#celtic knot pendant

[kultofathena]

Valentine's Day is only month away! Do you have something special for that special someone?

Celtic Knotwork Heart Pendant

Celtic Heart Knot Pendant

Celtic Claddagh Plaque

Draconic Tryst – Set of Interlocking Pendants

Heart and Fleur De Lis Pendant

[manoartesana]

[arcielee]

Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note:  I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of the rays dancing against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age. 

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married. 

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North. 

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.” 

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.  

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others. 

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place. 

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged. 

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.” 

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.” 

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!” 

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.” 

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.” 

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric. 

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.” 

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?” 

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap. 

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?” 

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.  

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.” 

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises. 

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins. 

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne. 

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II. 

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled. 

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques. 

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. 

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it. 

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome. 

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel. 

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless. 

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines. 

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…” 

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them. 

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother. 

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled. 

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy. 

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.  

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships. 

“What are you doing here?” He spat. 

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive. 

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration. 

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.” 

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.” 

And then, her granddam continued. 

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell. 

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince. 

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward. 

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not. 

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket. 

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.” 

Beautiful. 

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed. 

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own. 

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him. 

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North. 

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always. 

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them. 

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert. 

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback. 

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside. 

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist. 

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin. 

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead. 

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own. 

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go. 

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall. 

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his. 

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back. 

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us. 

Then he kissed me back. 

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.” 

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I. 

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination. 

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks. 

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–” 

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North. 

And I knew I would not miss any of them. 

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond. 

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return. 

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.  

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat. 

He hummed. “Gevie.” 

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own. 

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North. 

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow. 

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin. 

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.” 

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…” 

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.” 

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him. 

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions. 

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking. 

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him. 

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon. 

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing. 

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…” 

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.” 

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince. 

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys. 

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled. 

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son. 

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal. 

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond. 

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained. 

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.” 

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.” 

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant. 

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.” 

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end. 

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.  

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.” 

And granddam did. 

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting. 

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us. 

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth. 

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused. 

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must. 

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.” 

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us. 

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore. 

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?” 

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach. 

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried. 

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over. 

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch. 

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.” 

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her. 

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left. 

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king. 

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne. 

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister. 

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones. 

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real. 

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins. 

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them. 

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always. 

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling. 

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction. 

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.” 

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated. 

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest. 

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

[i-cant-exist-as-a-real-person]

When it comes to spirits, mythological creatures, and ghouls, the 141 is split completely. Gaz and Ghost stand firmly on not believing them — why would they? They’re ruthless killers, surely they’d be haunted by now. Price just shrugs his shoulders and usually says “Who am I to say what’s real and what’s not?” But Soap?

Don’t get Soap started

He was born and raised in Scotland, more importantly, the thick woods, which means Soap knows everything you need to know. Ever since he was just a wee lad, he knew how to be kind to folk. He has books upon books about the different kinds of fae, boxes and boxes and incense and sage — just in case someone brings something back from a mission — and a bunch of pendulums. You name it, he has it. Soap doesn’t fuck around with it when it comes to that type of shit. His Momma taught him better than to try a spirit.

So whenever Soap starts saying something feels off with the base, Gaz decides to fuck with the “spirit” that Soap is claiming must be present. Gaz goes around taunting it, insulting it, and just throwing everything at the “spirit” that he could. There were a few moments of silence as Gaz looked as proud as ever at his taunting before a loud CRASH echoed through the quiet base. When the group expected the noise it just so happened that Gaz’s favorite mugs — the ones that were kept huff from his teammates — were shattered completely on the floor. Soap just stands there with a smug look and announces that he'll be back.

When Soap does return, he’s carrying a box with a bunch of symbols carved along the sides but a big Celtic knot on the center of the lid (one that Ghost recognized as Soap’s family Celtic knot). Soap grabbed several items from the box. Three necklaces (each one having a different pendant and made all of them wear one), incense and a holder, sage, and a lighter with Gaelic engravings on it. Soap starts by lighting the incense and starts asking questions, taking long moments to watch the smoke move before asking more questions (which left Gaz stunned by the way the smoke was constantly changing. ). After the incense burned out, Soap made Ghost walk around with the burning sage, making sure every high corner was touched by the smoke before putting everything back in the box.

“His name’s Brian,” Soap casually stated while waving at the door frame, ignoring the confused looks he got from his teammates. “Price brought him back from France.”

[krenenbaker]

Obey Me! Inspired Outfits: Solomon

Now, for the witty sorcerer himself, the last of the character inspired outfits (since I'm - at this point - not putting together outfits for Raphael, Thirteen, Mephistopheles, etc.), our Solomon! This was a pretty simple look for me to come up with, and took inspiration from a few of his outfits (images below, from the wiki)

Included:

Black high-neck shirt

Black trousers

Grey swing coat

Celtic knot necklace

Moon and star necklace

My black heeled boots are almost certainly the shoe I'd pair with this look. I also could have added more necklaces - perhaps my other Celtic knot necklace, and some other necklaces with stone pendants...

@dove-da-birb

[kiddbegins]

Ooooooooooh please do a character study on Will Halstead please 🙏🏼

Will Halstead is a lot of things. He’s arrogant. Loyal. Hot-headed. But he’s also so filled with love and other things that make him so interesting. I’m gonna try and keep this as organized as possible but I will apologize now if things get jumbled.

Personal / Early Life:

Will is an older brother. That is the canon that both his actor (Nick Gehlfuss) and Jay’s actor (Jesse Lee Soffer) have agreed on and it’s the one I also agree on. It makes sense for it to be this way, and this isn’t just me pushing the oldest child label onto him in a self-satisfying way. 

He’s a doctor. Sure he isn’t because it was forced on him but him taking on the role of caretaker for others fits the mold for what the eldest child deals with. We see him standing up for others, Maggie of course comes to mind first, but she’s not the only one. Natalie, Jay, etc. Anybody he cares about comes out and ends up being a person under his wing.

Let’s get to his childhood life. We canonically know so little about the Halsteads lives which honestly sucks and is crazy since we met Jay back in 2012? 2013? Whichever and then Will in 2015. Jesse (Jay) left in 2022 and Nick (Will) left in 2023. That’s roughly ten years of the Halsteads and this is what we know about their parents:

Their mom died

Their dad’s name is Patrick and he valued blue collar work over what both his sons did

Their mom said whoever found the right girl first got her ring

That’s it. Patrick Halstead was killed off before we could really get a look into what their relationship was like to the full extent. We know Will and his dad had a better relationship than Jay but still. That isn’t much.

One thing that really irks me is that we never even got a name for their mother. All the talk about her ring, the mentions of how her dying of cancer affected the boys and yet we never even get to put a name or face to the woman. Hell, we don’t even know what type of cancer killed her.

As we get a little older in Will’s life, we know he was bullied but that never seemed to have affected him. He was still so outgoing and willing to put his piece in regardless of what the stakes are. 

A few years further in and he’s in college. That’s when his mom gets sick. Jay comes home to help out, Will doesn’t. We never really get an explanation about that either. Was he too wrapped up in school? Was he really too busy partying and drinking like Jay said that one time? We. Don’t. Know. And I hate it.

Because that is not the Will Halstead we know. The Will we knew would have been by his mother’s side as long as he could be. The only way he wouldn’t would be if he was out there trying to find a cure to her sickness. 

We know he’s religious as well. That can be assumed to be connected to their mother. Patrick never seemed too religious in our 3-4 brief interactions with him so I can only imagine that it was Mrs. Halstead that got them into the church, made them into altar boys, etc. That it’s her doing that Will has a cross tattoo on his left middle finger and proudly wears a gold chain with (most likely) a religious pendant on it.

Though I still can’t find out / figure out 100% for sure what it is, my belief is that the pendant is a celtic knot for the fact it is an Irish Catholic symbol (also an old pagan symbol so… Will Halstead we are one). Anyway, I know for a fact he still holds ties to his catholicism but I do believe it is probably in the way of honoring and showing love to his late mother type of way rather than how he truly feels.

Pre - One Chicago:

All we really know about the time post college and pre-med is that he did a stint in Sudan before he moved to New York City and he was a plastic surgeon there for 7 years. There he was fired but again, we don’t know why.

Granted, do we need to know why? No. But it gives a small crumb to the cookie that is Will Halstead as an entire person. From the fact he was a surgeon in NYC, I can do my best to assume that in Sudan he was probably a field medic of some sort. Maybe someone that does all the stitching on injuries? But truthfully I don’t know enough about what was going on there at that time (if anything since it is a television show) to make a good guess.

But in NYC, I like to think that he had a nice enough apartment, probably lived smack in the middle of the city with (possible) a partner, maybe had a dog? A cat even if he was working a lot and his partner was too.

Also, I’m saying partner because I am a firm believer and supporter of the bisexual Will Halstead agenda. This man lived in NYC in the early 2000s + he went to college there. Even if he isn’t the entire fruitcake, he is still an ingredient.

Love life:

To jump into that, I fear my man has no game. He’s hot, he can kinda flirt but I feel like he can only do it when he’s already got feelings for you; ie. Natalie. He probably dated one girl in high school maybe since he was bullied, dated a girl for a few months at the beginning of college before having an entire epiphany later that year/the next with a boy that lived in his dorm and they had a (secret) thing that actually lasted pretty long.

After that though, aside from maybe a couple dates (going out for drinks) and hook-ups, I think Will’s next really big relationship was Natalie.

Relationships:

Will is amazing at creating tight and strong friendships, relationships, any connection really. I feel like he’s the type of person to actively try and make himself as warm and welcoming as he possibly can

He’ll give a small and short smile to make sure that a woman passing him on the street doesn’t think he’s horrible, he’ll help a kid reach something on a taller shelf because he’s literally 6’1 so he has height for days. 

And that’s just the baseline because I’m writing this at almost 1am and other ways of helping people and being there for them aren’t coming to my mind.

This is definitely shown in his relationship with maggie specifically. He is always there for her, so much to the extent that he is invited to her family cookouts/parties. He’s there for her and her sister when everything that happens happens.

Obviously this goes without saying but he is so respectful of Maggie’s sister and her being trans which is just refreshing as a whole because on television you don’t always trans representation and sometimes it’s half assed. Sure one chicago could do better in general on their LGBT rep but then letting a main and loved character treat it so normally is just so nice and refreshing to me.

I don’t know what else to really say about Will except that he is just such an emotionally driven man and we don’t see male characters driven by emotions other than rage much and I adore it and him.

Teddy x

does this even count as what you wanted?

[pastsplendors]

Sterling Celtic Knot Pendant Necklace Amethyst Drop 16 Inch Chain Vintage Irish Triquetra Symbol by PastSplendors http://dlvr.it/TFH4HM

[witchcraft-and-metaphysics]

Amulets and Talismans: Your New Favorite Witchy Jewelry

Let’s talk about amulets and talismans, shall we? If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance you already know that witches, Wiccans, pagans, and the spiritually curious alike are drawn to these little magical trinkets for a reason. But why? What is it about these seemingly simple pieces of metaphysical jewelry that have been so treasured for centuries? Well, buckle up, because I’m about to dive into why amulets and talismans are essential for any witch or pagan—and why you should be wearing one (or several) right now.

I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by these little pieces of magic. In fact, I own a variety of amulets and talismans in different shapes and sizes—some to protect, others to enhance, and a few to just look awesome. And honestly, if you’ve got a heart for magic, there’s no reason why you shouldn't have your own collection. It’s not just about looking cool (though, let’s be real, they do). It’s about harnessing the energies that resonate with your soul. Whether you’re a witch, a Wiccan, or just someone who likes to dabble in metaphysical practices, amulets and talismans can serve a number of purposes in your spiritual toolkit.

What’s the Deal with Amulets and Talismans?

Now, let’s talk about the difference between an amulet and a talisman because, yes, there is one. Although many people use the terms interchangeably, I assure you, amulets and talismans each have their own purpose. An amulet is generally used for protection. You wear it, carry it, or place it on your altar to ward off bad energy or evil spirits. Think of it as your spiritual armor. On the other hand, a talisman necklace is something you use to enhance or manifest a specific energy or desire. It’s all about conjuring the vibes you want in your life. Need more love? Grab a heart-shaped talisman. Want to boost your creativity? Go for a moonstone or lapis lazuli piece. Both are magical, but each serves its own distinct purpose.

Let me tell you, there are a lot of options out there. From symbols like the pentacle, tree of life, and triquetra, to stones like amethyst, carnelian, and peridot, the choices are practically endless. Some people are drawn to ancient symbols, like the Celtic knots or Thor’s Hammer, while others gravitate toward crystals with specific metaphysical properties. Yet others will simply carry pocket stones or charms. Whether you're working on protection, manifestation, or spiritual connection, you’re bound to find a talisman or amulet that resonates with your energies.

Why Do We Choose Certain Amulets and Talismans?

For the witches, Wiccans, and pagans among us, the selection of an amulet or talisman often goes deeper than aesthetics. In fact, the symbolism behind the piece is typically the deciding factor. There is a lot of Wiccan jewelry now. Consider the amulets and talismans of the Celtic peoples, for instance. The Celtic tradition is rich with symbolism: the spirals, the knots, and the triskelion all have deep metaphysical meanings. These symbols have been used for thousands of years, and they still carry power today. If you’re drawn to Celtic jewelry, you’re likely aligning with energies related to nature, growth, and cycles of life—stuff that's foundational to pagan practices.

Personally, I’ve always been fond of sun, moon, and star symbolism. Those of us who feel a strong connection to the celestial bodies often gravitate toward celestial jewelry that reflects those energies. Whether it’s a sun pendant, a moonstone ring, or a starry charm, these amulets and talismans can help you channel celestial power. Plus, let’s be honest, they just look cool. If you’re a moon lover like I am, wearing something with the Triple Moon symbol is a great way to remind yourself of the cycles of life, death, and rebirth.

Amulets and Talismans: The Magic in Your Jewelry

Now, let’s get down to the real reason we love amulets and talismans: the magic. It’s not just about what they represent—it’s also about the energy they hold. Amulets of magic are said to hold protective energies, and many witches wear them during rituals or on a daily basis to help safeguard their spiritual well-being. Crystals like black tourmaline and obsidian are particularly powerful for this, as they are believed to absorb negative energies.

As for talismans, these work wonders for manifesting your intentions. Whether you're looking to enhance your personal power, attract prosperity, or draw more love into your life, wearing a talisman can be a potent reminder of your goals. Think of it as a constant energy infusion. I’ve got a garnet pendant I wear when I’m focusing on personal strength, and it’s like having a little energy boost tucked under my shirt. I also like to wear a citrine talisman whenever I'm manifesting some financial abundance. Hey, a little magic never hurt, right?

Taking Care of Your Magical Jewelry

Let’s talk about the care of your precious amulets and talismans, because, as much as we love these pieces, they do require a bit of attention. Crystals and stones can absorb energy, and if you’re using your jewelry for magical or protective purposes, you want to make sure it’s working at its peak potential. That means regular cleansing and charging are essential.

Cleansing can be done in several ways, depending on the stone and the type of energy you’re trying to clear. A smudging with sage is a classic method, but some people prefer to use palo santo or even the cleansing powers of moonlight. I personally love placing my amulets on a selenite plate overnight—selenite is famous for its ability to clear negative energies.

As for charging your jewelry, well, that’s equally important. Just like you wouldn’t expect a battery to work without charging it, your amulets and talismans need to be recharged to keep their energy fresh. One of my favorite ways to charge my magical jewelry is by placing it outside under the full moon or letting it soak up the sun’s energizing rays. Trust me, your amulet will thank you.

Wearing Amulets and Talismans in Rituals

Many people wear their amulets and talismans in rituals, as the energy they carry can amplify the power of the practice. Whether you’re calling the quarters, opening a portal, or working with elemental forces, having your talisman nearby is like having a personal magic amplifier. Some of my favorite rituals involve wearing my pentacle talisman when invoking the elements or using my goddess pendant during rites to honor the divine feminine. I find that the right amulet can really help focus my energy and intentions.

In addition to wearing your amulets during rituals, many people like to place them on their altars, in their sacred spaces, or under their pillows at night. If you’re working on specific manifestations, it’s a good idea to keep your talisman close by as a reminder of your goals. If it’s charged with the right energy, it’s like a constant, quiet little prayer or incantation on your behalf.

Conclusion: Find Your Perfect Amulet or Talisman

So, whether you’re drawn to a tree of life pendant, a pentagram, or a simple amethyst amulet, remember that amulets and talismans are more than just pretty jewelry. They are powerful tools in your metaphysical practice. With the right care, they’ll serve you well, helping you to manifest, protect, and enhance your life in ways that only magical jewelry can. So, if you haven’t already, it’s time to find that piece that resonates with you, cleanse it, charge it, and start wearing it with intention.

Now go ahead, get yourself an amulet or talisman—you deserve it. Magic, after all, is a lot more fun when you’re wearing it on your sleeve (or your neck). ✨

[ivaldisonsforge]

Thanks for the kind words! ★★★★★ "Great quality and fast shipping. Looks amazing" Erica

[cursedwithwords]

Howell family funfact that probably won't be acknowledged within the fic because it is as of now unknown, but Ellis' mother was a squib. She never mentioned it to Aeron because she didn't think it would ever be relevant, and she dies before Teddy joined the family. She was estranged from the magically inclined side of her family at the time of her death.

She used to draw a Celtic Shield Knot in the dirt(or sand, or on paper, sometimes tracing it on the palm of Ellis' hand) while humming a song. The song is actually an old protection charm that she found in an old Hogwarts text and turned into a lullaby. That's why Ellis has such a significant reaction to the pendant Teddy and James give him.

Naturally they had no idea about his mother or that fact, it was all purely coincidental.

Insert additional lore here 🤲✨️

[inifinds]

How to use Powerful Manifestation Symbols Daily for Balance

In our journey through life, we often seek ways to harness the universe's energy to bring our deepest desires to fruition. Among the most ancient and potent tools for such manifestation are powerful manifestation symbols, tokens that resonate with cosmic energies and guide us toward our goals. The Power of Symbols in ManifestationSymbols have served as a conduit between the material and the ethereal, the human and the divine, across all civilizations and spiritual paths. I included a wide variety of symbols across cultures all over the world.  Some of these symbols may not seem like they attract into your life but let's keep in mind that we must observe the negative energies that enter our lives daily.22 Powerful Manifestation SymbolsPlease feel free to check out this post as we'll cover all the symbols in greater detail but to give you an idea of what we're covering here is the list that covers a wide array of cultural backgrounds coming from ancient to modern times.- Ankh - Ancient Egyptian Symbol for Eternal Life and Spiritual Wisdom - Tree of Life (Yggdrasil) - Norse Symbol of Interconnectedness and Growth - Fehu Rune - Norse Rune for Wealth and Abundance - Maneki Neko - Japanese Beckoning Cat for Good Luck and Prosperity - Eye of Ra - Egyptian Symbol of Protection and Divine Watchfulness - Sri Yantra - Hindu Symbol for Universal Manifestation and Spiritual Enlightenment - Flower of Life - Sacred Geometry for Universal Connection and Harmony - Reiki Symbols - Tools for Channeling Healing Energy and Balancing - Star of David (Six-Pointed Star) - Symbol of Divine Protection and Harmony - Rune Stones - Alphabet of Norse Mythology for Magical Intentions and Guidance - Eight-Pointed Star - Symbol of Fullness, Regeneration, and Cosmic Order - Triple Goddess Symbol - Representation of the Feminine Moon Phases and Life Cycles - Triple Moon Symbol - Emblem of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone; Feminine Power - Tarot Cards - Divinatory Tools for Insight, Guidance, and Focused Intention - Bind Runes - Combined Runes for Tailored Intentions and Potent Manifestation - Bennu Bird - Egyptian Phoenix Symbolizing Rebirth and Renewal - Dung Beetle - Emblem of Transformation and Persistence in Ancient Egypt - Protection Symbols (e.g., Hamsa, Evil Eye) - Amulets Against Negative Energy - Money Attraction Symbols (e.g., Citrine, Goldfish) - Icons for Wealth and Prosperity - Spiritual Symbols (e.g., Lotus Flower, Om) - Markers of Divine Connection and Inner Peace - Cultural Symbols (e.g., Celtic Knots, Maori Koru) - Heritage Symbols of Strength and Wisdom - Equilateral Triangles - Geometric Shapes Symbolizing Balance, Harmony, and Elemental Forces - Reiki Symbols - Channeling Positive Energy for Healing and Balance- Use in meditation or healing practices to enhance well-being and clear obstacles in manifesting health and harmony. - Six-Pointed Star (Star of David) - Symbolizing Divine Protection and Jewish Culture- Place in your home or wear as a pendant to invite protection, balance, and connection to heritage and faith. - Eight-Pointed Star - Representation of Fullness and Regeneration- Use in visualization practices to embody the star's energy, promoting abundance and new beginnings in your life. - Triple Goddess Symbol - The Maiden, Mother, and Crone of the Moon's Phases- Incorporate into personal altars or meditation spaces to connect with feminine energy, cycles of life, and intuition. - Triple Moon Symbol - Embracing the Phases of Life and Feminine Power- Reflect on this symbol to honor personal growth, transformation, and the cyclical nature of existence. - Tarot Cards - Tools for Insight, Guidance, and Manifestation- Draw a card daily as a focus for meditation, contemplation, and action towards manifesting daily intentions. - Bind Runes - Combining Runes for Specific Intentions- Create bind runes that encapsulate your goals for powerful, personalized symbols of manifestation. - Bennu Bird - The Egyptian Mythology Phoenix Symbolizing Renewal- Embrace the concept of rebirth and resilience in facing challenges, paving the way for new opportunities and beginnings. - Dung Beetle - Symbol of Transformation and Persistence in Ancient Egyptian Culture- Reflect on this symbol's diligence and transformational power to inspire perseverance in your manifestation journey. - Protection Symbols (e.g., Hamsa, Evil Eye) - Guarding Against Negative Energies- Incorporate these symbols into your daily wear or living space as a reminder of your shielded and guided path. - Money Attraction Symbols (e.g., Citrine Crystals, Goldfish) - Drawing Wealth and Prosperity- Place these symbols in your wealth corner according to Feng Shui or carry them to attract financial abundance. - Cultural Symbols (e.g., Celtic Knots, Maori Koru) - Celebrating Heritage and Collective Wisdom- Embrace symbols from your ancestry or cultures you feel drawn to, acknowledging their stories and strengths in your manifestation work. - Equilateral Triangles - Symbolizing Harmony, Divinity, and the Balance of Elements- Meditate with the imagery of triangles to foster balance in your endeavors and align with the elemental forces of nature.Call to ActionWe invite you to explore the symbols that resonate with you deeply. Begin by choosing one that aligns with your current desires or spiritual path. Integrate it into your daily practice, observe the shifts in your energy and reality, and share your experiences with us. Your journey is a beacon of light for others on their path to manifestation and spiritual awakening.Related Articles:Manifest your Desires: Tesla 369 Law of Attraction TechniquesElevate your Life: Best Certified Law of Attraction CoachesWhat is a Spiritual Life Coach? Complete Guide for 2024Manifestation vs Prayer: Why together they are better11 Best Law of Attraction Planners for MasteryHow to Manifest with Law of Attraction Scripting TemplateDisclaimerThis blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only and explores a wide variety of powerful manifestation symbols drawn from numerous cultures, traditions, and belief systems around the world. The interpretations and uses of these symbols provided herein are offered as a guide and should not be taken as definitive meanings.We recognize and respect the deep cultural significance and sacredness that many of these symbols hold within their respective traditions. Readers are encouraged to approach these symbols with respect and sensitivity towards the cultures and spiritual practices from which they originate.Please note that the images of symbols included in this post are intended to provide a visual idea of the symbols discussed and may not accurately represent their traditional or cultural depictions in every detail. We encourage readers to conduct further research to explore the rich visual and historical contexts of these symbols.The information presented is a compilation of traditional understandings, and we acknowledge that there may be differing views and additional depths to these symbols not covered in this post. We invite readers to explore these symbols further on their own, considering the personal and cultural contexts that shape their meanings.Incorporating any of these symbols into your personal or spiritual practices should be done with intention, respect, and an understanding of their origins and meanings. This blog does not claim to offer a comprehensive exploration of each symbol but rather aims to introduce readers to the broad and diverse spectrum of powerful symbols used for manifestation throughout human history.Remember, the effectiveness of any symbol in manifestation is greatly influenced by the individual's belief, intention, and the energy they bring to their practice. Read the full article

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Witch Knot Stainless Steel Necklace Celtic Knot Witchcraft Protection Amulet Supernatural Pendant

  Compatibility: All Compatible Model Number: AL19043 Shapepattern: Geometric Style: TRENDY Material: Metal Pendants Type: Circle Metals Type: STAINLESS STEEL Origin: Mainland  CN: Zhejiang Item Type: PENDANTS

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Some "jewelry" things

Small ones can be used for dolls!

Pumpkin | Lightning bolt | Celtic knot Triforce | Small earrings | Big earrings Flower pendant | Sun&moon | Heart key | Earcuffs

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67. good luck charms?

not really a charm but we own a celtic knot pendant from our late grandmother that we wear as a necklace on a short chain! we only take it off to swim or shower