover for it," you said, snatching your arm away. "How much?"

He bared his yellow teeth. "Thirty gold pieces."

You felt Shadowheart's burning gaze on you. She didn't approve of you cleaning after him. Especially since her protective instinct dragged her along with you every single time.

"Very well," you said through gritted teeth, rummaging through your pouch, and handing him the expected amount.

"Good," the older man said with a twirl of his kitchen knife. "If your pale friend does it again, he's done for."

Threats like this would usually warrant you to bare your dagger or cast a less friendly spell, but you couldn't afford to cause a scene.

Not in front of so many onlookers.

You felt Shadowheart briefly tense up by your side. "Do hurry up. I shall wait for you."

Nodding, you gave her an assuring nod before heading up the staircase.

The first floor was reserved for the highest paying customers, and it was heavily decorated and with candles spreading along the narrow corridor.

You paced quickly along the wooden floor, already knowing where to find him.

Room 7.

At this point, you were already over common pleasantries, so you skipped knocking at the door and just barged inside.

You heard a sleepy groan from the crimson bed placed at the centre of the luxurious room.

Astarion wasn't alone.

He was laying on top of the silk sheets, flipping through a book, seemingly undisturbed by your sudden appearance. Curiously enough, he was fully clothed, wearing a frill shirt and his regular trousers.

However, the woman next to him was very much fully naked, with only a blanket draping over her bare torso.

The sight made your stomach twist and turn.

"Hello, darling," he said casually as if you had just walked in on him picking flowers.

She peeked over her shoulder with a horrified look spreading across her pleasant face.

Of course she was extremely attractive.

She let out a shriek. "Do you mind?"

"No," you said dryly.

She immediately rolled out of bed, shooting a murderous glance your way, while scrambling to collect her belongings from the carpeted floor.

The door snapped shut behind her, and you were already pacing toward his bedside table once you spotted his coinpurse.

"Happy, are you? You scared her off, poor thing," he shook his head, feigning disapproval.

"You owe me."

You reached out to grab the thick pouch, but caught sight of the glint of a blade and the cool touch of metal being pressed gently against the back of your hand.

Typical.

"Ah-ah-ah..." he tutted with a click of his tongue. "Where are your manners?"

He seemed very serious all of a sudden, but you knew better. "I'll hex you."

"Faster than me piercing through your skin?" he asked, tapping the flat side of the blade playfully on your skin.

You really did consider hexing him for a split second just out of spite. "You overestimate your abilities."

"And you could have cursed me already, but are too lost in my dashing good looks."

Your jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"That lovely mouth of yours could never compete with my agile fingers."

The insinuation wasn't even subtle, and it was enough to make your blood boil.

You scowled deeply at him, shoving his dagger out of the way. "Thirty gold pieces."

He slipped the blade under his pillow again with a devious grin.

"Bork was rather eager to have at you, so I just paid him. Maybe next time I won't intervene."

"And what would he do? Kill me again?"

Point taken.

A dangerous smile danced across his lips. "And here I thought you intended to start charging me for our arrangement."

You glared at him intensely, feeling momentarily outraged. "You're the one profiting off of it. Entirely."

"Hmm, debatable."

You narrowed your eyes. "If anything, you should be paying me, no?"

He snatched the coinpurse from your grasp, tugging it open before handing you a few gold pieces.

"Here you go, darling. Sixty gold pieces," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Buy yourself a new attire, while you're at it."

You glanced down the length of your body, arching a brow and straightening your shirt and trousers. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Astarion scoffed. "I don't even know where to begin, but do not fret. You could be wearing nothing but a rotting sack of potatoes, and I would still not be deterred from your neck."

You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced at the gold pieces in your hand. "Your sweet-talking skills have been slightly below par as of late."

He chuckled, crossing his hands behind his head and against the meticulously wooden-carved headboard. "Yet here you are."

Not that you had much of a choice, really.

Halving the sum of money he had given you, you shoved the rest in your pocket while placing the other half on the table.

"Keep it."

"Don't be ridiculous," you groaned.

"Working on your flattery, I see?"

He was enjoying this far too much, and the more you talked back, the more you instigated him to continue.

"Why don't you just pay him when he asks for it?"

"Oh, darling…"

Here we go…

He was casually checking his hands, putting on his condescending demeanour. "Patience is a virtue he clearly lacks. If I'm to live eternally, I might as well teach these commoners some manners."

"Or you just adore getting on people's nerves," you said with a sly smile.

He grinned so wide, you caught a glimpse of his razor-sharp fangs peeking through. "You know me too well."

You used to think so.

Now, you weren't so sure.

Clearing your throat, you looked around the dimly lit room until your eyes settled on the large majestic bed. "She was really pretty."

"You sound surprised."

"Not at all. She does fit your type."

He laughed dramatically, further grinding your nerves. "I have a type?"

You gave him a look.

"You mean outrageously beautiful and undeniably entertaining?" he asked innocently. "Like you?"

Your heart jolted.

His method of seduction was deemed nigh pristine, and a few weeks ago, you would have maybe fallen hard for this level of charm.

But not anymore.

Well, for the most part…

"She was not outrageously beautiful."

He placed on hand at his chest, feigning hurt. "First you rob me, and now you question my taste in beauty. I'm not entirely sure my dead heart can take much more of this."

You huffed, crossing your arms before glancing out the window. The full moon lit up the street below, as the night began to draw out those who preferred to keep to the shadows.

And those who had no choice but to do so.

Like Astarion.

"I didn't do it."

His voice startled you and you stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He paused briefly. "I didn't do anything with her, if that's what you're thinking. There is an odd comfort in being surrounded by beauty, even if only to glare at, and nothing else."

Your heart clenched at how vulnerable he sounded all of a sudden. His pleasing face held an expression that you'd seen many times before…

Guilt.

The ripple effects of centuries of torture and abuse still slipped through the cracks of his usual pompous demeanour.

"Your personal matters are your own, Astarion. No need to justify yourself."

He stared at you in silence for a moment, and the urge to reach out to embrace him nearly took over.

Until his features began to twist into a light frown. "Don't look at me like that. I can't stand it."

"Like what?"

"That look. Pity. Spare me," he groaned with a roll of his eyes.

You weren't surprised in the slightest that he went into his defensive mode so rapidly.

He would fluctuate so often around you these days, that it gave you whiplash. Some days, he would let his guard down and allow you in, while others were plagued with him having a brick wall up around him if you happened to breathe in the wrong direction.

You had learned how to navigate through his tough exterior when the two of you traveled together, and as he opened more and more to you.

It all culminated when you offered your help against Cazador, and having him make the decision not to go through with the ritual that would doom so many souls – including his own — in the process.

He had thanked you for saving him from himself.

But nowadays, talking to him was like walking on eggshells while simultaneously dancing around his weathervane mood.

It was as if your relationship had somewhat soured over the past few weeks, and all the remnants of a solid friendship were now beginning to crack.

"You know, you don't have to be here," you said softly, trying to disperse the tension. "You are more than welcome to stay with us."

Astarion snickered darkly. "And having to endure that dullard? Please. I'd rather stake myself, darling."

You rolled your eyes and heaved a sigh at the targeted provocation.

"Gale is not a dullard. He is quite inter-"

But he began to part his mouth into a forced yawn. "Boring already! See, this is what happens when you choose to surround yourself with such unstimulating company – it spreads, and you used to be so much fun," he finished with a dramatic pout.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you sent him a death glare. "He's not the only one there."

There was a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Oh, yes! How could I forget Shadowheart and her magnificent ability to bore me." He swung his feet off the bed, standing gracefully. "Or perhaps you mean Lae'zel? She's clearly in debt to whichever god bestows a sense of humour."

An added layer of defense: sarcasm.

No one wielded it quite like Astarion, which also proved to be a major inconvenience when trying to win an argument.

I'm also there, you wanted to say, but chose to remain silent.

Deep down, you detested how you still longed for his company. Even after so many weeks had gone by. Even when he seemed so averse to it outside of this… arrangement.

Your relationship had been reduced to nothing more than a transaction.

Once again.

Your blood for his hunger to be quenched even if only momentarily.

"Or are you referring to yourself?" he mused, pacing towards you while adjusting his shirt.

It was extremely infuriating that he could see through you so easily.

"Let's get this over with, then," you said, words stinging in your throat.

He offered a faint smile, as he came to stand before you. "I must say, our weekly encounters are nothing short of exciting," he brought his fingers to your jaw, tilting your head gently as his eyes roamed across your neck. "And I am positively famished."

You felt a gentle tug at the collar or your shirt, and glanced down to see him undoing the buttons with just one hand.

All those years of honing his dexterity were bound to come in handy at the most convenient of times, and Astarion would never shy away from displaying his expertise.

Your senses were suddenly hit with the faint scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy.

His scent.

The same that once brought you comfort through the toughest of times.

But now…

"Which side will it be this time?"

You swallowed hard, shuddering. "You decide."

He caressed your neck tenderly, tipping your head to the opposite side, half-hooded eyes roaming across your exposed skin.

"Ever so generous."

You huffed in annoyance. "Astarion."

He didn't need to be warned twice, and you soon felt his soft lips brush across your skin, as he searched for your steady pulse. The contact made you jolt slightly and he took your hands in his, placing them at his waist.

"Hold on, darling," he whispered, as his breath fanned your flushed skin, before darting out his agile tongue and enclosing his lips around the selected area.

You had let him feed on you many times before, but the flutter was ever present. It wasn't out of fear or concern that he might take it too far. He never did. But the knowledge that you were, once again, involved in something so intimate truly gnawed at your nerves.

As soon as you felt the initial sting, you balled your fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt tight, as you hissed in pain.

He held your jaw in between his fingers whilst his other hand was firmly pressed to the back of your head, making sure you were anchored in place.

Astarion moaned first – a muffled and deep sound that reverberated across his lips with each mouthful of blood he downed.

Your eyes dropped close all of a sudden and he pressed his body against yours, acting purely on the instinct driven by his bloodlust.

And just like all those times before, you began to feel it.

With each passing second, the all too familiar and ever-growing pressure in your lower abdomen became harder and harder to ignore.

He had once revealed how your blood worked like an aphrodisiac whenever he drank from you; how he couldn't keep his body from reacting to it, and, ultimately, to you. After all, you had been the first thinking creature he had ever fed on.

As such, you had grown accustomed to his erection being pressed firmly against you – a constant reminder of how easy it was for him to make you yearn for more.

Whatever pain you had left from the initial bite, had morphed into a very subtle wave of pleasure that spread from between your legs.

You cursed inwardly, tugging harder at his shirt.

You didn't wish for your body to be so… primal.

Even with blood being drained from you, and the act itself being considered so profane, it was still a much welcome moment of intimacy that you had come to embrace.

A soft roll of his hips lulled you into him like a moth to a flame. Your body struggled with fading from the blood loss as well with the increasing throb between your thighs.

At this point, you couldn't help but moan softly as he eased his grip on you until he had fully withdrawn his teeth from you.

Your eyes fluttered open and you had to blink twice to disperse the haziness blurring your vision.

Crimson red tainted his lips, and droplets of the warm liquid threatened to spill over. The sight of him revelling in your blood used to make your stomach turn, but now it had morphed into a habit.

But what truly caught your attention was how he looked faintly… displeased?

He lowered his head, crimson eyes locking in with yours.

"That was quick," you whispered, struggling to ease your throbbing clit, as his erection was still very much pressed against you.

But now he was frowning.

Suddenly, you felt experienced fingertips trailed across your lower abdomen, casually teasing the hem of your waistband.

You sucked in a breath, chills sprawling all over your body, as he began to trace down your thigh, just where your dagger was resting.

"What are you–"

He pressed a long finger to his blood-stained lips and you swallowed, his eyes darkening. "We have company."

Before you could process his words, you felt your dagger being yanked swiftly from its sheath. With a languid shift of his feet, you watched as he threw the sharp blade across the room.

Just as it cut through the air, the large wooden door began to swing open and Shadowheart came into view.

The dagger landed dangerously close to her head, the tip carving into the wood and wobbling faintly.

She frowned slightly. "You missed."

He darted out his tongue to collect droplets of blood. "Did I?"

She looked positively unimpressed by such a display of skill, even one that could have easily maimed her.

But he had deliberately missed.

Of course he had.

You caught a glimpse of Astarion's reddened ears – the ultimate proof that he had recently fed, and one that, somehow, sent a shiver down your spine.

The bloodless effect was also beginning to take a hold of your body, as dizziness spread more and more.

Snapping out of your transfixed gaze, you hurriedly brought the handkerchief in your pocket to apply some pressure to your bleeding wound.

"Stealth was never your forte, darling," Astarion mused, visibly annoyed. "You're about as subtle as a pack of gnolls."

A teasing smile parted her lips. "You have such a way with words."

He grinned deviously. "It's called being eloquent, dear Shadowheart. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"I was taught to converse with others without constantly resorting to sarcasm," she mused, hurling your dagger back at him. "Not that you'd know anything about that."

As expected, he caught it in between his fingers with little to no effort, twirling it easily with the expertise that only centuries of practice could provide.

He clicked his tongue. "No wonder you're so tedious. But… eavesdropping? My, my… how unbecoming of you, darling."

A flash of surprise crossed her face. "I - I was doing no such thing! I merely decided to make sure everything was all right." Her face softened as she turned to you, her usual caring nature surfacing. "Do you need any healing?"

You smiled warmly at her, patting the pouch at your hip. "No need, thank you. Brought the scroll of Lesser Restoration you gave me."

Astarion scoffed.

Shadowheart ignored him. "I ought to go. Gale needs my assistance with some letters he's received from Waterdeep," she said, straightening up to her default stoic pose. "I trust you're quite done here."

You nodded, clearing your throat.

"What, you're not joining us for a nibble?" Astarion pouted dramatically.

"Over my dead body."

He looked as amused as ever. "That can certainly be arranged. Though I prefer fresh blood… right from the source."

Her features hardened once more and you decided to intervene. "Will you stop it? You're like a cat with its claws out."

Astarion snapped his head at you. "Excuse me? Claws?"

"Would it kill you - well, again - not to be so damn abrasive all the time?"

He groaned sheepishly. "She interrupted my feeding. It can be quite hard to resist the urge to behead her."

Shadowheart's gaze dropped to his lower half with the slightest uptick of one corner of her mouth. "By the looks of it, Astarion, you have other hardships to concern yourself with."

A rush of heat spread across your face as you followed her line of sight and were met by the very prominent outline of his erection strained against his trousers.

He turned around, mumbling curses under his breath to adjust himself, and Shadowheart looked at you with a triumphant smile.

It wasn't an easy feat to silence Astarion, yet she had achieved it so gracefully.

"I'll see you later, I suppose," she mused and you nodded. "It was rather entertaining seeing you again, Astarion."

He threw her an infuriating glance over his shoulder.

By the time she had closed the door behind her, you were already taking the scroll into your hands and whispering the incantation, as the paper scroll began to disintegrate itself.

A wave of warmth spread through your hands, before engulfing your body in it. Strength and heightened senses gradually returned to you as the lasting effects of him feeding on you dispersed.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted him glaring at you with a visible sulk.

"I'll come back next week."

"Leaving already?" He asked, fake heartbreak twisting his features and voice. "Was wondering if you could, perhaps, give me a hand."

He handed you your dagger, which you promptly slid back inside its sheath.

Your eyes then widened at his not so subtle suggestion.

Uncertainty boiled deep within you, and you had to muster your will to keep yourself from immediately leaving.

Astarion's healing path had been one he had decided to tread alone. The relationship he had with sex had been the reason you two had decided to be as friends and nothing more. You had fallen hard for him – or his deceit – but you figured what he truly needed was a friend and not a lover.

And so you left your infatuation for him behind.

It was better off this way.

But now… watching him fall back to his usual charming advances made you somewhat wary. Was he back to forcing himself to seek intimacy with his body, because he still couldn't do it effectively in any other way? Was he simply feeling more at ease?

You met his sultry gaze and cleared your throat. "Well, I'm sure you can ask that outrageously beautiful woman to help you out, if that is what you truly seek."

That seemed to have caught him by surprise, and he cocked his head. "What?"

"She seemed positively distraught for having to leave your company so early," you said, dragging the handkerchief down your neck to wipe off the trail of blood.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, darling?"

"Delusion does not suit you, darling."

He took a few steps towards you until you could see the crimson of his eyes flicker as they studied your face.

Your stomach turned.

The proximity made you feel vulnerable and you immediately felt naked under his burning gaze.

Astarion had over two centuries of practice when it came to reading others. It wasn't an easy feat to deceive him, and you were no exception.

"We traveled together for so long and I can safely say I never took you for a liar – perhaps too soft-hearted for my liking, but not a liar."

"I did not lie," you shot back, lifting your chin in defiance. "I can offer you my friendship and even my blood, but I'm not so sure about anything else."

He heaved a deep sigh.

"I just fed on you and the bloodlust can be quite… overwhelming," he confessed. "I usually take care of it myself, but you did taste absolutely exquisite tonight, what can I say?"

That caught you off guard.

"What do you mean? Take care of…" your voice trailed off as realization hit you.

Oh.

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Don't act so surprised. You can feel it whenever I'm feeding, can't you?" He took another step back and only came to a halt once your back was pressed against the carved-wood wall. "There is only so much I can withstand with your delicious blood coursing through my body, darling."

You swallowed hard.

He was being particularly firm on his advances tonight. You were used to his occasional flirtatious remarks whenever he fed on you ever since the arrangement took place. However, this was bringing things to a whole new level.

One that you hadn't expected you'd reach ever again with him.

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "Maybe you should stop feeding on me, then?"

A weightless taunt, obviously.

Crimson eyes darted all over your face as if studying you. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, before the corner of his mouth curled into an intriguing smile.

He had seen immediately right through it.

"If that is what you wish, then so be it," he said in a rather dismissive tone, but still towering over you.

You arched a brow. "That's it?"

"Darling, as immortal as I am, I do not beg," he continued, now tracing around the fresh bite marks on your skin with uncharacteristic tenderness. "I will surely find other exquisite necks to sink my teeth into."

His words carried a hint of a threat, which unsettled you.

"That was not the arrangement, Astarion," you said with a scowl. "It's either wild animals or my blood."

His fingertips paused at your pulse point, and you were certain he could feel the throbbing increasing rapidly. "How possessive of you, my dear," he mused playfully. "Although, I am quite sure you are aware that many do carry fantasies with vampires."

You pressed your lips together in a silent reply.

A man as attractive as Astarion was bound to allure all sorts of attention. When passing through Moonrise Towers, the drow Araj had tried to have him bite her in exchange for a rather powerful potion, but you had assured him that you did not demand anything against his will.

The memory still left a sour taste in your mouth.

But he did have a point.

Vampires could be regarded as a taste of the forbidden, and he could certainly deliver it.

"That was not the arrangement," you repeated through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore his previous remark.

His eyes narrowed dangerously in an instant.

"'The arrangement'," he mocked, inching near and pinning you frozen against the wall with the weight of his burning stare. "Does dear Wyll know that I haven't been exclusively feeding on wild animals? Because that was the arrangement, darling," his face drew closer and his cool breath fanned your skin.

Upon becoming Duke of Baldur's Gate, Wyll had agreed to allow Astarion to reside within its walls, but not without assuring he posed no danger to others.

But then you decided to volunteer in aiding him until a solution to his vampiric condition could be found. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long to find something useful.

Your research had led to a couple of enchanted items, but those were rare to come by. A wish spell seemed to be the easiest way, but even as a sorcerer and with Gale's help, it would be extremely challenging.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "He does. He knows blood from thinking creatures sates you more effectively, so he allows it for the time being."

He scoffed, dropping his hand from your neck. "How very thoughtful of him, indeed."

"This is what friends do."

He sneered at you. "Friends do not hand out ultimatums. Care to revive my memory?" His lips almost brushed against yours and you didn't dare take a breath. "I am to wag my tail like an obedient pup as I wait for a solution to this minor inconvenience, all the while enclosed in a golden cage."

Impatience gripped your nerves ferociously. "These things take time, Astarion."

"Oh, my darling… I have all the time in the world, but you only have a limited supply of blood," he whispered softly and you could almost taste his taunting words.

He drew back slightly, his glare so intense you felt yours waver and drop, catching a glimpse of his sharp canines. "We are actively looking for a solution. Gale is also making some progress-"

He pressed a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I am faulting you," he said, his face suddenly softening, as he caressed your lower lip. "If anything, you are the only reason I was ever able to kill Cazador."

He was being sincere, and that was what made your heart drop to your stomach.

"You have my eternal gratitude."

You shuddered under his touch, feeling your breath quicke, as his other hand trailed down your neck until it was resting just above your left breasts and beating heart.

He was too good at this…

Unfairly so.

"Wyll ought to allocate more of his resources into aiding me, don't you think? After all, you are the one at risk here," he continued. "I know he cares not for me, but I could have ascended and bent Baldur's Gate to my will… if not for your intervention."

"I'm not at risk," you said with a roll of your eyes. "And if you drink more than what you need, then you know the consequences."

His eyes dropped to your cleavage as he began to caress the flushed skin. With each deep breath you took, you pushed more of your breasts into him, further igniting the heat between your legs.

"Promises, promises… unfortunately for you, darling, your words don't match your body."

Fuck you. "You're impossible."

He slowly dipped his head until his lips grazed yours. "You would stake me?"

Never.

"I would."

He chuckled. "You would stake me as I sink my teeth into your darling neck and feast on your divine blood?"

No. "Yes."

But his smile only widened as amusement settled on his face. "I can't think of a better way to part this world for good."

Your mouth parted slightly in surprise, and he rolled his hips into you, earning a soft gasp.

You half-expected him to finally take your lips, but he tilted his head instead to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And your body nearly imploded as old sensations resurfaced.

Fuck.

"You're so sweet…" he whispered with a sigh, as he began to graze along your jaw, taking your hands in his and planting them on his waist. "So warm… the gods above could never do you justice." He continued in between light kisses with his hips matching the pace.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you lost track of how eagerly your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing impatiently against the waistband of his trousers.

Astarion groaned softly, helping you with the inconvenient lacing at the front. "And here I thought I was the starving one."

He always talked way too much and had a natural talent for doing so at the least opportune time.

"Can you shut up for once?"

"Gladly," he said as he quickly took your lips in his, muffling your groan of protest.

Reason told you to halt everything once. That you were taking things too fast, and that there was no need to indulge in such depravities.

But you had missed this.

You missed having him so close that he completely overtook your senses.

The kiss turned rougher and his tongue soon found yours. Instinct guided you as you succumbed to the vicious grip of desire, and you pressed yourself further into him.

It was almost embarrassing how wet you already were and how intensely your swollen clit was pulsing. Your body was already readying itself for him to be buried inside you, and you shuddered at the prospect of it.

Your tongue darted into his mouth and your eagerness had it glide across one of his sharp fangs, and you felt a sting of pain as you accidentally drew blood.

"Fuck," you grumbled, breaking the kiss at once.

The familiar taste of metal began to pool in your mouth, and you felt gentle fingers grip your jaw tight, as he titled your head back.

"I would apologise, but it was your own doing," he said with a smile, hunger in his eyes. "So let's not allow it to go to waste, hm?"

And then he pressed his lips against yours, immediately parting them with his experienced tongue, in search of the warm liquid he so badly craved.

The cut wasn't deep or wide enough to cause much to spill, but it was certainly enough for him to let out a beautiful moan of delight, as he lapped at your blood.

Your hands gripped the front of his trousers, the lacing now undone and offering you the opportunity to feel him, and he was kissing you so ardently, that your mind was completely clouded by all of him.

Testing the waters, you caressed his cock through the fabric.

He immediately parted from you to let out a delicious hiss, as he rolled his hips into the palm of your hand.

Astarion was incredibly hard, but just as you were about to slide it inside to grip him, he caught your wrist and held it firmly in place.

And everything halted all at once.

Your eyes found his, and he seemed… distant.

Concern washed over you. "Astarion?"

He was frozen, eyes fixed on the floor.

As he eased his grip on you, it became apparent that he wasn't listening to you.

Fuck.

You brought one hand to grip his shoulder. "Astarion…"

He shook his head lightly. "Give me a moment, darling."

The way the last word drawled out of his lips, made your heart clench violently. It was so instinctive for him, that you doubted he even realised he had uttered it.

You stood still, unsure of what to do to help.

The two of you remained silent for a few moments. You kept your hold on his shoulder, gently caressing it in an attempt to bring him some comfort.

Then you felt rage swirl in you.

Cazador had warped him in such a way and for so long, that the ramifications of his abuse on Astarion seeped so deep and gripped him so tight, causing you to feel nothing but anger.

You took a deep breath, and carefully placed your hands on either side of his face, slowly guiding him to meet your eyes.

He looked broken.

"I apologise."

You caressed his cool skin with your thumbs, shaking your head. "There is nothing to apologise for. Ever. Do you hear me?"

He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours. "I really wanted this."

Even though the two of you had grown apart over the past few weeks as he had distanced himself, you couldn't think of anyone else who had such a hold on you.

With one hand drifting along his soft curls, you pulled him further into a hug, which he promptly embraced, lacing his hands behind your back.

This was your Astarion.

The one who made it so easy to love and care for him.

"Sometimes what we want is not what we need."

His cheek was pressed to the side of your head and you heard a faint chuckle. "So poetic. I reckon Volo has competition."

"Your mind goes to Volo when holding me? Is there something you wish to tell me, Astarion?" you teased lightly.

He patted your back twice before letting go.

"Guilty as charged," he mused, slipping back into his usual antics.

He crossed the room, tying the laces of his trousers before plopping himself on the bed with a stretch of his arms.

"I'm sure you're exhausted. Maybe you should go back to that dullard friend of yours," he said with a sly grin.

His words hit you hard and your face dropped. "I can stay a little longer…"

He picked up the book next to him, examining the cover. "Whatever for? I'm perfectly fine, darling."

Now, this was not your Astarion.

Cold. Distant. Impenetrable.

The one who pushed you away whenever you attempted to bridge the gap that had come in between you two.

He focused his attention on the book in his hands and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Very well."

You composed yourself, and headed to the door, not even bothering to exchange another look.

"Thank you for the meal, and for… well, you know."

You nodded, feeling the overwhelming urge to just leave. "See you next week, then."

He didn't reply.

You rushed out of the room, feeling the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes, and you tried to convince yourself it was better off this way.

That he needed time and space.

That he didn't need you.

By the time you crossed the crowded lounge of the tavern, you crossed paths with that woman again.

She locked eyes with you, a faint smile curving her lips, as she rose to her feet from her chair, probably heading back to him.

She truly was a sight to behold, no doubt.

But what tore your heart was realising that, even after everything you'd been through with Astarion, he still favoured her company over yours.

Next chapter

Masterlist . Series masterlist. AO3

#astarion smut #astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion x mc

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horizon-verizon · 8 months ago

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Master Post of Anti-Criston Cole-ism

He was Never Raped or SA-ed

A) [HotD] HotD's Episode 4, from the Actor and Writers

🔗LINK to Entertainment Weekly Article that Describes Frankel & Writers Making this Scene Consensual Sex Scenes where Criston "Chooses" to Forget his Vows

Neither of these reveal that either the actor nor the writers or directors wrote the sex scene to be something Criston was afraid of or didn't want. The way it's talked about, with people "discovering" each other and themselves shows consent and enjoyment. Frankel wanted to play out his fear of Criston's own desire to break his own vows and facing the guilt of that; Rhaenyra never pressured him into anything.

REMINDER: He's still not "commonborn" nor Dornish, since:

he has a last name, which peasants don't have AND his father/house is House Cole, stewards of the Dondarrions...the Tyrells at one point were stewards to House Gardner in the Reach & they were still nobles of that time, stewards don't mean full fledged "servants"

Blackhaven is in the Stormland part of the Dornish Marches, not the Dornish part of the Dornish Marches...Samwell Tarly's family's castle is in the foothill of a part of the Dornish Marches, ....Barristan Selmy's family's castle, Harvest Hill, is based in the Dornish Marches in Stormlander territory, so is Barristan Selmy Dornish? Cole is a Stormlander!

Marchers hate Dornish people more than other nonDornish Westerosi do...Criston said his dad was a steward of the nonDornish Dondarrions...HotD has never shown us whether either of his parents are Dornish by origin so what proof do we have he is Dornish even in the show?!!! And we see no discrimination (hint or overt) the court has against Cole...

lets' say that Cole was Dornish...the Velaryons are black and realisitically, even rich Black people do not manage to avoid subtle racial discrimination (there's a black woman on TikTok from a wealthy family that talks about it, idk her name)...so if Criston faces racism and the Velaryons don't either the writers are incompetent or don't know racism

Not only is this a misreading of what the Dornish Marches are on the HotD writers'/producers' part, it's a misreading or understanding of race either in medieval times or the modern day, AND people have tried to use a supposed racial disparity b/t Rhaenyra (Valyrian-Targ princess) to argue that Cole (the racially-inferior) felt racial pressure as well to comply to sleep with her and avoid censure or punishment if she blabs...as if his race would give him the right to sleep with a teen girl who some have argued was also very drunk here-- even if Criston was Dornish!

ii) [HotD] HotD's Episode 4, from the actual Episode

People don't know what SA or rape actually looks like...can we just, please?...

B) "If the Roles were Reversed" [HotD AND the Original Story]

Rhaenyra didn't "make" him do anything b/c she doesn't have the ability to take on that new level of risk. So much protest using the "if the genders were reversed", and yet no acknowledgment or breakdown of what their respective unique positions are.

A male heir =/= a female heir in terms of power and privilege, gender really matters even here, as every source on the matter--whether HotD or the original story--has made every single minute to point out and emphasize...the only reason we are even talking about the Dance is that it was a group of people arguing that no woman should go before a man inn any line of succession which comes from the belief that women are inherently insufficient military leaders. And female chastity is a whole concept in of itself where the woman/girl must be sexually "pure" as to ensure that a man's and his family's lineage remains "proven" to be inherited by someone blood-connected to them. To preserve that wealth and privilege. etc., within that family. Female chastity - female "obedience" or submission to male supremacy.

Women could never be knights so they can never be Kingsguard.

Brienne is not a knight...yet[?], and she exists YEARS after the Dance; even if there were female monarchs before, check out real history for how medieval people regarded female rulers if they didn't happen to be very "good" ones...I mean just check out Juana I of Castile!

We can never equalize these situations in matter of gender because this society structures on the inequality of its genders.

A World of Ice and Fire shows us glaring examples of women over men being brutally sidelined or physically attacked to make way for male leaders or candidates (Shiera Blackwood, Agnes Blackwood, that unnamed Lannister woman who had to marry a non-Lannister man so he could take her name just so he could lead the Lannister house instead of her, Argella Durrandon, Marla Sunderland); Fire and Blood has a bunch of girls raped, mutilated, SA-ed or sexually manipulated so the men can inch their way towards power or to just feel in control (Cassandra Baratheon, Lucinda Penrose, those Tumbleton 8-year-olds, the septas, etc.).

Making as if sexual violence against men or just general violence against men is treated the same, as frequent, and socially justified as violence against women and girls both in real life and in the ASoIaF/HotD/GoT universes is disingenuous. As long as we live in a society where enough people think a woman's body is never totally her own, it never will be.

ii) Let's play with this "Reversal" Anyway:

a) We already see Rhaenyra-Criston in the version of her approaching him...

In F&B, we already have one verison of what happened b/t them in Mushroom telling us of a situation of Rhaenyra approaching Criston and Criston denying her, with no material consequences for him...and he freely decides to hate and try to destroy her anyway ("A Question of Succession"):

Even IF Rhaenyra approached Criston and in this way, she does not go to Viserys to ruin Cole or do anything else to him. She sleeps with Harwin instead. And why doesn't she go to Viserys to fuck Criston's life up? Bc he has been her trusted guard for ages, but also because of what I say below in section b) below and i) above.

Reminder, Viserys in both the show and book forces Rhaenyra to marry Laenor, and book!her explicitly is rumored to say she wanted Daemon. She faces censure or punishment, not Cole.

Show!Rhaenyra has also been "friends"/friendly with Cole for years; what reason do we have to expect or fear that she'd complain to Viserys? How much does Criston really expect Rhaenyra does, since he's the said friend in her "confidence"?

b) Occam's razor

Since women cannot be Kingsguard in Westeros, the female-Cole would either be a lower-ranked noble woman or she would be like Jonquil Darke, the female sworn-shield of Alysanne Targaryen (who still wasn't part of the Kingsguard). JD was also a Darkling bastard.

It's so very unlikely that even if female-Cole become the guard to young/older male-Rhaenyra.

That's inconceivable to these people. Why would the probably already-sword trained male-Rhaenyra need a personal female-guardsman when they'd have an actual Kingsguard knight (still all male) as the male-Rhaenyra's guard before a female warrior is ever considered? This is the mindest of these royals and nobles, btw.

And again, Jonquil was the protector of Alysanne, not Jaehaerys. But Jaehaerys did use Jonquil to stop Saera from running away, and this proves that Jonquil's "final boss" is and always has been Jaehaerys, aka, the Monarch, not the person she was protecting. If a male-Rhaenyra approached a female-Cole (but not a bastard) who was a sort of Jonquil Darke person, even with that female-Cole being well-versed in swordsmanship or anything physical to defend herself, the social consequences of that woman sleeping with a royal man while not being married to him is still as real and worse for her than for him. She'd be less willing to fully engage with him and dread the consequences of his growing angry with her.

What if female-Cole was just a regular noblewoman, either ranked high from a prestigious family/Great House (Starks, Martell, Hightowers, Lannisters, Manderlys] or from a lower ranked or not-as-prestigious and influential family (Tarlys, Selmys, Boltons, Wyls)? And male-Rhaenyra took a liking to female-Cole but didn't want to or expect to marry them?

Because female-Cole is a female noble and had grown up knowing that women & girls are socially condemned for actually practicing sexual autonomy, they'd be much more cautious and vulnerable to censure in either scenario:

If the female-Cole was from a more prestigious or "Great" House, male-Rhaenyra wouldn't as likely approach them unless they thought they'd be good for marriage because that house is powerful and important enough to put some pressure on them IF they ever found out. An affair is very possible, and depending on female-Cole's age and assessment of her own abilities and worth growing up female, we don't know whether they'd be willing to pursue a true consensual affair with male-Rhaenyra without there being a hope or guarantee for marriage. Because, like Lysa Tully, they still run the risk of tainting their family/house' image and face punishment or abuse from their own family if such affairs were made public. (If I have to explain Lysa Tully to people, they either forgot what happens b/t her & Petar Baelish or never read the bks, and if the latter they should not speak on anything to do with any character in things like this that requires lore knowledge AND some objectivity. Or they don't see what happened to her as "a big deal"...) Still, there is room for her to not want the attention because women are not a monolith of the exact same personalities or circumstances for us to believe every single woman would go for a real affair regardless of there being a desire or expectation of marriage. Thus what I describe below for lower ranked women/girls still counts. If anything, the stakes can be said to be higher because her family's prestige or power is so high that they could also take the path of blaming her. Therefore, a woman/girl of this group could still feel cornered.

If female-Cole came from a lower/less prestigious house, male-Rhaenyra is more interested & likelier of pursuing an affair or making female-Cole their paramour/mistress. Same situation, but the girl has even less reason to believe that there would be a marriage bc her house' rank/prestige/powers are so low for a possible marriage to the future King. She'd have to be either be mentally incapacitated (Priscella Hogg), under another immense pressure, or very young to believe that. So in this case, there is a stronger likelihood that if she sleeps with male-Rhaenyra, it's because she was cornered or felt she couldn't avoid him and had no assurances to avoid him later on. Or that he'd later feel slighted and begin rumors of her in court and her reputation gets ruined either way.

in either case, because male-Rhaenyra is a man while female-Cole isn't and men are far more likely to use physical force to intimidate or push a woman down then the reverse; men on average feel entitled to women's bodies' and attention, what more a royal prince like Aegon & Aemond? (I didn't use these examples by accident: that 12 yr old "paramour" Septon Eustace informs us and Alys Rivers)

And male-Rhaenyra would be the heir, still. There would be no doubt against male-Rhaenyra because she'd be male, male leaders are credited their deserving to rule armies by being male. His path to ascension is clearer than what real-Rhaenyra currently and will have to face. Male-Rhaenyra has no reason to even be all that secretive with female-Cole if he did intend on making her his paramour & he thought he'd get away with just making her his paramour...which is most likely a woman in a much lower "rank" or of a family with much lower powers than some others. Yes, Viserys would say that he is acting "unseemly", he could be called stupid or reckless, and some lords and ladies would think he's acting too licentuously...but no one would begrudge or hate male-Rhaenyra long for extramaritally/premaritally sleeping with a woman of any origin as to say they were a "whore" or try to use this as their primary reason be shouldn't be the next King. The "new" greens don't as much shit to stand on. They'd look silly(ier) for actually using this as a reason to say he shouldn't be King.

Female-Cole has little to no leverage against a male-Rhaenyra in the specific moment of a sexual cornering bc there is simply more risk for her than for him based on their respective genders AND ranking. We can't separate the two, they will inform the other.

Cole-Cole has more social leverage than a woman actually corned by a male higher-ranking noble/royal bc Rhaenyra-Rhaenyra's reputation can be ruined a lot easier than a male heir's. In any iteration, female-Cole rather than Cole-Cole has more risk & pressures in because women are given less grace in events where it's known they extramaritally/premaritally sleep with a man. Because she's already side-eyed or doubted to be a capable leader or worthy, censures against her lack of practicing female obedience and chastity would make her seem less deserving of the throne and give her enemies more fuel to fire their own agenda.

Again, this hierarchical feudal society is built on making gender, class, etc. essential differences that grant individuals privileges over others.

Finally, Criston Cole, his relationship with Rhaenyra, AND their sex /how it happened cannot be compared to a modern-day boss-employee-relationship/sexual harassment sort of sex-reversed MeToo! situation. Viserys is, as many have said on both camps, Criston's real and unequivocal "boss". Really, this whole argument then diminishes what actual SA is and the MeToo! movement's focus on holding mainly male professional superiors accountable for willfully using their positions to assault those under them.

The writers trying to make Rhaenyra the one in with more psychological control over Criston when canonically there' isn't much evidence to support that is very suspicious.

Reasons to Hate Cole

A) Show/House of the Dragon

Let's really think about Criston's suggestion to run away and marry.

The guy said this in episode 5 of season 1:

I've soiled my white cloak. And it's the only thing I have to my fսck¡ng name! I thought if we were married, I might be able to restore it.

Criston's logic reveals he's more concerned about retaining his own sense and perception of his honor and not "honor" in general bc running away to elope would bring great disgrace to both his and Rhaenyra’s families & houses. Not just Rhaenyra herself. If it is Rhaenyra's "duty" to marry Laenor, she would be breaking her vows to become Queen. If she runs away, she arguably broke her vows to "protect" the realm from the Others as by her and Viserys' conversation about Aegon's prophecy. Cole may not have heard this from Rhaenyra, but he didn't want to hear anything from her because all he wanted was for her to go along with what he wanted, not to actually listen to her any misgivings she may have had.

He looked at marriage as a way to "bring back" a sense of honor for himself. Vows hold "sacred" honor. Criston is trying to distance himself from the very idea of freely and willfully “soiling” his cloak by trying to "replace" his brken vows with new marriage vows.

Remeber, he consented to sex with Rhaenyra, so it was his willful decision to sleep with her and "soil" his own "cloak". The writers and the actor, again, both work in the understanding that Cole "chooses to lie with Rhaenyra" [top of this post].

Criston absolutely knows that she can't marry him in the usual, open way and still retain her position as heir or even as part of the royal family. He's asking her to abandon her entire family...let that sink in. It shows a gender disparity that does not justify "if the roles were reversed". Lower-ranked-Female-Cole would never and could never hope to convince the male-Rhaenyra to run away with her and start an entirely new life, abandon both of their families (for marriage specifically) bc he doesn't have to in order to marry her. He may lose some people's respect if he marries her, but the consequences for him versus a female heir are not the same. A female heir would have to run away & not be among other Westerosi nobles, become a peasant, etc. to marry someone like Cole. *EDIT (3/17/24)* Example: Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones. *END OF EDIT*

He was attracted to her, but his main motivation was to escape the shame of his soiled cloak and soiled honor. That his honor is actually a lie, a made-up thing in itself. That he, himself, soiled it and thus he, himself, has made himself a liar.

ii)

He has been living in court being Rhaenyra’s personal guard for years. Some of us thought that he should have known that nobles largely do not follow the same rules that excuse their positions through rumors. That they withhold and lie to protect themselves. (And generally, humans are wont to try to bend their own rules to satisfy their own desires.)

And so we think that he should have done the same--patiently withhold information and observe what happens so he could adapt to it--while Alicent was getting to ask if Rhaenyra had slept with Daemon, and not if he slept with her.

It may not be faithful to one's vows, but if he actually knew what kind of person Rhaenyra was--that she would never run away with him (as he should after so many years of being with her and thus I think he did know but asked anyway, this he never really cared about her but himself)--then he should have never brought up the suggestion of running away or thought she'd ever marry him. What exactly did he think would happen for him after sleeping w/her? And as I argued, he had much more choice than some may think and took advantage of it. As nobles often do.

And yet, he decides that Rhaenyra is responsible for what he freely chose for himself AND what he could have easily avoided as a man/Kingsguard and her being female. And he does so so he can avoid accountability. Rhaenyra is much less likely to be able to & doesn't want to, once again, "make" him do anything with her. And Rhaenyra does not control Criston Cole's conscience nor his penis nor his reasoning.

Occam's razor again.

iii)

He decides to take it out on the Velaryon boys, as clued by what happens in the training yard of episode 6. It's obvious he refuses to treat them similarly to the green princes and train them at the same level. He's also much more physically rough with Jace than with either green boy. Finally he presses for Aegon to get more violent than necessary against Jace, clearly taking pleasure in vicarious revenge against Rhaenyra.

He's a loser who uses children's pain to inflict his own frustrations. And no, "illegitimate" children are not less human than "trueborn" ones.

B) Fire and Blood (The Original Story)

These are the versions of what happens b/t them, Septon Eustace's vs Mushroom's ("A Question of Succession"):

Really, alinahams already tackled this HERE, so check them out.

Excerpt:

In both versions, Criston is never involved with Rhaenyra in any way. Both versions take care to mention how it was all about Rhaenyra's choices about her life and body that bothered Criston and made him hate her. It's never about Criston being used and discarded. That is what makes Criston an Incel and a villain. Rhaenyra never did anything wrong to him. She didn't do anything to deserve his life long hatred and betrayal. It was his own twisted madonna/whore complex that ruined his friendship with Rhaenyra.

Criston decides to make it his life mission to destroy Rhaenyra because he couldn't handle her making her own decisions, bc honestly even if she (a 16-17 yr old) had decided to try to seduce him as Viserra did with Baelon...did Baelon hold it against Viserra or say that she was a whore or try to condemn her or get back at her for daring to "disturb" him in his grief over his dead wife, their sister, Alyssa?

Even with Baelon being a prince to Criston's Kingsguard, we see that both Viserra & Rhaenyra were desperate to have some sense of control over their own bodies through sex--and for Viserra through a marriage to a more powerful man--because it is through sex and marriage that their entire autonomy is being taken away or suppressed. And some in this fandom have argued that Viserra was bad or amoral for trying to seduce Baelon in his grief, and some have even said she was trying to take advantage of him! But does Baelon think this way or try to "avenge" himself on her? No.

Why try to ruin her and her kids' entire lives? Once more, Rhaenyra, even in Mushroom's version, does not ever complain to Viserys or try to ruin Criston. So....

#criston cole #criston cole's characterization #fire and blood characters #hotd characterization #rhaenyra and criston #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra's characterization #hotd episode 4 #hotd episode 5 #book vs tv comparisons #f&b master post #hotd #asoiaf #fire and blood

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pastel-omegas-blog · 1 year ago

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Manor of Roses 🥀

Chapter one

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️𝕎𝔸ℝℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾!!! 𝕎𝕀𝕃𝕃 ℂ𝕆ℕ𝕋𝔸𝕀ℕ 𝕄𝔸𝕋𝕌ℝ𝔼 𝕋ℍ𝔼𝕄𝔼𝕊 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕍𝕀𝕆𝕃𝔼ℕℂ𝔼 ( 𝕄𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔹𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕣, 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕/𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖, 𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕖.) ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Alistair Dove

The ruling lord of an independent territory that was out of sight and hidden from the general populace, a territory known as the ' Field of Lillie's ' that lived their own lives free from outside influence.

A place had been described as ' The heavens on earth ' by the few people who had been privileged enough to be allowed entry into the mysterious and closed off land.

They called it a utopia that hadn't been tainted by the evil and cruelness of the world.

A land were it's citizens lived in peace without any stress or panic of monster attack, famine or fear of any life threatening diseases breaking out.

It was a land that was described to be flowing with milk and honey.

With rich fertile lands that bore sweet fruits and bountiful harvests almost all year round.

Clear skies, clear flowing rivers and streams all stretching as far as the eye could see.

It was a sight that remained people that wonders, fulfillment and peace could still be found in this world that was being plagued by war, death and famine.

With a world currently thrown into war and chaos because of the demon kings invasion.

The only thing separating it from the outside world was the huge wall of Lillie's rising up into the sky grow around every inch of the territory acting as a barrier to separate and isolate from the rest of the harsh world ( the barrier giving the place it's name )

While the land behind these walls remained safe and tranquil the rest of the world had been thrown into hopelessness.

The skies were a haunting blood red, a colour that took over the once blue skies the day the demon lord attacked, even in the night the haunting colour would remain dying the skies.

The red rays of the sun made the lands barren, Crops and grass life were shrinking and becoming withered eventually dying off, the grounds becoming baked and harden making it almost impossible to plant new grain.

The livestocks were falling I'll to an unknown disease that caused the animals to become hollow husks of skin and bones that would eventually die off.

The lack of food for the people to eat had caused a great famine take over the land, making people do the unimaginable things to survive

the streams, rivers, oceans and seas were drying up with every day that passed making water becoming harder to find and any water pound filled to the brim had already been infested with an inky blackness that killed anyone desperate enough to drink it.

The ever growing mountain of corpses had led to foul diseases sweeping over the land.

Feral månå beasts and monsters wrecked havoc on the already suffering land, killing what was left of the people trying to survive.

But the Field of Lillie's was a place unaware of the suffering of the rest of the world.

And with such a blessed land free from the struggles of the outside it was only natural for the people who reside in it to be happy and kind hearted souls, who had not a single worry in the world.

With such a land that catered to its peoples every needs it wasn't much of a surprise that the people were all very welcoming and nice to everyone.

There was no social class separating anyone.

Even though the place held recessive alphas and omegas , They weren't elevated above the betters nor did they act like they were superiors, there was no such things as nobles or peasants.

There was no oppression amongst the people midst.

No discrimination amongst people of different species.

Hybrids, elves, goblins, orcs, sirens, dragon borns etc, all stayed together without having any contempt towards one another.

No slums.

No one suffering.

No pain.

It was just people living together in peace and harmony with everyone doing their part to help in the community.

Visitors who had been fortune enough to enter would always talk non stop about the peoples welcoming aura.

Their kind smiles, their incredible hospitality, their wonderful personalities.

And ruling over these kind souls was none other than Alistair.

He was like a painting that depicted the raw essence of purity and innocence.

With a heart of gold he had taken up the demanding role of being the figure head that watched over and catered to the needs of his people

Yet he still had an air of authority around him that made him a capable and well respected leader.

A beautiful elven dominant omega with a lovely feminine face.

With pale Ivory skin that resembled that of a porcelain doll.

He had Long pale silvery white hair that was always tied neatly in a bun with silk ribbons, his front bangs dropping to cover his left eye.

His right eye that was visible had thick long silvery lashes that fluttered on the top of his cheek bones whenever he blinked.

The colour of his eye was a breathtaking shade cerulean blue, one that seemed to send people into a trance whenever they made eye contact with him as the feeling of Serenity and peace seemed to take over their being.

A rosey pink blush dusted his pale cheek and his thin, glossy pink lips always seemed to be stretched into a sweet smile.

His slender feminine figure was clothed in flowy white silk robes with pretty embroideries of Lillie's that accentuated his form.

An air of elegance and kindness seemed to seep off him.

Even though the territory was hidden from the eyes of others as it wanted to separate itself from the harsh political environment of others places, the elven omega and his people had sent out food stuff and medical aid hoping to help them, even though they could easily ignore what was going on and focus solely on themselves.

Their kindness would not let them sit down ideally and watch others suffer when they could do something to help relieve the pain.

And it with such a kind heart he had accepted to house the heroes party that was destined to slay the demon king.

Even if doing so would create a huge target on the backs of him and his people.

Alistair had told them he would provide everything during their stay and that the magic of the walls would be enough to fend against the demon kings dark arts and that he would be at their beck and call for whatever they needed during their stay in his manor as they rejuvenated themselves .

So here they were relaxing in the pretty gardens of the Dove manor as the villagers attended to their every needs.

The heroes who were destined to slay the demon king were all taking a much deserved rest.

Under the soft rays of the surprisingly blue sky's they could laze around without the constant threat of death looming over their shoulders.

" Aah~ This is the life " a brown haired elven man said as he stretched his body letting out a content sigh when a bone popped going to snuggle in his hammock under the relaxing shade of a tree.

" You've got that right captain " the deep voice of a dragon hybrid chimed in as he brought a huge jug of fresh grape wine to his lips chugging the rich liquid down in large chucks, stretching the jug out to a scantly dressed woman to pour another round for him.

" I can't remember the last time I was able to laze around like this. A change from constantly worrying about our necks and one I'm enjoying " a fox hybrid said sleepy as he stretched his joints until he felt a satisfied pop, before going back to resting on the tree branch of the apple he had been sleeping on stretching a hand to grab a bright red apple, bringing it to his lips to take a satisfying a bite out of it.

" The religion might differ from that of the empire, yet they managed to escape the ire of the demon king. How very fascinating. " A pretty dark fairy woman dressed in white holy robes, her pretty pink hair hidden under the veil on her head said as she sat on the lush green grass under the shade of a giant tree reading the land's holy scriptures.

Yes.

Almost every member of the heroes party seemed be enjoying their well deserved break.

Everyone except their human healer, a ' beta ' commoner named M/N.

Something about this whole place just........... rubbed him the wrong way.

Everytime he tired to enjoy himself like the others his stomach would tie itself into knots and his guy would star screaming at him to get away from here.

And he also couldn't knock off the feeling that someone was constantly watching him.

Besides they had been there for far to long.

What was originally supposed to be a two days rest had now turned to a stay of three months.

And every single day the demon king got stronger.

And it wasn't as if the rest had been training their hardest to get stronger so they could defeat their enemy.

Instead of training they had been spending their days leisuring around without a care in the world and with each passing day they tried to down play the war happening outside the giant lily walls.

It was almost as if the land was influencing them to abandon their mission of slaying the demon king ( he wasn't accusing the people and their leader of using dark magic, but his gut told him that had to be it, because only dark magic would be able to have effect in controlling the mind of the gods chosen ones )

But everytime he tried to bring it up to the others he was met with.......... A bit of resistance.

" U.....um Tresyil d... don't you think it's time w...we start m.. moving ? "

The s/c man's soft voice spoke up as he questioned his leader and the once warm and tranquil air became cold and over bearing.

The human felt his breath hitch in his throat as all everyone turned their attention to him, their gazes cold and condescending.

" Oh ? Since when did you become the leader of the party that you think you can start giving out orders "

The once jovial voice of the party's brown haired captain was now cold and authoritative, one that made the h/c man freeze in his spot as panic bubbled in his chest knowing what the other was implying.

When did a flithy human start to question the decisions of a pure blood elf ?

" N..no! T...that's not w.. what I meant-AAH!" the h/c tired to defend himself only for an empty wooden jug to slam into his forehead causing a yelp of pain to leave his lips as his hands flew up to nurse the forming bruise.

" YOU SHUT YER TRAP YOU FILTHY ÅHENAKI OR I'LL COME THERE TO DO IT FER YA !!! "

The dragon hybrid hollered out a pissed off expression on his face as he was struggling to get up from his seat, only been calmed down by the scantily dressed women by his side.

M/N winced in pain biting the inside of his cheek to force his whimpers down, not wanting to agitate the other any further.

" Now now Reigon you should calm your self down, you wouldn't want to destroy anything and upset our hosts who have been so awfully kind to us " the fairy folk spoke up causing the dragon to turn his attention towards her.

" I'm not causing any trouble Eva!!! It's the filthy Åhenaki that refuses to know it's place "

Reigon grumbled out with a huff, leaning into the touch of the beautiful women around as they whispered praises into his ears that calmed him down.

" Still not an accuse. You could have damaged that jug just now " the nun replied more worried about the jug than her teammate who's wound was beginning to bleed.

" She's right you know " Tresyil spoke up and the fairy nodded her head at her Captain's support.

" That was uncalled for. You could have broken that and that would have made Alistair disappointed " the brown haired elven man said and the dragon hybrid flinched at his words.

" Y..yer right cap'n Lord Dove wouldn't be happy about that. My bad " the dragon hybrid apologized and elf nodded his head in understanding.

" It's okay ....." The brown haired man stared, his eyes going to glare at the human who let out a soft whimper of fear

" After all you were simply reminding something to know it's place "

M/N felt overwhelming shame and embarrassment fill him to the brim and he fought back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

Looking at the direction of where the fox hybrid was staying watching the whole ' show ' go down the h/c man hoped he would speak to the rest of their teammates and tell them to go easier on him.

Like he always did.

But instead the man simply looked away unbothered as he continued eating his apple

Knowing his presence was not needed the human ( and not wanting to listen to the hateful things that would be directed at him if he stayed any longer ) M/N quickly gathered himself and sputtered out excuses before leaving the midst of the heroes.

Cerulean blue eye watched the interaction from afar, a frown tugging down the owners lips as he watched the human leave.

" He still hasn't fallen for the illusion "to man mumbled to himself in annoyance.

Even someone as powerful as him was finding it hard to put a simple human under his control, if the others should find out they would never let him hear the end of it.

" Looks like I need to get rid of him personally" he said with a tired sigh as he started walking away.

Other than the bloody mess he was about to make ( one that he wouldn't be cleaning up ) he has no worries.

It was clear the others had no interest in the well being of the human so getting rid of him would probably make them fall faster for his mind control.

Now that that was settled all that was left of now was to dispose of the nuisance.

‡CLASS HIERARCHY‡

DOMINANT ALPHAS

Are the highest of the whole tier and can control the others.

They have very large body frames and can stand from 6 - 9 feet at times.

*Note* some hybrid species can grow taller and bigger than this

Their pheromones are so strong that even Betas can perceive them and easily get manipulated by it, they have the same effect on omegas, but dominant omegas ate able to resist it a bit.

They usually come from higher noble back grounds,but can be found in middle class as well, but their usually illegitimate children who have royal or higher ranking noble blood in their veins

Ruts usually have a strong effect on them and make them lose themselves to instincts. It tends to last for five days to a week and in the time they are constantly try to make sure their seed is buried deep within their partners.

Ruts can last a few days longer if they are one that uses frequently superssants.

RECESSIVE ALPHAS:

They are more common than Dominant Alphas, but their body frame and height is not as daunting as their Dominant counter parts , standing from 6 - 8 feet.

*Note* some hybrid species can still grow taller than this

Their scents are also not as strong, but they can still attract recessive omegas and betas with not much difficulty, there is a very strong resistance with dominant omegas though.

Female Recessive alphas also have the ability to get pregnant, but by dominant alphas only.

Majority of them tend to lack the pseudo penis in their Virgina like female dominant alphas do and even if they do, most noble families usually perform surgeries to get rid of it so they can engage them off to either male recessive alphas or any gender dominant alphas to increase chances of pregnancy.

They go through heat, but it is very weak and only causes them slight discomfort and some don't even experience it all all.

The highest the heats tend to last for the ones who do experience it is a day and a half.

Male recessive alphas experience rut, but it doesn't affect as severely as their dominant counterparts, but they still loose control and tend to succumb to their instincts. It usually lasts for 3 - 5 days.

BETAS:

They are very common in this world making at least 51% of the total population.

They also have scents but theirs are very weak compared to the Alphas and omegas.

How strong one's pheromones determine their worth.

Betas have very little pheromones making them worthless in the eyes of alphas and omegas.

They also cannot perceive pheromones all that well ( unless the person is from the dominant hierarchy ) so they usually use body build to determine what the second gender of a person is or they ask.

Female betas also experience heat , but theirs is not as painful as an omega, but is more serious than a female Recessive alphas and lasts for 2 days maximum.

They can usually go through it without the help of a mate, but their fertility levels are not that high.

All betas are commoners and peasants folk and unless they've had a history of other classes in their family tree it will remain that way.

They are seen as lesser in this society.

DOMINANT OMEGAS:

Are the most sought out of Omegas since they have very beautiful appearances and very alluring pheromones.

Their fertility level is also very high and in some rare cases they can carry 3 to 5 pups at a time.

Like Dominant Alphas, Dominant omegas are mostly found in higher noble families or in the royal bloodline, but can be found in middle class or poorer noble backgrounds as well ( this happens in very rare cases )

A dominant omega's heat can last for a week but can also become week an a half if they are one to constantly use superssants

In some rare cases they don't experience heats until much later in their life due to stress or over working

RECESSIVE OMEGAS

They are also very pretty and have nice pheromones, but their scents are not as strong as their dominant counter parts.

Their heats usually last up to five days.

They don't have high fertility rates as well and can only have one or two pups throughout their life time, but there's a reason for this.

Their class can get pregnant and also make their dominant counter parts pregnant as well, so marriages between the two omega classes do happen, although very rarely since majority of the time both classes prefer alpha partners

HUMANS

Humans are creatures that have been condemned by the holy scriptures of all empires, nations, countries and kingdoms for being the children of a rouge deity that caused destruction and chaos by disturbing the peace of the gods and goddesses in the heavens.

By the holy scriptures humans and are a few other species are the ones that are written to not have received blessings from the goddess of light, the god of wind and the the god of nature, the three major gods that are being worshipped in the religion of Luveriux.

Humanity is seen as a dirt and a mistake in the perfect society of mythics and hybrids as they lack the ability to wield strong månå attributes and physical strength.

Where hated because of the words of the holy scriptures but the hate and brutality against this species became worse after they tried to ' wage war ' on the mythics which led to over 95 percent of their population being wiped out.

The war itself happened over a millennia ago and not much is known other than how brutally the humans lost.

Because of the outcome of the war humans are now treated worse than before.

Humans themselves are now very rare and are going extinct little by with less than a hundred full blooded humans walking around ( this number is unknown and believed to be smaller )

Not much is actually know about this species.

This work is just an excuse to create a new dominant omega oc and a porn with plot story. Stay tuned for future updates.

Also here's my Twitter account give me a follow if your up to and like my art will post art of Alistair latter today.

https://twitter.com/Pastel_63

#omegaverse #x omega male reader #x male reader #fantasy #x reader #x bottom male reader #omega x omega #x omegaverse reader #historical x male reader #fantasy x male reader #hybrid oc

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venndaai · 1 month ago

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I remember, back in the day, there were a lot of complaints about various Inquisition companions being hypocritical liberals who didn't want to change the status quo, but like, on replay, it seems obvious that this is very much a Theme for the game. DAO and DA2 star ragtag groups of outcasts, but in DAI, every companion joins the Inquisition under the banner of "restoring order". Despite their wildly different perspectives, every single one of them has a vested interest in returning Thedas to the status quo- much to the frustration of Solas, and yet Solas himself is seeking a return to the original status quo that he now regrets disrupting.

To me, DAI is posing to the player the question that Solas is also asking. "Should this broken, unjust world be destroyed?"

Sera hates nobles and enjoys killing them, but she's not going to lead a peasant rebellion, because she's not willing to pay the price in peasant blood. Iron Bull hates the suffering under feudalism, but he's not willing to lead a Qunari invasion and see the people he loves suffer and die. Vivienne wants power, but she doesn't want the uncertainty and chaos of war. Dorian hates what Tevinter is, but can't give up on reform. Cullen's been physically and mentally destroyed by the Templars but doesn't want them disbanded. Cassandra bitterly disagrees with Chantry doctrine and corruption, but is haunted by every decision that leads to destruction.

Cole learns that killing is not the only way to help.

And they're not supposed to be Right, I think, they're just there as a counterpoint, to show that even in a world as fucked up as Thedas, most people don't want dramatic change. Particularly people who have managed to survive and thrive.

#blackwall and varric i need to think about more #josephine is... too deep in the workings of the system. fish who doesn't know the word for water #and leliana. well. leliana's too insane to fit into this dichotomy lol #dragon age blogging #I think there are definitely justified criticisms of the shallowness and toothlessness of NPCS like Fiona and Briala #but also it would make no sense to have a rebel mage or loyal templar or revolutionary companion #when the Inquisition is a force for Order

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1000sunnygo · 1 year ago

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Law really thinks the love Doflamingo shows for his Family is 100% superficial doesn't he.

"You vile human, you only gather people you can use as tools and you had no love for your brother"

"Fine, i have no love for my brother - If that helps you sleep at night."

It's just not true.

There are countless evidences against the assumption that Doflamingo sees his family as mere tools. Doflamingo cares them, pampers them - he feeds Diamante's ego, protects Baby 5 from local creeps. He saved abandoned children and raised them (most of whom were scared away by Corazon). He'd kill anyone for laughing at his family's vulnerable sides - their muteness and "funny voice". he took Rosinante back in the crew without a question even though Rosinante was suspiciously absent throughout his entire childhood. He studied Flevance's history immediately upon Law's arrival and was the first person to berate the superstitious ill treatment Law received for his disease, forgave every major failure of Baby 5/Buffalo/Trebol/Sugar/Jiolla during the alliance's raid. These all can't be fake. Doflamingo may sacrifice his Family member as last resort but he does not want that.

Doflamingo is a narcissist sociopath, but there are people who he wants to treat right, as best as he can - an influence that erases empathic outlook towards the world but offer protection and a safe home. If you're a useless coward with weak resolution like Bellamy, you're a nobody. But if you're capable in Doflamingo's eyes, he's got your back.

Law himself subconsciously took advantage of Doflamingo's care for his Family when he halted Doffy by blackmailing Jiolla.

Whether it's due to Doflamingo's experience throughout the "peasant life" or a hint of goodness passed genetically from his parents, Doflamingo's love exists and has a quality compared to as seen in other nobles/world nobles ie. Saint Rosward or Outlook lll.

But it's selective, and Doflamingo can't stand betrayal.

Law despises Doflamingo for doing something he didn't want to.

Whether Doflamingo is by birth a narcissist sociopath or no, he was wronged by his environment and family.

Doflamingo's "family" is a small circle of people, yet he was betrayed within this circle repeatedly. Homing did it first. Then Rosinante. When Doflamingo killed his brother, he had to come in terms with the reality that his blood family are his enemies.

And finally, Law did.

Law overheard Doflamingo's statement that rightfully made him lose his respect and trust. But, once again, it's not what Doflamingo wanted to happen.

Doflamingo's value of "nakama" isn't the same as Luffy or Law's, it doesn't transcend personal goals. He fully endorses his role of a captain, a King, protected by an army who'd lay their lives for him. It's not selfless but doesn't make him as big of a scumbag towards every single human as Law (and Rosinante) assumed he is. If Corazon didn't betray him first, he would've been alive.

Now, what would it be like, if Law and Doflamingo's paths ever cross again?

While Doflamingo remains irredeemable for the crimes he committed in general, imo, his redemption for killing Corazon (in particular) had been resolved once Dressrosa (the people who Corazon wanted to save from Doflamingo) were freed. The final arc is building up antagonists that can't be taken down by a single group of pirates. There will be full-fledged war. If Law and Doflamingo do encounter each other, they'd be on the same side against the same enemy.

Doflamingo's connection with the ones "up higher" is vague at best. There are missing details as to what happened when Doflamingo returned to mariejeoise with Homing's head, how he discovered Imu and/or the national treasure. It's likely that Doflamingo learned the details of Ope ope fruit specifically because he knew Imu's history.

Donquixotes have been repeatedly pitted against Celestial dragons' belief and traditions. Mosjgard being a Donquixote is an interesting detail, probably added as an afterthought for some reason.

Oda wouldn't have made Law a "D" if he isn't meant to play a pivotal role against the Celestial dragons, especially now that it's vaguely confirmed it's his fruit that made Imu immortal. We don't know why Law's family kept the D hidden and what the hidden name "Water" stands for.

Law right now is dragged into another potential revenge subplot but we know blackbeard isn't his to beat. Oda might've separated Law from his crews to directly incorporate him in the Imu plotline instead of the race for One piece.

I think Law's future role doesn't involve combat, at least, it won't be the main focus. Law losing his sword reinforces this assumption.

All these considered, a temporary collaboration of Law and Doflamingo for Imu's downfall isn't entirely off the table - Doflamingo knowing what can be done and Law possessing the "what" that can be done.

Looking forward to their return, hopefully soon.

#one piece meta #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #op manga #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #one piece manga #one piece #mine

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writingwenches · 2 months ago

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Freedom From – Part 3

previous chapters: FOUND HERE synopsis: Aemond x Peasant OC; Lyn gets her first taste of the Lannister lifestyle and its sickening. ~2k wc music inspiration: that scene in Spirted Away where her parents feast themselves into pigs warnings: none? interim chapter, nothing much happens. next steps: Now that the "plot" is happening in this story, I'm going to go back and edit the previous chapters to make them more coherent and flow together, rather than being in a race against my own motivation to get the story on paper. Would love to hear what people think, and want more of! I love this story so much, I'm excited to share it with everyone~

There was no time to think, and Lyn was glad of that. It had been promised to her that she would never be forced to think again, and perhaps they had fulfilled that promise. She hadn’t had time to think about it.

Lyn was hungry, or Lynora, she did not know who she was anymore. The tent was as much a puzzle as a field of wheat swaying in the breeze. The bitter wind from the swamps fluttered the walls and made Lyn dizzy, as hands grabbed her from every direction and pulled her into new room after room.

Her hands and face was scrubbed, by bristles as soft as lace, not that Lyn had ever had the pleasure, Aeditya would never allow her to touch a fabric so fine, her lowborn hands might stain the fabric.

Lyn regarded her hands, turning them over as the rose petals washed away the dirt and a sponge of a yellow cloud wiped away her impurities. Were her hands still those of a lowborn? If someone like Aeditya could not tell them apart. Lyn had always thought of Aeditya a lady so fine, with her soft fabrics and cups of polished silver.

But, compared to the ladies Lyn had before her, she wasn’t so sure any longer. The women washing her hands, more diligently than Lyn had done anything before in her life, “Are you a maid?” Lyn asked, the woman’s clothes had thread of gold weaved around her neckline.

The woman scoffed and did not answer, simply continued to scrub her hands.

“Ow!” Lyn jumped as another woman passed a small wooden rod beneath her fingernails to remove years of dirt, clearly the sponge scrubbing had not satisfied the noble looking ladies.

The two ladies before her, looking concerned at one another when regarding Lyn’s plain clothes, Lyn looked down and startled as one of the maids screamed at her to not wipe her nearly clean hands on such filthy skirts.

Another woman was called in and Lyn’s overdress was untied so quickly, Lyn was sure the woman had cut the laces with a knife. There was no time to protest, as there was no time to think. She was ushered into sleeves and an apron, of silken brocade crimson, followed by an overdress, faceted in the front with golden buckles.

Lyn watched herself in the polished stone, and could not believe what she saw.

“You look like a servant,” one said, massaging her temples that arched with annoyance.

“This is more fine than anything Ive ever owned,” Lyn replied, still not daring to touch any of the fabrics with her clean hands.

“It’ll have to do,” the ladies threw up their hands in surrender, finally ushering Lyn behind another curtain tapestry.

Her mouth was open, her eyes could not see all that there was before her, her nose could not understand. There were others at the table, the beautiful woman with the smile too large for her face, who claimed to be her aunt, a younger version of that woman, and the lying prince, whoever he was.

Lyn or Lynora had never seen so much food in a single place after the countless number of markets she had sold her baskets at. Out of all the markets, out of all the food, nothing even began to compare to this feast. She was surely Lynora now, as Lyn had surely died and went to the seventh most heaven.

She did not even wait for the servers to place the dishes before she started putting new and fascinating things into her mouth. Some were sweet, some were bitter, some she was sure was not meant to be eaten, but Lyn did not care.

First came greens of all shades and colors, so fresh Lyn was sure the lion nobles had dragged around pots of dirt to carry their royal leafy greens. She had never seen green in such colors and textures. Some had curly tops, greens curled together it resembled hair on a bird. Some were long and stringy, with little stalks and bursts like the tiniest of felled tree. Some was even purple, on a leaf, and she ate it. She ate it all.

There were breads with creams and sprinklings of greens that tasted like the finest dessert and heartiest meal she had ever tried. The bread snapped in her mouth, toasted and crunchy and the cheese mushed and spread.

There was soup as bright red as the fine silks that wrapped around every surface in her view, it was a good thing, as the red stains did not show up as she dribbled droplets from her spoon on the way to her mouth. Lyn solved the problem by drinking the soup straight from the bowl.

Lyn heard a giggle, and was snapped out of the trance the meal had found her in. She had never had so many flavors in her mouth at once, and it was strangely overwhelming.

“What?” she asked to the small girl seated beside her. She had a round face, and a round body to match. Her decorated clothes and painted face gave her the appearance of someone much older than Lyn suspected she really was.

The girl offered Lyn handkerchief, a beautiful white amongst the reds.

Lyn smiled and tried to remember all the things she had learned about being polite and how to speak to ladies as she accepted the handkerchief, but her mind was sucked back into her dream as the largest crisped first was placed before her. She forked the eyeball and moaned into the taste

She had spent the past dozen winters feeling hollow and hungry, she knew the ache of giving away her bread to those more unfortunate and the anger when someone does not pay back in kind. She knew what it felt to be cheated, to be wronged, to have the last dregs of food stolen from her.

Lyn still not had time to decide if she believed the golden haired woman with a smile too large, but she was not going to waste a good time worrying about it. The lion nobles could not steal her food if it were already in her belly, and she had no coin to give as payment. Lyn was not going to waste the opportunity before her, she was here to eat, just in case they kicked her out the way she came after realizing her mistake. She would be out with a fully belly.

There was a goose next, or a duck, Lyn could not be sure, as it was massive either way. Fresh fruits stuffed down its throat and into its belly, turning the meat so succulent and moist, she had forgone the utensils and tore into the meat with her hands.

A savory sauce in a short pitcher, Lyn had only ever seen these during the feasts at Erenford Keep, otherwise they were locked away in their most prized cupboard. Lyn tried to remember what she had seen the nobles doing with the brothy liquid, but she settled for dunking the meats into it. It was a delicious idea.

The youngest lioness girl was excited as she watched the strange woman Cinda had found, Cordelia imagined this was what it was like eating with a wildling she had heard so many stories about.

She removed her rings, joined in tarring into the bird, though much more delicately than the wildling, daintily dipping the tendons in the brown sauce. “Did the Motherhouse not have utensils?” she asked, eager to hear the answer. She had never heard the Septas preach about such things.

“We more did not have the food,” Lyn spoke with a mouth filled with meats trickling out. There was something white mash coming from behind the curtains, Lyn craned her neck to see. “When young, we could gather all the bowls and plates from the Motherhouse and we we would pretend to have feasts just like this with all the empty–“

“This isn't a feast, this is luncheon!” Cordelia laughed.

Both girls dipped their fingers into the newest dish offered at the table.

It was time for the woman at the head of the table to laugh, with her mouth too wide and her gums more bright than her painted lips. Her laugh was short and controlled, like bells from the steeples of the temple. Lyn had not noticed for sticking she was as a figure. Her deep red gown, the color of dried blood, hung nearly off her shoulders, revealing a lower neckline than even Lady Aditya ever dared wear. Blue jewels on golden chains hung around her neck, just above the cleft of her breasts. Lyn could almost blush at the thought of wearing something so revealing of her womanly features, those were to be hidden under layers of thick fabrics, not to give anyone the wrong idea.

Lyn supposed the woman at the head of the table could give anyone any idea she wished. Her nose stopped at a sharp point, amongst thin cheeks. The lashes her of eyes were so dark and luscious, Lyn could see them framing her eyes from across the table. Her upper lip disappeared into her smile, exposing layers of pink healthy gums, holding onto her overly large teeth. Lyn had never seen teeth so perfect. She, herself, had lost a tooth on the side of her face as a child, and another one deep inside her mouth from searing pain and rot. The first tooth was knocked out in a hard tumble, and the other was pried out by a Maester with thick irons. Lyn supposed this woman had never lost anything in her life, let alone teeth.

Well, she supposed, except for…her? Lynora.

She licked the fluffy sugared white froth from her fingers, Lyn had always had a knack for making the younger kids laugh, and Cordelia was no exception. The young lion noble dragged her fingers from the whipped creams and nearly lost herself to laugher when Lyn dotted the cream onto her own nose.

“Don’t you start in,” Cinda chuckled at the movement of the white haired boy.

“I’m not a child!” he snapped back, shooting straight into his chair back.

Lyn stopped, mid sip from her ruby wine. She looked at Cordelia who looked away. The silver haired boy looked unhappy, his arms crossed around her chest, Cinda looked jovial.

“And…” Lyn started, wiping the cream from her nose and turning towards the white haired boy with only one eye, who had been quiet at the table until now, “who are you?”

Both Cinda and Cordelia enjoyed that.

“Oh, you have never met?” Cinda asked, raising her glass. “I’m so surprised!”

Aemond and Lyn locked eyes, Lyn’s mouth stopped chewing her food, she was going to be sick.

“Your paths have never crossed before? You mean to tell me you’ve never been to the Red Keep or King’s Landing? Or even Dragonstone?”

“Have you?” Cordelia asked, Lyn shook her head, Cinda was only jesting, and Lyn let out a breath.

“Never?” Cordelia wondered. “It’s not very far, I think only a few weeks ride.”

“I’ve been to The Twins a few times,” Lyn admitted.

“Do you really not know who he is?” Cordelia asked, looking between Lyn and the white haired man.

Lyn mimicked Aemond, as he shook his own head. She eyes had not left hers.

“No – are we related as well?” she asked, reluctantly. Everything she had learned today had been so strange already, she would not be surprised if another pale haired person was in her newly sprouted family tree.

“My dear, this is the Aemond Targaryen,” Cinda put her glass down, as if that meant something to Lyn, “a prince of the seven kingdoms, second son to King Viseryrs and Queen Alicent.”

Lyn was going to be sick.

Cinda sighed and motioned towards something.

A person appeared at Lyn’s side with a large golden bowl, startling Lyn, her stomach lurched, she had not realized how many other people had been in the room with them while feasting. The walls were lined with people. Servants she supposed.

Lyn had to admit, she did look more similar to the servants than the beautiful nobles at the other end of the table.

“A prince?” Lyn asked, she burped air into her throat. Perhaps the liar prince had not been a liar after all. She watched him with new eyes, his dark leather clothes were fine, and free from debris or distress. It looked as soft as silk, and under all the black, dark stitchings of dragons weaved around his chest. He really was a prince. A dragon prince. Perhaps she should not have joked about him having her killed so many times.

“You two are not related, though you do share relations with Prince Aemond’s elder half-sister,” Cinda continued, as she waited for a servant to finish filling her cup.

Lyn could taste all the flavors coming back up into her throat.

“Our shared foremother – yours, mine and Cordelia’s that is, hails from The Vale, and is half-sisters to Princess Rhaenyra’s own mother, the late Queen Aemma…”

Lyn hugged the large golden bowl against her chest. Perhaps there was one way the lion nobles could have all their food back.

“Elys Arryn joined House Lannister through marriage not long after the birth of the future Queen Aemma Arryn, and had a son all her own, mine own father, your grandsire the Lord–“

Lyn was sick into the golden bowl.

authors notes: thanks for reading! There’s going to be a few interim scenes, I’m excited for them, but I know they can be boring to write, so I’m trying to chug along! I’m going to go back and start editing the earlier chapters so they are easier to read going forward~ I’ll repost the bits as I edit them~

Sneak Peak for themed from next few chapters:

Cinda: “I’m offering you family!”

Lyn: “You offer me family with conditions.”

Cinda: “Every family comes with conditions. Only a child would think otherwise.”

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 1 year ago

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Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon (When Dragons Fall) [Jace Velaryon x Reader]

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: nothing explicit, just lots of character deaths, as in F&B canon

Word Count: 10k+

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

A huge, huge, HUGE thank you to @asa-do-your-thing for the lovely artwork provided in this fic! I love both the collages you created for the teaser and the actual fic itself, and bless you for putting up with me and my slow responses 💕 this fic is dedicated to the both of us, and I hope you will enjoy it even though I was a complete hot mess struggling with writer's block when I came up with it haha. Special thanks also goes out to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for putting together this Big Bang! I'm honoured to have been a part of it.

A/N: This is the first part of my new fic, Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon, submitted for @hotd-bigbang! The rest of the parts will be released sometime soon, as I was only able to write the first part of my fic in time for the deadline haha. It's my first time writing a Jace x Reader fic, and it is rather lacking in romance, most unfortunately. Still, I hope you enjoy the fic. Thank you for supporting my mess of a writing!

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was aged only ten and two when he heard the prophecy for the first time.

Ever since his mother had decided to relocate their family to the ancestral seat of the Targaryens, Jace had spent much of his days with nothing but the same foreboding walls he was slowly growing tired of. He swore he knew every single crook and cranny in Dragonstone by now, having spent much of his youth traipsing through the home of his forebears, poking and exploring every inch of it.

Dragonstone was a sleepy island, which did little to quell the young Jace’s thirst for adventure and exploration. But once every six moon turns, the inhabitants of the village located on the rocky shores of Dragonstone would come together for a festival of foods and goods. It was initially a small affair, but upon Princess Rhaenyra’s moving of her household to Dragonstone, many merchants and revellers from all parts of the Realm had flocked to the island like sheep, hoping to curry the favour of the numerous Targaryen royals currently residing at the island, or various nobles who visited the island to pay homage to their queen to be with their goods.

And the festival was exactly where Jace found himself on the cusp of his thirteenth nameday. Sick of the constant gloomy atmosphere of the castle, he had snuck out after bribing one of the stablehands, disguising himself in the simple raiments of a peasant, along with a satchel of various coins concealed in his cloak. He had thought of bringing his dagger for protection, but he winced as he recalled the incident on Driftmark, and decided to leave it in his chambers. He wasn’t expecting any trouble tonight, anyway. All he wanted was a bit of harmless fun, and freedom, under the cloak of anonymity. Just for one night.

The festival painted an animated and cheerful scene, so refreshing in contrast to the rather dismal air in the fortress. For a moment, Jace thought he had been transported back to the streets of King’s Landing, where the nightlife atmosphere was second to no other place in the realm. Fascination lit up his brown eyes as he bought samples of snacks from the street food vendors. Many of them were varieties of whatever fishes that could be caught in Blackwater Bay, but due to the expensive nature of imported spices from Essos, the food was seasoned rather simply. Jace enjoyed it however, the whole experience felt liberating. Here, he could just be among the commoners, someone unnoticed.

Even though their relocation to Dragonstone after the Driftmark incident had brought some reprieve, deep down, Jace still felt tormented by the rumours of his parentage. Harwin Strong was long dead now, and so was his father, Laenor Velaryon, yet Jace still felt affected by their passings, though his mother oddly didn’t. One was his…his sire, the other the father Jace had been brought up to believe as his for his whole life, and though both men had not been present for nearly half of Jace’s life now, Jace still missed them. He remembered Laenor’s smile, his guffawing laugh, his warm touch whenever he herded them back from the Dragonpit and back to the Red keep. And he remembered Harwin’s presence - detached, as a respectful nobleman would keep in deference to a royal, but also warm and more constant than Laenor. Daemon was oft far too occupied with his mother to pay attention to him, Lucerys, and Joffrey, though he seemed polite enough to Jace.

But what Jace craved deep down was for the presence of a fatherly figure: strong, brave, caring. And ever since his mother and Daemon have had little Aegon, Jace oft found that those fantasies of his were becoming more and more impossible to come true. Especially now, when he was coming of age soon, and was expected to bear the brunt of his duties as future Prince of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne. Little sentiment can be found in his world.

Jace sighed, milling around and mingling with the smallfolk, trying to purge those thoughts from his head. And that was when he caught sight of it.

A caravan sat in a corner of the street, its dark red and blue exterior a stark contrast against the earthy cobblestones of its surroundings. The caravan was beautiful, even in its age, and Jace let his eyes trace over the woodwork and craftsmanship of the carvings of various celestial bodies and strange creatures on the caravan. A simple wooden sign hung outside the bright blue painted door, ‘Come have your fortune divined on this joyous day. Should you choose not to, you might not live to see the next day.’.

Jace chuckled at the words, feeling some derision upon knowing what craft the inhabitants of the caravan possessed. He was not a faithful man, by any means. He worshipped the Seven, like any future crown prince of Westeros ought to, yet he felt no connection to those gods. His mother held a reverence for the gods of Old Valyria, and Jace had inherited that, but fortune telling? It all seemed a bit absurd to him. No one can see the future after all, He began to turn his back on the caravan.

However, Jace was seized with a sudden urge to go inside the caravan. It felt like an invisible force was pulling him towards it, despite his disdain for such practices. What is wrong with me? I am a Targaryen prince for god’s sake- But it was like he was under a spell, as his legs moved on their own accord, much to his dismay.

‘You know what, I came here for a night of relaxation after all. This might prove more entertaining than I expect it to be.’

With that thought, Jace found himself knocking tentatively on the door of the caravan, as the door swung open to reveal the dim interior of the caravan. He found it strange that there was no one behind the door, but shrugged it off, taking in the plush furnishings. Gas lamps and candles lit the small space up, giving the interior an inviting glow. Colourful tapestries depicting the sea were hung on the walls, and thick soft carpets covered the floors - such that Jace felt bad for wearing his dirtied boots into the caravan. But all those thoughts of guilt vanished from his mind as he laid his eyes on what was possibly the most beautiful woman in his life.

She didn’t even look old enough to be considered a woman, no, this was a girl so beautiful, he thought that maybe he was looking at the form of the Maiden himself, descended upon this land to grace him with his loveliness.

“Welcome, my prince.” Her voice was soft, nearly encasing him deeper into the spell that was her, until he realised how she had addressed him. Shock surged through his veins, along with a faint uneasiness. “You know who I am?” The fortune teller tilted her head, lowering the hood of her dark red cloak. The colour of spilled blood. “Of course. My god knows the true faces of all people who enter this caravan. And their fates as well.” She motioned for him to sit in front of her, and Jace obliged, sinking down on the cushion, unable to take his eyes off her. It felt like all coherent thoughts had left him. The fortune teller studied him back, her eyes glowing with the knowledge of endless possibilities.

“My god senses some doubt in you of my abilities, my prince.” Jace was startled by her words, but he quickly recovered, a sheepish smile on his face. “I must confess I don’t quite believe in these things.”

“And yet here you are.” “And yet here I am,” Jace echoed back. The fortune teller slid a cup of tea to him, and he wondered how he didn’t see her preparing it. He eyed the steaming tea, debating on whether he should drink it.

“Relax, my prince, I have no reason to poison you, if that’s what you fear.” Jace was growing more unsettled, it seemed like the fortune teller was reading his mind. Was his thoughts really that obvious? He caved nonetheless, lifting the cup to his lips. Its taste soothed his nerves, and he felt some of his former rationality returning. “If I may ask, who is the god you owe your powers to?”

The fortune teller shook her head with a smile, tapping the crystal ball between them lightly. “Does it matter, my prince?” “Well, it does, if you want me to have some faith in your readings.” The fortune teller looked amused. “You will believe what you want to believe, my prince. And my god prefers to withhold his true name from non-believers.”

Jace wanted to roll his eyes a little at that. It was clear this girl was a con-artist, but suddenly, her eyes grew sharp as her crystal ball filled with dark smoke. Jace drew back instinctively, nearly spilling the cup of tea. “W-what’s happening?”

“My god is revealing your future,” the lightness in her voice was gone, replaced by a sort of seriousness. As sceptical as Jace was, his eyes were fixed on the swirling dark smoke. He was entranced by it when he suddenly felt a warm grip on his wrist. His eyes widened when the fortune teller tugged his hands towards the crystal ball, a slight flush in his cheeks. “Put your hand on the crystal,” her voice was filled with urgency. “There is something you must see.”

Gripped by curiosity, Jace did as she said, placing his palms against the cool surface of the crystal. The curiosity vanished in an instant, replaced by a morbid horror as the scenes were seared in his mind.

The sickening smell of blood. Fire everywhere, the distant roars of a dragon roaring and the screams of soldiers on the battlefield. Two opposing armies, one bearing a quartered banner with the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Arryn sigils, the other bearing a golden three-headed dragon on a black field, clashed with each other. Corpses littering the shores of a river. Three dragons lashing at each other in the sky, as one fell to the Earth with an agonised screech. And now Jace was in the sea, watching as ships were set aflame and a dragon that looked like Vermax falling from the skies. The sky was glowing with the colour of freshly spilled blood, smoke filling the air. Jace felt like he was on fire, as the soft, solemn words of the fortune teller reverberated throughout the horrific scene of bloodshed before him. “As dragons battle with each other, and fall from the skies, kin shall betray kin, kin shall murder kin, and Westeros shall burn alongside House Targaryen’s power.”

Then, fire engulfed Jace as he jolted away in shock. The sound of a teacup clattering on the ground pulled Jace from the nightmare, and he was back in the caravan: far away from the smoke, the screams and the flames. He was still shaking as he recalled the searing sensation of fire on his skin, scorching his bones. The dark tendrils of smoke had seeped out of the crystal ball and were creeping up Jace’s fingers, and he hurriedly pulled away and shook his hands until the smoke had dissipated, feeling sick. “What in the Seven Hells was that?” His voice was tremulous with fear.

The girl’s eyes were grim as she fixed her gaze on him. “The future of your family, and House Targaryen.” Now Jace was shaking with something much more than fear: anger. “You must be mistaken,” his words were not as steady as he had willed it to be, and he tried to correct the quiver in his voice. “Your god is a sham. All that was just illusions of the mind. You’re lying.” She must be.

Now it was the girl’s turn to look incensed, and it was like the fury of a thousand sea storms crackled behind her eyes. “Do not dismiss the abilities of my god because of your fear, Prince Jacaerys. You know that war is inevitable between your mother and your uncle, and you would choose to play ignorant?” Her words struck him as he winced while recalling the scenes he had seen. Despite the cool night air flowing into the caravan through its small windows, Jace couldn’t shake off the dreadful feeling of being on fire.

“...it just can’t be possible,” Jace murmured to himself, running his hands through his hair in distress. The scenes plagued his mind like a disease, and the smell of burning flesh was still ever present, making him nauseous. He reached out and gripped the hand of the girl desperately, “You said that there would be a war. My mother wins, right? She’s the rightful heir after all.” The girl looked troubled, “I cannot divulge more than what my god has allowed you to see.”

“Not even if I paid you a golden dragon?” Jace pressed. The girl’s nostrils flared with indignation. “The visions granted to us by my god is something none of your paltry money can buy, my prince.”

Jace was gripped with despair, as he tightened his grip on the girl’s hand, pleading, “Fine, forget about money. Just please, tell me if my family survives. I need to know, please.” Jace could see the girl’s eyes softening, and he tried to implore her even further. “Please, miss. I just need to know that. Your god has already been so merciful to show me so much, surely one more tiny bit of knowledge will not hurt?”

The girl bit her lip, and looked downwards, as if contemplating. It was true that the prince’s future was bleak, and she knew of his eventual ending, but she must not go against her god’s limitations. And yet, she felt compelled to tell him the truth, to tell him of the bleak fate that awaited him. So she prayed to her god for leniency as she locked eyes with Jace again. Her voice was quiet as her reply echoed through Jace’s mind: which would prove to soon be his source of torment that plagued him for his next years.

“No.”

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For years, after being told the prophecy, Jace felt like he was no longer in control of himself. His sleep and dreams no longer belonged to him. Instead, they fell victim to the visions and the prophecy that had plagued every one of his senses since that night. His attempts at seeking Maester Gerardys out discreetly for doses of Essence of Nightshade had only succeeded in eliciting the alarm of his mother and brothers, so he had stopped taking them. He found no reprieve in the dreadful tea anyway.

Instead, Jace tried to find solace in other mediums. The library at Dragonstone had essentially turned into his bedroom now, along with the yard where he and Lucerys trained at arms. He toiled through the histories of wars and conflicts, pushing himself until blotches of crimson began to dot the ancient tomes.

He trained at arms diligently, in an almost ruthless, cutthroat manner. Lucerys had since long given up on duelling him in arms, and the knights that had trained the both of them since they were old enough to pick up a sword had pleaded with Jace on numerous occasions to exercise more leniency on his younger brother. Jace’s only response to that was, “Will leniency be afforded to you on the battlefield, Luke?”

To Rhaenyra, Lucerys and the rest of Jace’s family who cared deeply about him, it was admirable that Jace was pushing himself so hard. He clearly wanted to prove himself worthy of the title as future heir to the throne. But Rhaenyra could see far deeper than that. She recognised a reflection of her youth in her eldest son: the constant, debilitating need to prove himself. However, Rhaenyra did not know to whom he was trying to prove to. She had told him countless times of how proud she was of him and his prowess, but it was never enough.

Rhaenyra had not seen a genuine, happy smile grace her son’s face since his thirteenth nameday.

Jace could see his mother’s concern, could feel the worry of his brothers, the anxiety of Baela and Rhaena. He knew his refusal to open up had caused a slow, but increasingly noticeable rift between their relations, but how could he allow his family to witness his demons? To see the darkness that had been eating away at him like a parasite since he stepped foot into that godsforsaken fortune telling caravan?

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let the darkness taint his family’s joy, no matter what. This was a burden he must endure alone.

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The day of Vaemond Velaryon’s petition brought out Jace’s paranoia which had been slowly building up over the years, like an ugly mountain of coal, to the forefront.

But as it always was, fate rendered Jace’s promise useless when they received word that the Greens had repudiated the succession and crowned Aegon as King of the Seven Kingdoms in sight of the smallfolk.

Jace nearly tore himself apart in rage, agony, and horror, at both himself and at the usurpers. How could this have happened? Jace’s mind was numb as he listened to the pained screams of his mother echo through the halls of Drgaonstone. How could he have failed so utterly in his promise to defend his family?

He felt like beating himself up even more when he failed to get Daemon to at least accompany his mother during her labours. It seemed like such a triviality to be angry at, given their circumstances, but watching his mother’s vacant-eyed stare at the corpse of his dead sister just made him want to bash his head with a rock. He felt like a complete failure: he had failed to control his temper around his uncles and to behave in the calibre which the future heir to the Iron Throne should have acted as, he had failed to foresee and prevent the Greens from usurping his mother, and he couldn’t even effectively convince his stepfather to be there for his mother.

And his snowballing of failures had led to the continuous, ominous echoing of the prophecy in his head. The constant feeling of being burnt alive.

But then, the Seven, or whatever capricious deity that held the strings to his miserable life, shone a beacon of light into his life again. When his mother gave him and Luke the task of going as envoys and renewing the allegiances of various lords and ladies in the Realm, Jace was determined to use this mission to make amends. He would not fail his mother no matter what, he told himself as he swooped through the clouds, Vermax rumbling under him, as though sensing his rider’s fierce determination.

He had landed first in the Eyrie, where he had initially received a frosty reception from the Lady Jeyne. With skillful persuasion and a reminder of the lady’s own familial ties to his mother through his grandmother, and the promise to send dragonriders to the Vale, Prince Jacaerys had just successfully completed his first envoy.

He didn’t stay for long however, flying off the next day upon a restless sleep in the Eyrie’s chambers. Time was not on his side when it came to the prophecy, and Jace dreaded to think that every single second he took to idle or dawdle would cost his family their lives. He didn’t want to see the vacant-eyed stare his mother had at his sister’s funeral mirrored in her death.

He then flew to Sisterton, then to White Harbour, and each time, he spoke with the lords firmly, yet charmingly, persuading them to his mother’s cause with promises and betrothals and reminders of their oaths. Jace found that he might yet be a fluent speaker in the language of diplomacy.

However, now, despite his continuous successes, Jace never felt more nervous as he and Vermax soared above the snowy expanse of the North. Enervated grunts sounded from Vermax, and Jace felt sympathetic to his dragon. He clearly does not take well to the cold. But they couldn’t stop now, not when Jace was so close to completing his mission to his mother. He couldn’t disappoint her now.

Cregan Stark was a man with a reputation, and not necessarily a helpful one to Jace. he was known to be stern, formidable, but the Northmen were known to be men of their word, and to have never broken an oath. But the Northern lords always had little interest in Southron politics, and Jace feared that the Wolf of Winterfell might take a stance of neutrality in the conflict instead.

However, he couldn’t turn back now, and it wasn’t like he would do it if given the choice. The prophecy lingered over his head like a dreary cloud as of late, and Jace’s nightmares had intensified in its vivid horror. Vermax let out a shuddering grunt, as if in sync to his rider’s perturb.

I can’t fail. I won’t fail. Jace thought to himself firmly, as Vermax’s leathery wingbeats began to slow as the structure of Winterfell loomed in the distance. ‘There has to be a way to stop the prophecy’s events from coming true somehow. There must.’

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Jace’s initial reception at Winterfell was as chilly as the climate in the North, even with the heat from the sauna emanating from the walls. Cregan Stark had lived up to everything Jace had been fearing, a stern, formidable man of few words, and seemingly disinterested in the brewing conflict. “The North has no place in Southron politics, my Prince,” Cregan had told Jace. Jace had a feeling he was trying to convey a sort of sympathy in his words, but the man’s face was unyielding as he spoke.

A sentiment that Cregan had expressed had given Jace a small sliver of hope, “However,” the imposing man said, clinking down his cutlery. “Tis’ true that my late father swore an oath of obeisance to your mother. And House Stark, and the North, will honour that oath no matter what.”

Jace had attempted to seize on that to leverage Lord Cregan’s support, but the man seemed adamant not to interfere. Jace spent the next moments picking listlessly at his meal, trying to decide the next best course of action. The Northern lord seemed as unyielding as stone, much to his growing frustrations.

“If I may say something personal, my Prince,” Cregan’s low, thoughtful voice broke the silence. Jace’s heart leaped at the voice, coming to life with the hope for negotiations again. “Please, speak freely, my Lord.” “You remind me of my late younger brother, my Prince.” Jace tried to shove down his spike of disappointment, instead feigning politeness as he asked, “I am flattered. Do you hold fond memories of him?” Cregan nodded slowly, his eyes studying Jace’s every move like a hawk. “Many of them, in fact.” “May I ask in what way do I remind your Lordship of your late brother?” Jace inquired, out of courtesy more out of genuine curiosity.

Cregan fixed his flinty gaze on Jace, the corners crinkling a little in memory. “The burden. The feeling of all the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Jace didn’t quite know what to answer to that, shrinking uncomfortably into his seat as Lord Stark’s gaze penetrated through him. He suddenly felt more aware of his age than ever.

No other words were exchanged throughout the rest of their dinner.

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Cregan had seen men driven by many things before: greed, anger, power, but he had never met someone quite like Jace Velaryon. A strange sense of urgency enveloped his every move, like he was racing against an invisible foe better known as time. Every one of his muscles always seemed taut in tension, his eyes broody, his mind clouded with a thousand storms of struggles.

Perhaps it was this sense of oddity that drew him to become more sympathetic to the young prince’s cause. He had noticed that the young prince had grown more dishevelled ever since their dinner in the hall where Cregan had refused to lead troops in Queen Rhaenyra’s name. He looked like a petrified animal, leg stuck in a trap.

Over time, Cregan began to warm up to the young Prince, taking his meals with him as Jace covertly tried to persuade Cregan into contributing his troops to his cause. Cregan was amused, but remained otherwise unswayed.

And then, the raven from Dragonstone arrived.

Cregan didn’t see Jace for a few days after that. The guards he had assigned to the young Prince had reported him looking nigh delirious, refusing to take more than a few bites of his meals, his eyes sunken in, and the occasional sounds of weeping coming from his chambers.

It seemed the young Prince had been truly broken. And who wouldn’t be, with the death of their younger sibling? Innocent blood spilled at war, Cregan shook his head as he reread the letter from the maester of Dragonstone. Kinslaying was a taboo among Westeros, and rightfully so. Even Cregan had been hesitant when dealing with his power-hungry uncle a few years ago, choosing to imprison him instead of carrying out the sentence meant for treason: execution.

When a week had nearly come and gone and Cregan had not caught sight of the Prince, he began to grow worried. The letter Cregan had received had requested for the immediate return of Jacaerys to Dragonstone, but the prince seemed to have no signs of moving in his mourning.

Cregan was startled to see the young Prince appear while he was breaking fast in his solar on the morrow. While he had sent the young Prince an invitation, as courtesy bode, the sudden appearance of Jace had him unnerved. Jace appeared detached, polite, every inch the prim and proper Prince he was. But what sent a chill through even the hardened Northman’s heart was the look in Jace’s eyes.

They looked steely determined, yet devoid of life, like he was a soulless shell of the person he was. The Prince before him was no man, but a wraith, worn thin by his inner turmoil.

As Cregan offered his condolences, Jace had only smiled faintly, thanking Lord Cregan emotionlessly. “I can only hope that the usurpers will be punished by the Gods for my brother’s death,” Jace’s eyes glowed with an unearthly sort of fury, Cregan noted with concern. “My brother committed no act worthy of such a gruesome death. And for the act of kinslaying, my uncle must pay with blood.”

“Justice will prevail, my prince,” Cregan reassured Jace, his black eyes filled with certainty. But what took Cregan aback was the hard look in Jace’s dark brown eyes: it was like wildfire, blazing and ready to consume everything in its path. And what unnerved the young Lord of Winterfell even more were the next words out of the Prince’s mouth: ‘What I desire is no longer just justice, but vengeance. I will rain fire and blood upon those usurpers who have harmed my kin, mark my words.”

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Ever since receiving the missive informing Jace of Luke’s murder over Shipbreaker’s Bay, Jace felt like all time had ceased to exist. When once he fought to race against the clock to prevent the prophecy from coming true, now it seemed like nothing mattered anymore.

Somehow, he managed to secure an alliance with Lord Cregan, having moved the man enough for him to pledge himself wholeheartedly to his mother’s cause. Jace should have felt relieved: that the task he had set out to do was accomplished, but now, he felt naught but a gaping hole where his heart had been.

Luke had always been his baby brother. Joffrey was his youngest brother, but he was filled with an impish sort of charm and self-assuredness. Luke had been none of those. He was always the more serious, more sensitive of the three brothers. Jace had watched his mother place his dragon egg in his cradle. The first baby Jace had ever held in his arms was Luke. His precious, lovable, younger brother.

And now he was gone, his remains lost forever to the sea. Along with poor Arrax, and the remnants of House Baratheon’s allegiance. With Luke’s death, it was like Jace’s heart had hardened into cold, unyielding stone once more, like it did when he had feared for Luke’s disinheritance and potential punishment during Vaemond Velaryon’s punishment.

Dragonstone was an even drearier place now. The lingering feeling of despair that had been left in the aftermath of his mother’s stillbirth seemed to have increased tenfold, seeping into the walls and hovering above everyone in the fortress like a cloud of anguish.

Rhaenyra had swept Jace into her arms when he had returned. Too tired to even receive her son at the doors, both mother and son held each other and cried in Rhaenyra’s chambers as they mourned Luke, their sweet boy.

But after that, there was no time for tears. At least not anymore for Jace. Though he was still prone to walking into his younger brother’s room every morning to wake Luke up for their daily sparring sessions, he always halted in his path when he remembered. Luke was dead, and there was no coming back for him now.

Perhaps it was this constant feeling of gloom that began to drive Jace back into his old patterns of neglecting sleep. With Daemon gone, and his mother barely a fraction of what she used to be, Jace had to take charge as the future heir to the throne. He initially felt miserable, finding it useless to fight with one part of his heart having been stolen away and smashed to pieces.

Yet the echoing of the prophecy never ceased, and neither did the ticking of time. No, now was not the time for grief. There was still someone left to pay the price for Luke’s death, and Jace vowed that he would kill Aemond One-Eye with his bare hands, along with the rest of his traitorous kin.

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The Hall of the Painted Table was in tumult, voices shouting over one another, loudest and most outraged among them was the voice of Lord Corlys, Jace’s grandsire.

It had been hours after the Battle of Rook’s Rest, and the Black council was in chaos, as Lord Corlys raged and screamed at Rhaenyra, who looked passive and sickly despite being seated at the head of the table.

“It should have been you,” Lord Corlys had screamed, his face a tangled mess of pure unadulterated rage and grief. Even Jace himself could not find the courage to stop his grandsire’s tirade, having experienced the death of Luke not too long ago. But an uncomfortable tingling plagued him as he watched his grandsire hurl curses at his already frail mother. He wasn’t sure whose side to take in this argument, so he kept silent, despite his reluctance.

The Battle at Rook’s Rest had not been the only blow they’ve suffered. Earlier, Ser Erryk had been slain, by the hands of none other than his turncloak brother, Ser Arryk. The bloody discovery had sent jolts of alarm through Jace, as he soon came to fear for the safety of his younger siblings, who were vulnerable should Dragonstone be infiltrated by any more knights such as Ser Arryk.

The seeds Jace had scattered on his laborious trip as an envoy had begun to bear fruit, and not a moment too soon. Quickly, Jace made arrangements for Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, to make way to the Vale. going with her would be Joffrey, along with his mount Tyraxes. Too small to ride, yet Jace found a greater purpose in sending him as part of his promise to Lady Jeyne. The Vale was the most secure place in the realm, Jace had reassured his petulant brother, who did not wish to be apart from his family. When that did not work, Jace had instead convinced Joffrey that he was being sent to the Vale so that he may defend it against any of the usurper’s dragons, to which Joffrey eventually reluctantly acquiesced, though with a pout.

Barely had Joffrey and Rhaena been sent away then did Jace start making preparations to send both Aegon and Viserys away as well. Both of them were even younger than Joffrey, and should be kept the in the safest and furthest place possible, lest the usurper tried to use them as hostages. This time, Jace enlisted the help of Lord Corlys, mending the broken bonds between them by naming his grandsire Hand of the Queen, a position Jace knew he had long coveted. With his grandsire’s help, they had made arrangements to send Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. It was more secure than anywhere else in Westeros, his grandfather had reassured him as they sent them both off.

All this had been accomplished within the matter of a few days, yet Jace still felt restless. An unpleasant knot had formed in his stomach at Joffrey and Rhaena’s send off, and it only multiplied in its discomfort as Aegon and Viserys set sail. But I’ve done it , Jace thought, trying to console himself. That fortune teller can’t get all of my family now. I made sure that they were sent to the safest places in the whole of Westeros and Essos. I’m safe. We are all safe.

Convinced, Jace had settled into bed that night, shutting his eyes with a grim sort of victory pumping through his veins. See how your god is a falsehood, he wanted to taunt the fortune teller, triumphant in his victories.

He didn’t feel so victorious, however, when he fell into a deep slumber, and came face to face with the fortune teller’s face. This time his dream was tranquil, with no signs of fire anywhere. Jace had nearly hollered in sheer, utter relief, thinking he was free from the nightmarish landscape of that night’s visions at last.

A slender hand reached out to Jace, and Jace levelled a baleful glare at the fortune teller, who only serenely shrugged and continued holding out her hand. “It is rude to refuse a lady’s hand, my Prince.” That voice that had once enticed him, that had been the source of his dread for the past few years.

He couldn’t tell whether he wanted to throttle the woman or kiss her.

She had looked much unchanged since their encounter in the caravan, Jace thought as he took her hand, slightly relishing in the warmth of it. That certainly didn’t feel like a dream. He looked around, registering nothing but rolling grass fields of an unnatural blue-green hue and trees with leaves of the same colour. Frosty pink roses dotted the landscape ever so often, and their sickly sweet nectar wafted through the air.

“Is this real?” The woman tilted her head, and Jace’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of her neck. Damn, he cursed himself internally. He needed to get a hold of himself. Keep himself focused on whether this was reality.

“It’s as real as my god deems it to be, Prince Jacaerys,” she informed him, and a harsh laugh rolled off Jace’s tongue. “Your god, is nothing but a falsehood, my lady,” Jace informed her, his voice dripping with venom at the thought of what he had lost. Luke. His mother’s joy and happiness. His mother’s and his rightful birthright. Though Jace knew it was the greed of the Greens that drove them to such straits, Jace couldn’t help but feel resentful to this unknown, eldritch god who had driven his paranoia for the past few years.

The woman’s face did not show any visible indicators of outrage, but a thunderous flicker in her stormy eyes made Jace feel a little cowed. He did not believe in the god that this woman did, yes, but he knows that there is something unearthly about the woman before him. Her eyes already narrated such an expressive story, Jace wondered about what would happen if all the power swirling in her was put on display in its full fury.

“I’m sure you thought you’ve evaded sailing into the eye of the storm,” the woman began to walk. Jace stared after her, perplexed, but began to walk with her nonetheless. The sweet smell in the air began to dissipate, and Jace felt a wave of nausea in his abdomen as he began to smell burning flesh again. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the more calming scent of something like honeysuckle.

“A man seized by fear may do something moronic in the spur of the moment.. A man who allows fear to take control of him is as good as dead.” Anger bubbled in Jace, though he tried to tamp it down, worried that if he broke the serenity of their talk, the nightmarish scenes of fire consuming everything in its path and the dead faces of his family would return. Not that. Anything but that.

“Had your god not shown me those visions, do you think I would have become a man ruled by fear?” Jace retorted in a calm voice, as they strode into a meadow, dotted with red roses. Jace was desperate to keep this conversation going, to know if he had been successful in tricking the heavens. He knew this woman held the answers to his success in the palm of her hand. He just wished he could stop his eyes from wandering and admiring her visage instead of the scenery.

“Every man is ruled by fear, my Prince,” the woman’s voice was amused. “And are you telling me you regret seeing those visions? Would you rather have remained blissfully ignorant?”

“Maybe,” Jace reached out to pluck a blood red rose, admiring its crisp petals. “Perhaps if I did, then I wouldn’t have to watch the ones I love die in my dreams, slaughtered by our enemies. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to watch my worst nightmares come to reality, to see Lucerys die and be helpless to stop it.”

“But it’s over now,” Jace and the fortune teller turned to face each other. Her impassive look unnerved Jace slightly, but still, against his better judgement and by some raw, magnetic pull of the universe, he tucked the rose he had plucked free of thorns in the woman’s hair.

“Joffrey and Rhaena are in the Vale, the safest place there can be in the realm. And Aegon and Viserys are in Pentos. Or soon to be.” He tilted his head upwards cockily. “I have beaten your god. And he would never be able to get the rest of my family. Not now, not ever, and if he wants to, he’ll have to spit on my dead, cold corpse.”

Jace had intended to provoke the woman, to goad her into admitting that he had played his cards right and well, but her next words caught him off-guard.

“And what of King’s Landing? The Greens and their dragons?” She reminded him. “The murderer of your brother and unborn sister still remain at large, and the usurpers will live to breathe another day, the same as the rest of your family. Tell me, is your happiness truly just relegated to the safety of your family?”

“You know you desire more, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

The meadow filled with an eerie silence. The fortune teller’s eyes pierced through Jace’s, as if extracting all his deepest secrets with just a single, searing glance.

“...you’re right,” Jace gritted his teeth. “It’s not enough. And I will raze the usurpers to the ground, every single last one of them, for conspiring against my mother. For murdering my brother.”

“But if it’s a choice between vengeance and the safety of your family?” The woman’s voice was playful, a stark contrast to the subject matter they were discussing. “Is that your god’s way of telling me that I am doomed to follow one path or the other?” Jace asked sarcastically. He noticed that when he got more worked up, the familiar smell of burning flesh became stronger, before being quickly suppressed by a sickly sweet scent.

“Mortals cannot have it all, Jacaerys Velaryon. We must make compromises.” Jace thought of Luke, poor, sweet Luke, losing his life at the hands of their uncle, thinking of his mother and the pain she had suffered through his miscarriage, hot white anger blinding him. But he also thought of Joffrey, Baela, little Aegon and Viserys, his mother, his grandsire, and Daemon. For all the wrongs the Green had wreaked upon them, if Jace ever came to the position where he had to choose between taking off Aemond’s head with his sword and protecting Joffrey, say, would he hesitate? What would he choose?

“Not any more,” Jace forced out. “I will be controlled no longer by your god’s visions. By the fear he had instilled in me.”

“My family has the power. We have the dragons and strength in numbers,” Jace’s voice rose in conviction. “The rest of my family are safely stowed away. What’s to stop us from raining blood and fire upon the usurpers?” The overwhelming smell of burning flesh was overtaking his senses again, and not even the sickly sweet scent of the meadow could hide it anymore. “I will prove your god wrong, my lady,” he informed her, a crude sort of determination in his voice. “The Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, after all.”

The roaring in his ears grew louder and louder, and suddenly Jace was back in the battlefield of bodies again, the sky filled with shrieks as dragons plummeted to the ground. It was as if the fortune teller’s god was striking him down for his challenge to it. The hellscape blistered with smoke and fire, but Jace was insistent, continuing to yell. “You’ll see! You’ll all see.”

Jace fought back the urge to flinch as he felt the burning sensation of fire engulfing him, forcing his screams of pain down his throat. That nightmare again. So he hadn’t escaped after all. His breathing grew heavier, as the flames grew greater in intensity and temperature. He could barely see anything now, and it felt worse than all the previous nightmares he had had. Was he wrong to have challenged the fortune teller’s god so boldly? To want to turn the tides of fate?

“I will prove you and your god wrong!” Jace shouted, thrashing and trying to wrangle himself free from the prison of flames. “You will not touch my family no matter what! No more of them! I swear this on all my ancestors of Old Valyria, that you will have my family’s lives only if you spit and step on my dead body! Just try it!”

A fiery burst of flame blinded his eyes, and Jace let out an agonised scream as he felt himself being burnt alive.

And then he was falling into an empty pit, his limbs outstretched and his heart seized by terror.

A figure bolted upright from the lavish four-poster bed in one of the more secluded rooms in Dragonstone, gulping in the fresh air greedily. His sheets were stained with sweat as Jace wearily wiped a hand down his face, dismayed but not surprised to see a patch of scarlet stain his palm as a steady trickle of blood dripped from his nose.

His heart thudding, Jace tried to recollect himself as his heart thudded in his chest. Yet again, the fortune teller’s calm, flowing voice filled his head as he recalled the last words he heard while he was hurtling through the empty vortex.

“Dragonseeds.”

A warning, Jace started, or another prophecy. But what does it mean?

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Jace couldn’t quite find the steely strength that used to take hold of him every morning as he walked down to the Hall of the Painted Table. His vivid dream and talk with the fortune teller the night before had not yielded his intended result, to say the least.

His grandsire was holding court as usual, and they immediately settled on their newest problem now that the younger children were away and out of the castle: the problem of their dragons. While the Blacks did have strength in numbers, having Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and even Baela’s Moondancer, as she insisted, against Aemond One-Eye’s Vhagar, the battle to retake King’s Landing or to withstand an assault by Vhagar would be a risky one. The loss of Meleys had been a devastating blow for the Black council’s earlier plans to take back King’s Landing as soon as possible, for it remained a key symbol of legitimacy that supported Aegon the Usurper’s rule.

Jace sat stoically in his chair as Baela and his grandsire fielded suggestions and assessments on the risk factor of taking King’s Landing with their current dragons, lost in thought. His mind was focused on the dream he had last night, of death and battle and destruction that somehow felt more real and close to any dreams he had in the previous years, but also because of that fortune teller.

That darn woman. With her mysterious words, her expressive eyes, her solemn wisdom falling from her very kissable lips-

“Jace.” Jace wanted to kick himself for even thinking about such thoughts, when his betrothed was right next to him. Baela arched an eyebrow, clearly noticing how distracted he was. “My apologies, did you address me?” Jace murmured lowly to her, averting his grandsire’s disapproving gaze.

“I asked what you thought about attacking King’s Landing with our current forces,” Corlys’ lips were pressed in a thin line, looking slightly displeased that his grandson had been caught lacking in his duties. Jace was about to repeat just about what everyone in the room had voiced out, when the fortune teller’s words from last night rang through his mind.

Dragonseeds. Wild, untamed dragons on the island.

Seven fucking Hells.

“I would like to make a proposal.”

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Lord Corlys had been dubious but intrigued about the plan of the Sowing of the Dragonseeds, but the Black council, including Baela, had seemed receptive to the idea. Particularly the Council. Jace wondered if he had made the right call when he saw the shifty looks on the various councillors’ faces, clearly hoping to claim a dragon of their own. After all, the Targaryens boasted their dragons as their might, should they be lucky enough to get the chance to bond with one…

The gold and knighthood Jace had planned to offer along for anyone successful enough to tame the dragons would pale terribly in comparison to a dragon.

Jace was alone on the balcony with a view of the eastern slopes of the Dragonmont, musing, when he suddenly heard the doors slide open. His eyebrows shot to his hairline and his heart pounded with delight when Rhaenyra Targaryen emerged on the balcony, garbed in black. She had only been wearing black ever since Luke’s funeral, or the makeshift one they were forced to arrange without his remains.

“Mother,” Jace greeted, moving to bow, but Rhaenyra halted his movements, moving to take his hands. “Oh my son,” she murmured softly, stroking Jace’s hair like she used to do when he was younger. “My strength and my consolation.”

Jace felt a fluttery feeling in his heart, but also a deep pit of longing and sadness in his stomach. This was the mother he had missed sorely, not the one tucked away behind the vacant-eyed stare, face subdued during council meetings and always looking preoccupied with her own thoughts.

“Mother. Have you heard of my plan about the Dragonseeds?” Jace asked softly, a warmth spreading across his cheeks as his mother gently stroked his hand with her thumb. His mother smiled, “I have. I think it is a sensible plan. More dragons on our side is never a bad thing.” Her eyes glittered with pride as she reached out and cupped Jace’s face in her hands gently.

Taken aback but not at all averse to the gesture, Jace let himself be soothed, letting all the nightmares, that nonsense about the prophecy be evaporated into thin air. All he needed was his mother’s comfort.

“Oh, my sweet boy, how I have let you down,” Rhaenyra spoke tenderly, sorrow in her voice. Jace felt something in the spell break, Rhaenyra was speaking to Luke. Not to Jace. A bit of Jace’s happiness gave way to sadness.

“You haven’t let me down, Mother,” Jace tried to reassure her, but his voice came out a little croaky. “I should be fighting for you. It is my duty as your son and heir to the throne.”

A little of the vacantness slid back into Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes. “I’m glad you know that, Jace,” she said quietly, but it broke Jace’s heart to see how far away she was. How her heart never fully repaired after Luke.

But for now, Jace was content in acting as a placeholder for Luke, if it meant that his mother would return to him bit by bit. How long it took did not matter, he just wanted his family to be able to heal, to survive. He would shoulder a thousand burdens if it meant he would see them all safe and sound.

The prophecy rumbled through his head again, but he tamped it down, not wanting it to poison his moment with his mother.

“You’ve grown skinnier, Jace,” the pads of Rhaenyra’s fingers gently traced under Jace’s undereyes, where his eyebags were more prominent than ever. “Are you well? You need not feel too troubled, you know. We will win the war, because I am the rightful heir to the throne. The rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” His mother’s voice was so full of conviction, so much like the mother he had known, that Jace didn’t have the heart to tell her that conviction did not win wars.

Whomever favoured fate did.

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The Dragonseeds plot had worked its magic, and soon enough, four of the six wild dragons had been tamed. While Jace had not come to trust them just yet, he felt a little abashed. Was he just treating them with mistrust just because they were of bastard birth? He knew he had no prerogative to think in that shameful manner, after all, wasn’t that being a little bit of a hypocrite himself?

There was no time to dwell on guilt however. With the sowing of the Dragonseeds, Jace, Rhaenyra and Corlys had been advancing the plan for the taking of King’s Landing at breakneck pace. Jace felt a warm relief spread through him as he began to see his mother participate more actively in council meetings, and he could see how much it invigorated the council too. The former self-assured, rosy glow his mother had would never quite be the same, but Jace was content to settle for this for now.

Alas, all good things did not last.

They had underestimated the strength of the Greens’ alliance with the Triarchy, as demonstrated when his younger brother, Aegon, returned on a faltering Stormcloud, in terror after having been attacked by Triarchy warships in the Gullet, and losing his younger brother, Viserys in the ensuing melee.

Rhaenyra turned pale as soon as she heard the news of Viserys’ disappearance, collapsing into her chair and no longer speaking another word. Still, she listened and watched as Jace and Corlys began discussing plans to counter the threat of the Triarchy, knowing that if House Velaryon’s hold on the Gullet broke, it would be a resounding strategic win and gain in resources for the Greens.

Thus on the fifth day of the new year of 130 AC, a flurry of dragons and ships departed from Dragonstone, all headed for the Triarchy. Jace commanded Vermax, along with the other Dragonseeds, his lips pressed in a thin line and eyes haggard with lack of sleep. His nose had been bleeding oft as of late, even now, as they drew closer to the Gullet, but Jace only wiped it away with a fierce look on his face.

It was his first battle as the heir to the Iron Throne, and he was going to show those Triarchy bastards they had chosen the wrong side to back.

Swooping down on a line of Lysene warships, Jace narrowed his eyes as he heard the alarmed calls of “dragon!” among the crew. Good.

“Dracarys!” Hungry dancing flames licked the wooden remains of the Lysene warships, as chaos broke out throughout the fleet of Triarchy warships. “Hold your formations!” Jace could hear the soldiers scrambling, but more frenzied shouts began filling the air, as the shapes of Vermithor, Sheepstealer, Silverwing and Seasmoke appeared in the skies.

“Fire!” Jace barely had time to react before a Myrish crossbolt had nearly struck Vermax’s underbelly. His dragon let out an enraged shriek as it swooped for the offending vessel, burning it to ashes. Jace gritted his teeth, they had clearly learnt this tactic from their time in dealing with Daemon in the Stepstones.

Egging Vermax on with a roar, he bade Vermax to destroy as many vessels loaded with crossbolts as possible. Already, some ships were beginning to turn, a good sign for them. Jace was confident that the battle would end in a resounding victory for them.

Just then, he flew past Seasmoke, whose rider, Addam Velaryon, looked ashen. Jace’s gaze shot to where he was staring at, where the ships were headed straight for Driftmark and Dragonstone. Fuck.

“Stay here!” He yelled a command to Addam, already directing Vermax to head back to defend Dragonstone and Driftmark. “I’ll handle this. Burn every ship that has one of those fucking crossbolts, and don’t fly too close to the water.”

With that, Vermax’s leathery wingbeats headed for Dragonstone once more. Please, Jace begged, hoping to make it in time. No more of my family. Not my mother, or little Aegon. Please no.

Perhaps if Jace was more careful, more alert, he would’ve noticed the squadron of ships, veiled by the smoke of the fires Jace had set earlier. Perhaps if he hadn’t chosen to fly so close to the edge of the water, hoping to conceal Vermax’s presence and sneak an attack from behind instead of from above, he would’ve noticed the crossbolt aimed at Vermax’s eye.

A loud roar filled the air, one which could be heard all the way across from Dragonstone. Vermax shrieked and flailed, as both squadrons of ships attacked at the same time, loosing crossbolts at him. Jace panicked, trying to redirect him to fly up, to escape, to flee, but a horrific screech erupted from Vermax as a crossbolt pierced his eye. Jace was gripped with fear as he began to unbuckle his saddle as Vermax careened for the waters.

In his frenzied fury of pain, Vermax loosed several fireballs, which hit the ships in front of him, destroying the back of some of the squadron headed for Dragonstone. The ships splintered into pieces as they exploded, and the remaining ships shouted orders to row away from the firing range of the dragon.

As Vermax hit the waters with a loud crash, Jace finally got loose of his saddle. Spotting an adrift, large shipwreck near him, he leaped free…

And landed on the shipwreck, barely clinging on in the freezing waters. He struggled to keep afloat as Vermax continued thrashing about in the waves, and his heart ached as he watched his beloved dragon suffer.

Then, a sharp, excruciating pain filled his left chest, and Jace looked away from Vermax to see an arrow lodged in his chest, piercing his dragonriding leathers.

Fuck.

Jace tried to make himself look smaller, anything to seem less conspicuous, but a volley of arrows were shot in his direction. Most of them missed in the dark, but the pain was blinding to the point where Jace’s feeble grip on the wood slowly loosened, and he thrashed about wildly in the cold sea waters, gasping for breath. The weight of his dragonriding leathers and scarce amount of armour did not work well in his favour however, and the treacherous waves soon dragged him down, into the deep dark depths of the ocean.

I cannot die now, Jace thought, sputtering for air desperately. My family, my mother needs me. She cannot lose another son-

The currents were getting harsher and harsher, as Jace bled out helplessly on the water. Armour, he needed to dislodge his armour- he frantically attempted to remove it, but as he lost more and more blood, his limbs grew number and number, and soon, he could barely retain consciousness.

‘I’ve failed. I’ve failed them all.’ was Jacaerys Velaryon’s last thought as he was pulled beneath the currents by invisible tendrils of water, into the murky depths below.

‘I’m sorry I failed to protect everyone.’

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In his dreams, Jace was at the meadow again. The woman was nowhere to be seen, but he could feel her presence all around him. A light, serene sort of happiness filled him, and he felt the phantom feeling of warm arms wrapped around him from behind.

It was something he hadn’t felt in years. An eerily calm sense of bliss. But Jace didn’t care, he was too busy relishing in the moment where his mind was free of his demons. Free from worrying about his family’s survival, about the prophecy, and about the war.

In his blurred senses, he could see someone smiling at him, a tender, playful one. A warm breath grazed his ear and the voice from his sweetest dreams and most horrid nightmares spoke in that calm, flowing manner of hers.

“The living are not quite done with you yet, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

And that was the last thing he heard before darkness consumed him once more. At least this time there was no pain.

The first thing Jacaerys registered when he woke up was the faint scent of snapdragons. He groaned as he awakened, feeling an agonising pain in his shoulder as he tried moving.

Aren’t I supposed to be dead? Jace remembered the events of the battle of The Gullet, where he had watched Vermax flail about in the sea, screeching as he fought not to drown in the cold depths of the ocean. His heart ached at the loss. Another one of my family gone, in the blink of an eye. And in the sea too. He wondered how the battle ended, did they win?

But that soon became a minor concern as he began pondering…where exactly was he? He looked around, trying to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder forced him to fall back onto his pillow with a groan. So he was still alive then. Sudden panic gripped him. Had he been taken hostage by the Green forces? But if he had, then he would be in a far worse state than he was now.

He glanced around the small space, noting that he was in a cottage of sorts. The smell of salt was heavy in the air, and the sky outside was grey and gloomy. Had some fisherman rescued him when he washed upon the shore? And if so, where in the Seven Hells was he now? The Crownlands? He definitely didn’t wash ashore on Dragonstone, or he would have been handed over to his mother. His heart ached as he wondered how his mother must have reacted to the news of his death. Once he ascertained his whereabouts and who had saved him, he would fly home for Dragonstone immediately….Jace sighed when he remembered that Vermax was dead now. He would send a raven or any messenger bird he could find then.

The sound of the front door to the cottage opening caught Jace’s attention and he tried bolting upright, but yelped when his shoulder pain acted up again. He waited with bated breath as the door to his room opened, and revealed his saviour and possible enemy. However, the sight before him left him thunderstruck.

In that instant, Jace’s heart felt like it had stopped and then had been jolted forcefully back to life again by a tight grip.

No. No, no, no, it was impossible. He had died, had felt the arrows pierce through his chest near his heart, before he fell prey to the treacherous waves of the Gullet, drowning in his failure. This has to be some false afterlife, set up to torment me.

And yet, the pain in his lungs was overbearing, and definitely real, as he sat on the bed like he had been bolted to it, tightly clutching the coarse bedsheets in his fists.

The whole world seemed to stand still as his eyes took in the familiar figure, holding a basket of herbs in her arms. Garbed in simple peasant clothing, yet that did not diminish her otherworldly beauty.

“ You. ”

“Me.” An insouciant, wry grin graced her lips, and it was like Jace’s most horrible nightmares and his dreams were blossoming before his very eyes.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Prince Jacaerys.”

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published as part of the HOTD Big Bang 2023

Part 2 will be published soon! If you made it this far, thank you for reading! 💗

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jenerousjenocide · 1 year ago

Text

Familiar Face

Fifty years had passed since the Netherbrain was defeated; it took Astarion five years after to become the lord of Baldur’s Gate. Within that timespan his old companions departed from the city, following new adventures in quiet hope their paths would never cross again. Only one agreement was made among them, set by the leader themselves that carried the entire team on her back single handily.

“Keep it within Baldur’s Gate.”

A warning, no less, a boundary they set to ensure the entire realm wouldn’t be overrun by vampires, although Astarion would be lying to say the thought didn’t cross his mind every other day or so.

The temptation was always there, and it would be so easy.

As much as Astarion would never admit it, he did respect his dear old friend more than he let on. A/N Nobody asked for this, but here it is I'm back on my BS. Also this is basically a WIP, its eventually going to be sexy. It'll be fine. Feedback is encouraged, I have written anything in eight years and it probably shows. AO3 Mirror - Next

Baldur’s Gate, once a city of innovation and progress, stood as the capital of Faerun. For centuries it was built up from the ground with those in power struggling with balance between right and wrong, the noble and the peasants and ensuring the Upper City and Lower City remained as separate as can be in terms of gold and assistance from guards or authorities.

It was no longer the case after so many decades of building it up, only for it to come crashing down one evening.

Citizens had believed their troubles were over the moment the Netherbrain was defeated, in fact they did have a few months of peace, and all seemed so bright and hopeful for the future. Festivals and parades crowded the streets for days, cheering on the heroes that rescued the city from destruction and the lives of all the innocents threatened by the damage caused.

Strangers worked together to rebuild, fix each others homes and offer food, aid or supplies to anyone in need. Nobles made large donations to better assist the poor struggling to get by and for a while it all seemed too good to be true.

Something in the shadows was lurking, bigger than anyone could have imagined and somehow the true secrets were kept hidden from the citizens for years.

Authority figures began stepping down from their roles seemingly without an explanation, providing vague answers for those with questions that one could only deem reasonable. This continued until only one remained, a new figure that seemed to have risen to power overnight yet was able to make his name and reputation known as one of the heroes that saved Baldur’s Gate all those years before.

Lord Astarion Ancunín.

It was a slow transition at first, but it felt as though his coronation as Lord was the shifting point in which everything seemed to come together. For his benefit, at least.

It began with smooth talking his way into meetings, debunking rumours spread among residents that he was a vampire spawn because why or how would a feeble vampire be able to walk among the living so freely? He saved Baldur’s Gate from disaster; it was easy to gain the trust of majority of the population.

The plan really kicked into gear after inviting each noble he could come across to a private dinner. A bite to eat with life altering consequences, and they soon became his loyal subjects one by one.

Like a puppet master stringing together a performance of a lifetime, they obeyed his every command and retreated to his palace to no longer serve as the nobles they once were, but as servants and spawns as Astarion deemed fit.

Just as the city was changing under his thumb, the palace once owned by Cazador Szarr also changed. The gaudy paintings taken down and replaced with marble statues or fine antiques. Some of which found by servants during their evening hunts for more followers to fall under their master’s spell.

Astarion swore he was nothing like Cazador, the wretched bastard was cruel and unforgiving, embarrassing and torturing those he turned for his own cruel entertainment and ensuring he was able to strike fear into every one of them. No, Astarion didn’t punish his servants for no reason, and he didn’t force them to feed on vermin the way he did for two centuries.

That isn’t to say he didn’t have his rules, and when punishment was due it was carried out carefully and with a message along with it. If the punishments were met with resistance, Astarion wasn’t above himself to deal the final blow, ending the insubordination in it’s tracks before it can pick up traction and spread through his coven like a filthy disease.

He knew they would never be able to overpower him if they somehow managed to lapse free from his command, but keeping the peace was within everyone’s best interest to keep invasive thoughts and memories from clouding his mind.

“Keep it within Baldur’s Gate.”

The temptation was always there, and it would be so easy.

As much as Astarion would never admit it, he did respect his dear old friend more than he let on.

She picked him up from the side of the road after he pulled a knife on her, didn’t immediately drive a stake through his heart when he attempted to bite her while she slept. She listened to him prattle and complain about his troubles and concerns, his trauma and story behind the ugly scars that adorned his back.

She promised to stand by his side and help him take down his cruel master in the place he called home. She fought battles that weren’t even hers to fight and with obvious hesitance helped Astarion ascend into the powerful lord he was. Even within his power drunk mind that day, he knew the dynamic of their relationship changed completely and would never be the same again.

He could see it in her eyes when they would speak following the ritual. A look that once projected adoration and love now turned fearful, pleading and cold.

With an offer of immortal life by his side, their relationship ended completely.

Of course, he was insulted by her rejection, but he had no real need for her any longer if he were to become as powerful as he needed to be to bring the city to its knees. He thought she was in it for the long run, but he ended up getting exactly what he wanted in the end.

Perhaps his initial plan of seducing her to ensure she never turned on him worked too well, but with the consequences of their actions it was obvious that becoming a vampire spawn was not a life she wanted to live. Even if it meant being by his side for all of eternity until the world came crashing down around them.

It didn’t hurt entirely, but the sting was still there as he pondered what could have been had she said yes.

Nonetheless it was too far gone in the past to even bring it up anymore, the golden days were long gone and so were his companions. Astarion couldn’t spend his time pondering what everyone else was up to, they wouldn’t dare return to Baldur’s Gate, and he decided to keep things slow and steady while building his coven from the ground up.

It had been so long, surely she was old or dead by now, judging by human lifespans.

The idea of it was enough to make his usually composed expression cringe with a slight pang of his dead heart. She could have lived forever young, but the possibility she was long gone did bring up a familiar sting.

Not that she was his anymore, he internally scolded himself for allowing himself to linger on the memories and possibilities for too long.

There were more pressing matters to focus on, especially with his ascension anniversary coming up and the grand extravaganza he did annually for the mortal citizens of the city to commemorate the day he gained true freedom and power.

The preparations were going smoothly, his spawn working endlessly to ensure everything was perfect down to the last detail. Roaming the halls, Astarion could only give his directions and opinions regarding where things should be, he wouldn’t dare lift a finger to help decorate.

The sound of his footsteps echoes through the ballroom hall, vampire strung about doing their job to get the preparations completed and keep their dear master content with their efforts. He pretended not to notice how a few of them wince when he walked closer, chalking it up to pure respect and that a little reminder of who’s in charge doesn’t hurt.

Everything was falling into place; the stage was set and soon the ballroom will be filled with people immortal and mortal alike. A subtle feast for those less fortunate to be cast under his vampire spawn’s charms, but a night to remember for the remaining attendees to keep face as lord of the city everyone loved once before.

-------

The Golden City stands before you, imposing and tall like all those photos and stories you’ve heard before. It didn’t quite live up to expectations, a menacing storm overhead unmoving, as if warning those trying to enter to turn away and never return.

There had been no news of Baldur’s Gate for years. Everyone you spoke to mentioned it was still populated and ruled over by one man, a man who helped saved the city from destruction long ago, but regarding progression or innovation there had been little word. You always dreamed of seeing the city with your own two eyes, but as you stand before it you can’t help but feel a sense of dread tug at your heart.

You draw in a deep breath, as if preparing to hold it in your lungs to avoid any toxic fumes the air might have lingered around. Despite the darkness, you do see citizens wandering about and going on with their daily business.

Perhaps you spend too much time reading and listening silly fairy tales.

You travelled a good way to get here, fleeing from your home in Waterdeep and avoiding any questions regarding your adventure. You’re positive nobody witnessed your escape due to the lack of yelling and restraint being placed on you.

For the moment you’re free to explore, get your fix of the city and get back home before anyone is the wiser.

The first step into the city was easy, navigating was a whole other ball game.

One big difference between your hometown and the city is how big it makes you feel. Waterdeep was familiar, you had your family and friends and somehow everyone knew everyone’s business at some point or another- In the City it’s the complete opposite, the feeling of being so small and insignificant imposing itself on you until it feels like it’s the only thing you do know.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such an awful idea to turn back.

“Don’t forget the Palace doors open at sundown! Our Lord would be honored to have any and all citizens come join the festivities taking place. A night of dancing, drinking and mingling with Baldur’s Gate’s finest.”

The voice was coming from the center of town, a well-dressed man standing in the middle handing out invitations to residents walking by. The practiced smile on his face greeted everyone who made eye contact with him, he was charming to say the least.

Before you even realized your feet were already moving you towards the center, reaching out as the young man offered a warm smile and the invitation. Noting the smile didn’t reach his eyes, you take the invitation and read the contents.

Midnight Masquerade Come one, come all! Lord Astarion invites you to a night of dancing, drinking and dining.

It couldn’t hurt to have at least one night in the city, in fact you were taught that it was rude to decline invitations. You could pop in for a little food and wine and leave before the night was even over.

You tuck the invitation into your pack and adjust it steadily on your back. You needed to find an outfit to fit in, and quickly before the party was ready to start.

#baldurs gate 3 #Astarion #astarion x reader #bg3

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foolish-clown · 2 years ago

Text

All eyes on me

A/N: I’m not even gonna deny the fact that I sound biased because it’s Jisoo but honest to god her solo debut was my favorite.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.3k

The way she moved screamed elegant and formal, sprinkled in with an underlying tone of humility that became more apparent with each kind gesture.

One look was all it took for you to be a goner, trapped in the abyss of bright eyes and tender smiles.

The white marbled walls of some of the buildings seemed almost blinding as you transverse the semi-empty streets of Paris.

The sun sat heavy in the air; golden rays of excellence brought a glorious display of light, and with it, the gentle warmth that was neither overwhelming nor undetectable.

You were beginning to understand why Jennie enjoys coming here so much, but then again, Paris did just fit her vibes perfectly.

She had dragged you with her on this occasion with a certain goal in mind however – and that was to introduce you to someone she had met by chance during a vacation.

“You have to meet her,” she had said, your eyes immediately narrowing in suspicion at the amount of enthusiasm that was enriched with every syllable.

“Why?” You had asked in turn, genuinely surprised when your friend actually began ranting.

Looking back, you’re not even entirely sure about everything she even said when she began listing some of the qualities of this stranger, but there was one particular word that demanded attention in the fog of word vomit.

Model.

Why Jennie wanted you to meet this woman was completely beyond you, but to deny the curiosity perking up from within would be lying to yourself.

And so here you were; a suitcase filled with enough clothes for a long weekend in Paris.

You look back down at the address on your phone before looking back to the surrounding buildings.

One of the few… encouragements Jennie had enticed you with was the fact she had already paid for a room for you both. Something you would have playfully argued against under normal circumstances, as you always liked to at least go halves.

Not that you would have been able to add much, the quadruple digits of just a single night in the hotel she had chosen making you slightly ill.

As it were though, your mind had been distracted by meeting this woman. Kim Jisoo.

Jennie had even made you promise to not look her up, as she wanted your first impression to be the actual first one when you’re introduced in person.

All in all, very sus, especially by Jennie’s standards.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Locating the hotel takes a little longer than expected, but once you do you ping a quick message to Jennie to let her know you’re outside.

You watch people come and go as you wait; fancy sports cars drive by every now and then.

Almost made you feel like a simple peasant amongst nobles, but one call of your name from Jennie Kim and those kind of thoughts are banished by her adoring smile.

She wraps you in a hug as soon as she closes in, and simply having her near makes any of the anxiety disappear in almost an instant.

“So glad you made it,” she greets, taking your free hand and dragging you inside.

The lobby is just as lavish and stylish as one could imagine for how much it costs to rent a room; occupants walk about in their expensive suits and designer dresses.

To say you didn’t fit in would be an understatement, but you don’t particularly care once Jennie has you both in the hotel room. Your eyes immediately widen at the sheer size of it alone.

“Are you feeling tired at all?” She asks once you leave your suitcase to scope out the literal apartment, giddy like a little excited child.

You stick your head out from the bedroom at her question, “not really,” you reply, having slept the majority of the plane ride over. “More hungry than anything.”

“Good,” she grins, and you fully exit back into the foyer when she unzips your case and begins rummaging through, “because we’re meeting Jisoo today.”

You suddenly pause, the sudden action almost making you stumble. “Wait,” you force out, slightly panicked, slightly stunned, “what do you mean today?”

“Well, tonight,” she clarifies, like that makes it any better. “So if you needed to rest I would do it now, or we can go and get something to eat.”

Your response comes with a single blink in her direction.

She doesn’t react to your non-verbal reply, having found what she was apparently looking for and holding it up for appraisal. Nodding after but a moment.

“I’m glad I bought you this.”

It was a piece of clothing, an expensive piece of clothing, that she had bought you for a birthday one year.

“You know,” you sigh out, forcing yourself through the shock, “have I ever told you that you act like my mother at times? Like what? You going to cook me dinner next?”

Her smile would look innocent to the many, but after years of friendship you know the difference by now. “Don’t you dare.”

Her laughter is quick and infectious. “Do you not like my cooking?”

“It’s more of the fact that we’re on holiday, so I’m expecting you to wine and dine me… with takeaway.”

Her wink is of friendly banter, and you can’t help but feel extremely lucky to have her in your life.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Evening fast approaches, and with it, so too does your anxiety.

You’re not even entirely sure why. Jennie has introduced you to people before, this wasn’t exactly a new experience.

But there was something that was just… different, this time.

You had never seen your friend so excited before, and the way she spoke about this woman was nothing short of childlike glee.

The city lights of Paris come and go as the taxi drives past, buildings both old and new catching your attention all the same.

Entering the restaurant is a rather easy affair, a member of staff guiding you passed many tables as you head towards the large floor-to-ceiling windows that have a spectacular view of the city.

Your lost in the view before another steals your attention.

A woman stands from the table she had been sitting at, and with it you could swear your heart actually stops at the very sight of her.

She brings Jennie into an embrace once they’re close, but you’re too preoccupied trying to restart your systems that you stutter when they break away and Jennie begins introductions.

“Hello,” she greets, bowing, “I’m Kim Jisoo.”

“H-hi,” is all you manage to squeak out, failing to notice the devilish twinkle in Jennie’s eyes as she leaves you floundering for steady footing.

Jisoo blessedly does not comment on your clear nervousness, but the kind smile she sends you does absolutely nothing with helping you out either.

Holy shit, you internally scream, she’s a goddess.

Your unbalanced legs do manage to get you to your seat, the one opposite Jisoo, and so your eyes begin darting everywhere but forwards.

“So Jisoo,” you hear Jennie begin talking, and you use the distraction to hopefully regain any of the fraying bits of sanity you had left.

Thankfully, albeit eerily, Jisoo’s disposition makes it easy for you to calm yourself down as the evening progresses into the night.

She was just so down to earth and easy to talk with.

You learn of her modeling career, and the way she talks about her job with passion has you grasping on to each and every word.

You can tell that she was a humble person who worked hard for what she believed in, and it becomes clear as to why Jennie seemed so infatuated.

Because you were starting to become the same.

Dinner finishes far, far too soon.

But just before goodbyes could be shared, Jisoo turns to you with the slightest bit of hesitance. “Would you like to come and see me at work tomorrow? We could get to know each other better once I’m done.”

The faltered step of your heart halters you from responding; Jennie throwing a casual arm around your shoulder as she answers for you. “They would love to.”

Jisoo’s smile is soft and understanding, “Jennie can give you my number if you would like.”

Another arrow to your heart, another step fallen.

The 3 of you part ways with tender goodbyes and an air of excitement.

Jennie also uncharacteristically first bumps you on the way back.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Hours pass by in a blur.

Jennie watches you leave the hotel room with an encouraging smile after she had served you up some breakfast to help with the nerves.

You’re grateful for her actions, but you doubt there was much she could do to squander the deep chasm filling your chest.

She had given you Jisoo’s number the night prior, and after a serious pep talk you had managed to send off a text before chucking your phone on the opposite end of the bed and burying your face into your pillow as a wide nervous smile ignites your features.

Her reply was almost instantaneous, but you had to work up the courage before you could even pick up your phone to read it.

One message led to another, and then another.

You felt light and giddy throughout the entire exchange, which was mainly filled with the initial politeness shared between acquaintances. Subtle bits of personal information hidden with compliments and words of thanks.

You had fallen asleep feeling… just really, really happy.

The feeling didn’t go away in the morning, but the knowledge of actually seeing Jisoo again did bring back the nervousness of yesterday.

Finding the studio she was at actually proved easier than finding the hotel, the security taking one look at you before they ask you your name.

They hand you a pass to wear once doing a quick check and list off some things you were not permitted to do, allowing you to enter shortly after.

Jisoo is actually waiting for you at the entrance, her bright smile still rendering you weak in the knees.

She ushers you in with great enthusiasm, linking her arm with yours as she asks you how your morning had gone.

You obviously forgo the minor details of being really eager to see her again.

You’re not left a whole lot of time to talk, as her photographer is calling her back on set with quick hand movements.

You watch in awe from the sidelines.

It’s easy to see, even with your untrained eye, that Jisoo has a mixture of natural talent and hard work backing her movements.

The expressions, the way she moves, all of it just seems so fluid and easy.

Not to mention hypnotizing.

You’re not sure if you even blink once during the entire ordeal, too fixated on the model in her element, but once it’s done it’s like a switch has been flipped.

As soon as it’s finished Jisoo goes and thanks everyone for all of their hard work, and you can feel your expression softening as you watch her do so.

She returns to you after quickly getting changed, “thank you for waiting for me.”

Your smile feels tender against your lips, “no worries,” you reply, enjoying the way she once again links her arm with yours. “So where are we going by the way?”

Her smile turns slightly wicked, looking at you from the corner of her eyes. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

You are left little time to find out just what exactly that means, because she is gently tugging on your arm for you to follow.

The pair of you exit the studio after one quick word with her manager, entering a car that was waiting just outside the front.

Once again you find yourself watching the Parisian streets come and go, the daylight giving off a whole different atmosphere to the night prior.

Unbeknownst to you, Jisoo does cast subtle glances at you every now and then. A smile curving her lips when she notices the awed look in the reflection on the window.

And then the building breaks away, and once you turn you catch the glimpse of France’s most famous landmark standing tall.

You turn to Jisoo with wide eyes, and that smirk from earlier returns in full force as she silently gets out of the car before you can say anything, your own hands scrambling with the seatbelt before you quickly join her.

“Jennie mentioned you had never been here before,” she states. “And I thought it would be a good view to get to know each other better at least.”

You’re kind of left for words if you were being honest, eyes managing to tear themselves away from the Eiffel Tower back to the woman beside you.

“I am actually struggling to believe I’m here.” You blurt out, and she laughs with affection.

The grounds surrounding the Tower have small groups of people, both tourists and locals alike.

It almost looks like a scene from a movie.

Accessing the top only makes it more so.

You both stand there, watching the city in comfortable silence.

“Can I confess something?” Jisoo asks after a while.

You turn to her in curiosity, but it would seem like it’s her turn to be unable to meet your eyes.

“I, um, I was the one to ask Jennie to introduce us,” she admits, and you watch in shock at the way her cheeks redden slightly, “the way she spoke about you was so full of affection, I was curious at what kind of person you were.”

She turns to you then, “and this is going to seem sudden, and for that I truly apologize. But I am leaving for South Korea tomorrow and I feel like if I don’t ask this now I will regret it.”

Your heart races from where it lies within your chest, and you can feel some kind of hope begin filling the gaps.

The question is almost lost within the wind, fleeting and timid.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

10 years have passed since that day, and you find yourself once again standing upon the Eiffel Tower, alone, during the quiet dusk hours.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice call from behind, and you smile when a hand covers your own, a pair of wedding rings lying next to each other.

#blackpink reactions #blackpink scenarios #blackpink imagines #jisoo scenarios #jisoo imagines

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nightbringer24 · 1 year ago

Text

On Raising A Medieval Army

The King or Queen has called! Your kingdom is at war with your odious enemy most foul, and by God (or gods), it is your duty to fight! Be you a landed knight seeking to honour you liege, a noble man-at-arms looking to enhance your own fortune or a simple peasant looking for adventure in far off lands, all in the kingdom were expected to fight!

Except... how did kings and queens in the Middle Ages raise an army? Who was expected to fight and who wasn’t? And how did you arm them all? How did you pay them?

Now I’m going to start this off by saying that I am in no way an expert in the Middle Ages. I’m just very passionate about it.

So who was expected to fight?

As expected of the violence of the Middle Ages, virtually everyone was expected to fight, from king to nobility to peasants to serfs. This would mean that there would be a large pool of bodies to pull from if a war was on, right?

Not really.

Medieval society was agriculturally based first and foremost, which meant that there very often wasn’t a surplus of bodies unemployed or out of work. Even in the seasonal jobs that would be found in varieties of farming, the people in a Medieval kingdom would be doing something to keep themselves occupied, fed and alive. But, during times of war, such a life would be disrupted heavily, and thus provisions had to made by the monarch and their government to make sure a force could be made ready to defend or fight for the kingdom. Knights were not the majority of the population after all.

In Medieval England and France, this provision was known as the commissions of arrays for the former and the arrière-ban for the latter. These were, at their most basic tenant, legal documents that stated that all men aged 15 to 60 were to be called up for military service during times of war or crisis, to form under the command of selected officials or nobles. The English system was different to the French system and I’ll come to that later, and I can’t find anything about what such a thing would be called in the German-speaking Holy Roman Empire or in Spain or anywhere else, but we can easily imagine such documents existing there and operating in a very similar, if not the outright same system.

Now, this again looks like there is still a wide population to draw from. But this is only for the direst of circumstances, where everyone has to fight. And, as was more often than not, that didn’t really happen. Not every village was emptied of men to fight for the crown, and sometimes villages didn’t supply men at all. Obviously, there were people who couldn’t fight because of their jobs: blacksmiths were often exempt because they had a very big impact and role in the community which was too big to ignore, priests and monks couldn’t fight (not that it didn’t stop them sometimes), and merchants and such couldn’t or wouldn’t fight and thus avoided military service. But this still meant there were people who could and would fight, sometimes more readily than not, and this group can be divided into three groups: retinues, indentured men, and levies.

So let’s look at each group.

The Right Royal Retinue

(Source)

Knights in shining armour, inbred lords, landed gentry, bullies on horse and armoured hitmen. Whatever you want to call them, the Medieval knight can not be ignored. Not just for their armour, nor their colourful heraldry, nor for the fact that nearly every single piece of fictional or historical media will focus on knights in some form or another. These were the heavy hitters of a Medieval army: mounted metallic battering rams who’s mounted charges with couched lances could break infantry formations with ease, or smash aside lesser cavalry with ease.

But knights were always in short supply for a king. In fact, in the Domesday book, the 11th Century Norman book written to give an account of their new kingdom, of the total population of England which was between 1.2 and 1.6 million people, around 6% of that population were knights, in this case: men who owned land given to them by the king and were members for the aristocracy. This made them a small force that could not be relied upon wholesale to fight for the king. So how would this deficiency in numbers be made up?

Well, for that, we look at the feudal system for that. In its most basic essence, it was system of obligations, from the king down and then back up. In this system, peasants were given land owned by their lords on the obligation that when he called, they would serve him, and also that if the same peasants were attacked, their lord would defend them. In this manorial system, certain peasants would enjoy a better position than others, mainly by being part of the lord’s own personal household. Such men would enjoy certain liberties and a degree of wealth more than their fellows, usually by becoming small landowners in their own right. In England, these were known as yeomen.

Now, as I said, all of this was based around an obligation; that the peasants on a lord’s land would fight for their lord, and this went doubly so for those men who were directly under their lord. These men would be retained to the service of the lord. Some men would often be high status men such teachers or musicians, but the focus for this well be men retained for military service. These would essentially be the personal household troops of the lord. These men would also be the biggest and the strongest men on the lord’s land. These would be men would be given some of the best armour their lord could afford, would have some serious measure of training with their weapons, so they could form the lord’s household companies. In some cases, these would even be men-at-arms, men who did not hold a knightly rank but were as well equipped as a knight.

There was no set fixture on who was in a retinue. Lower status knights would have peasants from their own lands, their demesne as the term was, while higher status knights would have their own peasants and lower status knights who swore service to them. Again, as was their obligations, the lords would see that the men in his retinue would be armed and armoured as their station warranted, and as much as the lord wanted to spend. But a common feature of a lord’s retinue was the livery.

(source)

In the simplest sense, livery was the colours of the lord, usually a simplified version of the lord’s heraldry with his most prominent heraldic charge as the badge, usually worn on the back.

However, in times of war, under the commissions of arrays, lords were expected to provide the number of men to fight as would be suitable for the amount of land they owned. But a personal retinue would not be anywhere enough for some campaigns, and thus, another form of service was needed.

Interestingly Indentured Infantry (The title doesn’t really make sense, but I thought it was funny)

Now, to come back to the commissions of arrays, it was stipulated that from various locales, set numbers of men to fight were to be called up with the equipment they held as per their personal wealth. Basically put, men with more land would be told bring more gear while men with less land would bring less. Such men would also be subject to actually being tested to see if they were fit for combat, English longbow archers being an especially prevalent example, with some sources saying that to be proven as an archer in the king’s army, they had to be able to loose 10 aimed arrows in a minute, accurately. Which means that medieval armies had standards.

But no matter how these men were procured, they were always procured to a legal standard (surprising to read for the Middle Ages, I know, but still). In England, they had a term of service, usually for 40 days at a time in serving overseas, and would be paid wages for that service. Noblemen or men of good wealth, as to be expected, could pay their way out of such service by paying a fine or scutage tax. This meant that there would still be money to pay as wages and for supplies for the army.

For such service, a contract was signed, often times by the lord supplying the men. This was called an indenture.

Charter of the Clerecía de Ledesma, 1252

Now this was not a regular contract, as you can see above. An indenture was a contract, written in duplicate and cut along a jagged line in the middle, so that each party had a copy of the contract, and thus was an attempt to avoid disputes between both parties. This was done for land, business and military service.

In a military indenture, arrayers (men who carried out the commissions of arrays) would go around the counties and shires of England to call up men for service. Lords would supply men, but they could also... haggle for the number of men they would supply for military service. This was a common thing for large cities to do, since they had a larger population to draw from for service.

Contracts were also used by another group of fights that became common in later Medieval battlefields: the mercenaries.

(Art by Graham Turner, from the Osprey Publishing book, Condottieri)

Following the period of the Black Death in Europe, mercenaries came into the forefront of military service for many kingdoms. Compared to raising local troops, these men were easy to procure, many times more battle-hardened than locally raised troops and many times more effective. The Genoese crossbowmen used heavily by France in the Hundred Years War are the best and well known example, while the English king Edward I made use of Flemish mercenaries during his conquest of Wales, a trend that would carry into Hundred Years War, and the largely English ‘White Company’ who fought under Sir John Hawkwood for Padua for the Battle of Castagnaro in 1387, the Milanese heavy cavalry that fought at Verneuil in 1424, or the condottieri of Italy, a word which literally means ‘contractor’.

Obviously, mercenaries were of varying quality but they added extra bodies to an army quickly and easily, and cheaply. They would also bring in more specialised troops that were not all together more commonly fielded in one kingdom or another: crossbowmen, longbowmen, pikemen, heavy cavalry or infantry and, as technology continued apace, handguns and cannons. Also, if they fell in battle, they wouldn’t need to be paid.

Lousy With Lice Levies

(Picture is from Pinterest, so no source I’m afraid)

To go back onto something I touched on at the beginning, in the commissions of arrays for England and the arrière-ban for France, it was expected that all males aged 15 to 60 would be expected to fight when called up. In a pinch, this would definitely bring the number of fighting men up exponentially and quickly, but it did not guarantee that those troops would be of any quality.

Now, there is a big perception of medieval armies; of them being made up of dirty peasants clad in nothing but dirty rags and carrying pitchforks and other farming tools to fight alongside knights in shining armour. This was the exception, not the rule; when a land was truly threatened and a kingdom’s army was broken in battle enough to be rendered useless. It’s... bullshit, really. As I said above, an army would be made up of retinues, indentured soldiers and mercenaries fighting for the king. Any peasant soldiers would be men who just kind of flitted into the army or were conscripted to fill in gaps in an army that’s lost numbers.

A common thing for levies though was militias for towns and cities. Obviously, you need men to defend important towns and cities, or just keep people safe, and this is where levies came into play. These would be local men and boys, given some basic but serviceable equipment paid for by the local lord or by merchants and guilds to help protect their interests. Such levies would serve as basic law enforcement under sheriffs and bailiffs, keep roads clear of bandits, help collect taxes and generally just try and keep law and order. Men who did well in their jobs would probably be earmarked to enter a lord’s retinue. However, in locations like Italy, that had no centralized political structure and were nothing but city states, alongside indentured mercenaries, it would be the city militias, the levies, who would be brought to fight, such as at Campaldino and Castagnaro. Such troops would have the most basic equipment available in the Middle Ages; maybe a padded jacket at most, a steel cap at best, and a spear or maul.

Not to say that peasants wouldn’t fight with their basic implements when the time called for it. Deep raids by enemy forces were a common thing and would strike lesser population centres at random, so the peasants would have to fight for themselves unless they had advanced warning of the oncoming attack.

Forming of Formations

So that’s essentially the generic, socio-political makeup for a Medieval army; knights leading peasants armed and ready for battle, joined oftentimes by mercenaries, or in the worst cases, local lords leading levies to defend their lands.

But what about formations? Historical fiction can never seem to decide if medieval armies were just incoherent masses of men and horses charging as one, sometimes backed by horses, or if they had serious formations.

The answer is a bit of both, really.

Companies did exist, since that was how medieval armies were raised (archers from Cheshire and Flint were formed into companies, and you’ll often see ‘companies’ be used in contemporary sources), but these had no fixed number of men or size. At it’s largest, a medieval army would be split into three sections or wards, or more archaically, battles: the van, the main and the rear. The van would often be made of cavalry, usually light horsemen acting as scouts. The main and rear would be infantry/foot, with the baggage train and followers coming behind. These would then form up into whatever tactical formation is chosen. The common English tactic for the Hundred Years Wars after Edward II came to the throne was to station the archers as such that they could provide flanking fire with their longbows for the infantry, such as at Crecy in 1346.

(source)

And at Potiers, 1356

(source)

And as can be seen above, French tactics were often more direct, with cavalry leading the charge headlong into the enemy.

But a key thing for any army, especially a Medieval army, would be to maintain coherency, because if you lose your armies coherency, you have lost your battle. So no massed melees of men running hither and thither with fighting going on all around them. The enemy would be at their front and only at their front, unless a flanking attack was launched, like at Poitiers or Castagnaro, then you’re screwed.

And that’s it. TL:DR; Medieval armies were relatively complex things, with many things going into them to make them up, and it wasn’t just stupid knights in heavy suits of armour, fighting alongside and against filthy peasants in dirty rags.

#medieval history #middle ages #medieval #history #military history

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claire-starsword · 1 year ago

Text

Landstalker Guide Book - Prologue, Geography and Characters

Original scans here

What about the treasures of King Nole? What is the truth behind the tyrant who once ruled this world, King Nole? This is a story from around a hundred years ago. There was a single man who attained full authority and control over the continent. His name was King Nole… He went down in history as a once-in-a-lifetime tyrant, who knew no limits to his extravagance and built a magnificent palace. The royal family and the nobles lived as they pleased within this palace. In a hall lined up with treasures gathered from all across the world, they'd have balls almost every night, the tables filled with splendid foods and drinks the likes of which a peasant would never lay eyes on. Meanwhile, said peasants lived miserably due to huge taxes. They were extorted out of everything save for a portion of grains to eat, and the oppression was so harsh, that those who could not pay could even end up killed. Yet as they continued to suffer, King Nole's palace prospered, and it is said that eventually half of all the world's wealth was gathered there. This nightmarish era continued for decades, but a single hope came by. Three heroes appeared, and encouraged the people to form an army of resistance. Many revolts began to occur, but their power was small. They suffered many defeats against King Nole's forces. Yet they didn't give up in the slightest. They moved past the fallen bodies of friends and relatives, and continued to fight. And perhaps their prayers reached heaven, for at the end of their long struggle, their resistance defeated the king's army, and they reached the depths of the palace. But there they found no trace of King Nole nor of the great wizard Kufir, said to be his advisor. The huge treasures that should be filling the palace were also gone, not a single jewel piece left behind. People tried everything to find the king and the treasures after that. But no one found out where they had gone. And now, a hundred years later, the story surrounding King Nole and his treasures comes to Mercator Island, away from the mainland, once again causing strife among the people.

Mercator Island - What is the mystery of the treasures hidden there…? When the resistance army had greatly expanded its force, and King Nole's army was about done for… an incident happened in Mercator Island, away from the mainland. All of a sudden, soldiers came from the continent to the island, and pushed the natives into working on some mysterious construction. The soldiers were merciless, and killed anyone who disobeyed so as to make an example out of them. The construction began by digging a massive hole. It was big enough to engulf a whole town, and took years to be completed. Next began the actual construction, with stones taken from the mountains. King Nole had accepted his own defeat, and wanted to build a huge palace underground, to hide his huge treasures. Once the construction was done, he had all those involved in it killed to keep it a secret. Friday, the succubus who goes on the current adventure with Nigel, had her village burned to the ground, and her whole family killed, including her parents. Only she escaped the village along with elder Succubi who took care of her at the time, fleeing from the disaster with great pain. But that was certainly the start of a hard journey for her, being the only one left in this world who knew of the secret behind King Nole's treasures… In the present time, Mercator Island is ruled by the country of Gamul, one of the three countries that rule the continent. However, the secret of the underground palace was kept for this long time, due to the harsh measures taken during its construction. And recently, there are unsettling rumors about Duke Mercator, the local governor sent from Gamul. Not much is known, but he seems to have got hold of some information about the underground palace, and is aggressively gathering more information. A certain treasure hunter called Nigel has sneaked into Mercator Island while it is engulfed in this uneasy atmosphere. He is aiming for the treasures of King Nole as well. Proof of that is that some have seen, peeking through the bag on his back, the face of Friday, the only one to know the secret of the treasures. Will he reach his goal in the end? And will Duke Mercator allow him to keep going? Countless questions remain open.

Notes on this prologue:

The timeline here is slightly different than on the manual, with King Nole's era being a single century ago instead of many. Of course, given that Friday is 120 years old, her backstory here wouldn't make sense with the manual's timeline. I don't remember any dates being mentioned in the game itself. I have however seen this backstory in pre release coverage of the game, so it's not a case of spicing up a character for the guide book (also the guide books are credited in game, so they were made during game production).

In the game, Friday doesn't show much knowledge on the treasure. She and Nigel do land in the correct place on the start of the game, but it's unclear if Friday gave the directions or if the bird just landed there by luck. After Nigel falls from the trap, she makes no effort on getting them back there. When the sage in the waterfall dungeon talks about the king's soldiers having come to the island a long time ago, she immediately connects it to the treasure, but shows no signs of recognizing the event. She is also surprised when learning about the jewels during the adventure, so I don't think she knew much about things besides "it's in a palace underground", which is still more than anyone else knew I guess, but I don't think she even told Nigel that. When going through the final dungeon she does get excited from being close to it, and Nigel accuses her of knowing all along, which she denies, saying it's just a feeling.

Granted, Friday wasn't really aiming for the treasure. She was in the mainland first which means she clearly didn't wanna investigate the island by herself, and despite running her mouth on the treasure to them, denied help to both Kayla and Nigel, only helping the latter when he leveraged being her savior at that moment. She does get excited on the hunt as soon as the game starts, but frets over them separating once the adventure is over and seems overall content in hanging back and just pushing Nigel to do stuff, so it's possible that she was in no rush to give useful information and just wanted to have fun.

In all this Friday stanning I forgot another important note. The great wizard mentioned to be Nole's advisor? Yeah I have no clue, don't remember any mentions in game and even here the mention doesn't go anywhere. Weird.

Explaining the geography of Mercator Island Around 100070000 years in the past, the Fonmel Sea that bathes the eastern coast of the Old World is believed to have been just a narrow water channel between land masses. Eventually it gave origin to a gulf, and around 65000000 years ago, due to huge seismic activity, became a part of the wide ocean that we see in the present. The bottom of this sea is remarkable for being where two tectonic plates meet. According to academic research teams in Lanpart, even in recent years it can be noted that the two continents are drifting apart a couple dozens of centimeters per year. The trigger for the earth movements causing this separation was an eruption from Mercator Volcano. The volcano was underwater in those times, but the huge amounts of highly viscous lava spewed formed Mercator Island. Nowadays it is no longer active, but it is the greatest volcano in the northern hemisphere, and it is believed that should it become active again, the land of both continents would be significantly impacted. The academics of Lanpart have dubbed it "Continental Keyhole", and it is a huge topic of interest for geologists. Mercator Island is very isolated, around 2000 kilometers away from the Old World's southeastern coast and 3500 kilometers away from the New World's northwestern coast. Its natural characteristics are intricate. Its latitude is low so the climate is temperate, but being a volcanic area, the temperature of the ocean floor is high, and the water heats up with ease. Because of that, the island is noted to have very unstable weather.

How the people live in Mercator Island Ratio of species in Mercator Island Others: 4% Bearlings: 13% Gnomes: 7% Dwarves: 9% Elves: 15% Humans: 52% Immigration to Mercator Island began around 70 years ago. The island had been ignored for more than 200 years when found by the former dynasty, but the country of Gamul annexed it, interested in turning it into a port of call for their shipments. The primitive tribes of the time were scattered through the land, and the people of Gamul built a capital to administrate the colony, which stands to this day. The natives such as Massans, Gumis and elves are far older tribes, thought to have arrived through the sea from the south around 600 years ago. The now extinct Succubi were a tribe that had been in the island since far older times. The temperature climate suits the people's lifestyle, but the lack of flat terrain hinders their development. Their main economic activity remains the same as before Gamul's colonization, and doesn't make much profit. To develop its economy, it should organize plantations of its local specialties such as the EkeEke fruit. The surroundings of Mercator Island Following the fall of the former dynasty, the continent was split into three countries. From west to east those are Maple, Gamul, and Lanpart. Due to the treaty signed at Jimudo at their time of foundation, the three countries have to this day not attempted to conquer each other, and have developed each their own unique characteristics. Maple is a farming country blessed with temperate climate and fertile soil. Lanpart is a great economic power supported by their expertise on marine transportation. Gamul is a country focused on manufacturing, using of its plentiful mineral resources. However, while this structure of production succeeded in restoring the continent after the fall of the previous dynasty, the economy continued to grow, and the amassing of wealth led to corruption. In recent years, Gamul has shown jawdropping development, but much of it came from inequality created by the system itself. Many countries like Gamul, whose economy is not enough to sustain itself, harbor intentions to conquer other territories. One can only hope this economic disparity isn't an omen of further catastrophe.

Notes:

My grasp on the final lines here is a bit shaky, my bad.

Jimudo isn't a name I recognize from anywhere.

Also, there's no need for me to translate the map since the one from the manual has the same information and more, I'm just reposting that.

Nigel Species: Forest Elf A young elf, 88 years old (elves are said to live for around 400 years). He was born in an inland village of the continent, and became a treasure hunter still very young. He usually works alone, having braved many dangers and obstacles with only his wits and his sword. Before going to Mercator Island, he had already gone on plenty of adventures, and obtained countless treasures on them. Despite elves being known to be stuck-up, he's full of curiosity and sticks his nose on any sort of situation, as you can guess by his adventurous nature. He's okay with any result as long as it satisfies his thirst for adventure. That's how Nigel lives. Friday Species: Succubus A resident of Mercator Island, where the story takes place. When she was still very young, soldiers came from the mainland with overwhelming force to hide King Nole's treasures. At the end of that, many of her succubus race were killed. She's 120 years old, but given her species' lifespan, she can be seen as a bit younger than Nigel. She knows the secret of King Nole's treasures, and thus became a target of Kayla's gang. Rescued from them by Nigel, the two set off for adventure. She saves Nigel's life with the EkeEke fruits, but her flaw is being super jealous.

Duke Mercator The administrator sent to rule over the island by the great military nation of Gamul in the mainland. He is a noble with authority over all of Mercator. He has a great reputation in the castle town of Mercator, but in reality has evil ambitions to go after King Nole's treasures. For that he plans on using Kayla's trio, the bounty hunter Zak, and even Nigel. Not only is he cunning, but his skill with the rapier on his waist is just as great… or so he says. You'll find through the adventure how true that is. Princess Lara Princess of the region of Shurel in the country of Maple in the mainland. She came to the island to have music lessons with the composer Ludwig. But, because she has some secret related to King Nole's treasures, she was locked up by the duke in a tower of the palace. In contrast with these tragic circumstances, she's pretty cheerful. While Nigel rescues her by accident, she takes him to be her dreamy knight in shining armor, and gets really hyped. Even after the events in Mercator palace, she continues to get wrapped up in the conspiracy surrounding the treasures, but her cheerfulness doesn't change a bit. A love rival for Friday? Kayla, Ink and Wally A trio of treasure hunters, rivals of Nigel. That said, their skills aren't great, and they pride themselves in their talent for evil schemes. The boss is Kayla Kozwalski. An expert with the whip, and of a beauty that drives men crazy all around the world… those are her own claims, though… Her goons are Ink, the one with a lance, and Wally, with a round iron ball body. Both have swore loyalty to Kayla at all costs, and are idiots deserving of the misfortune that often befalls them. They have the mutual problem of not being very useful to their boss.

There are all the proper character profiles at the start of the guide, but the strategy parts later on have two more.

Wizard Mir A wizard who frightens the townspeople of Mercator. Has quite a lot of magic power. Because few have seen him in person, little is known about him. In the late game, he'll give you a delightful power.

Zak A bounty hunter from the country of Gamul. He doesn't hunt people worth less than 5000 gold. He was invited by the duke for the expedition against Mir. After that he was employed by the duke, but doesn't like him very much.

Notes:

Ludwig's name in the original version is Churro, like the snack. For whatever reason the word mutated into having an "e" sound in japanese so I didn't notice at all while playing.

Nigel not caring for results is a lot clearer in the original ending. I'm just mentioning it as an excuse to retranslate that i still can't believe they changed it holy crap

(didn't have the patience to screenshot it all either, just go watch it to see the gold numbers NOT go up)

Friday: "The, the treasure… It sank to the bottom… Even, even though we finally made it here…" "…There was like fifty million gold there! And a bunch of jewels! Maybe some fell around here?" Friday flies around the screen Friday: "Nothing! Not a single coin!" Nigel: "Hey, enough of that!" Friday: "Ah! …But I'm mad! We didn't get the treasure after all!" Nigel: "It's nothing to get mad about! This happens a lot when you're a treasure hunter! Geez, get a grip!" Friday: "Well, well, fine! …Then, I'm gonna give you something way, way better than treasure!" Friday flies around Nigel making a heart shape multiple times Friday: "Ehehe…" "So? Happy?" Nigel: "…Well, now that the mood is lifted I gotta go on another hunt!" Friday: "…What! What! Nigel, you're mean! I hate you! You! Argh, you…!" "Without me you're gonna get beaten up in a second! …You're gonna die!" Nigel: "So let's go together? …I mean, won't you come with me?" Friday: "…Fine, I'm coming!"

#landstalker #friday landstalker #nigel landstalker #landstalker guide book translations #long post #this is everything i'm translating from this besides friday's diary #and that's gonna take a while since i gotta translate the doodles too #not that hard but some extra work #and i'm currently pretty busy

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