#crumbledstatues

[celtigaar]

@crumbledstatues said: "what if they kissed?" for aegon (because you know i had to) / send "what if they kissed?" for a scene where our muses kiss, even if they aren't shipped together

——— the great contradiction of large parties was that the more people attended, the less likely you were to be seen. as such it was a surprisingly simple endeavour to slip away unnoticed, provided one was careful to not be gone too long. and could anyone blame her if she should feel stifled and hot indoors, what with so many people and so much dancing, and desire fresh air? and wasn't it only right that a lady not go out alone at such an hour? and wasn't prince aegon so kind to escort her?

cerys waited until the sounds of the festivities had fallen behind.

❝ you're out of wine. ❞ she gestured to the empty cup he still held. ❝ i might have some left. ❞

but she didn't pass her goblet to him, though it was yet half-full —rather she sat the vessel aside, placed her free hand upon the back of his neck, and gently guided him down to kiss and allow him to taste the wine still on her lips.

[zobriezalarys]

@crumbledstatues asked: ❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜ - from Alys

she   holds   his   hand   before   he   has   a   chance   to   move   it   away   and   let   it   as   it   is.   it   would   not   be   the   worst   of   his   injuries   and   he   is   not   going   to   be   stopped   by   a   mild   cut   on   his   hand   when   he   had   suffered   worse.   shoulder   had   been   burned   with   an   arrow   on   fire   and   yet,   he   lives.   but   alys   rivers   is   a   mystery   of   a   woman   who   does   not   seem   to   have   aptitude   for   protocol   or   decour,   or   to   be   aware   that   she   should   not   speak   to   a   king   consort   in   such   a   manner.  

but   he   had   never   been   a   royal   who   cared   for   rules   and   he   would   not   do   so   now,   so   he   keeps   hand   still   and   looks   at   the   emerald   gaze   of   the   woman.   "you   keep   giving   me   things   i   might   start   to   think   you   are   poisoning   me,   witch."   the   nickname   is   given   in   amusement   and   perhaps   a   jest   as   he   watches   her   work   on   the   cut,   whatever   ointment   is   put   there,   the   wound   does   not   ache   at   the   touch   and   soon,   there   is   fresh   cloth   to   be   put   around   it.   "this   is   nothing.   I   do   not   scare   away   from   injuries   easy,   alys."

[divin3rot]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇. it makes her pause, hands stilling over the blanket pulled close to helaena's chest. expression is notably confused appearing with furrowed eyebrows, downturned lips. a certain light in her eyes which helaena might be familiar with despite alicent's constant attempts to understand. to put together what she might've meant---ever since she was younger, even as she nears adulthood, pieces of nonsense or things from her dreams left her mouth. it made alicent wonder ... did helaena fully understand them or was she, often times, as confused as the rest of them ? ( viserys mentioning 'dreamers' comes to mind. her husband struggling to stay still, a cup full of wine in his hand as he had the entire day. fire burning her cheeks, young queen's look of concern. 'very few in my line have been dreamers.' were his words. )

@crumbledstatues SAID, " THERE ARE FIGURES HIDING IN THE SHADOWS, WAITING TO STRIKE. "

reaching forward, alicent's fingers brush strands of silver from helaena's violet eyes. the mother tries to be reassuring, ❛ you have nothing to be afraid of, helaena. ❜ it sounds dismissive, but what more could she say ? alicent does not see what helaena does in her dreams, when her eyes close. ❛ we are here to protect me. your mother especially. ❜ to this alicent smiles before leaning down to press lips to her forehead. ❛ try to rest, my darling. it is late. ❜

[vezosdaria]

@crumbledstatues asked: ❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜ From Helaena

The   dim   light   of   the   candle   flickered   in   the   corner   of   the   room,   casting   long   shadows   over   Aegon   hunched   figure.   He   sat   silently,   eyes   fixed   on   the   door   to   Jaehaera's   chambers,   his   mind   drifting   in   a   place   where   neither   waking   nor   dreaming   could   reach   him.   His   heart   felt   heavy,   as   if   the   grief   for   Jaehaerys   had   long   since   burned   through   him,   leaving   only   an   empty   shell   behind.   He   couldn't   cry   anymore—his   tears   had   dried   with   the   passing   days—but   sleep,   too,   refused   to   offer   any   relief.

The   quiet   rustle   of   fabric   caught   his   attention,   and   he   glanced   to   the   side.   Helaena   stood   before   him,   her   pale   eyes   reflecting   the   same   exhaustion   that   weighed   him   down.   They   had   both   lost   so   much,   too   much,   and   it   showed   in   the   dark   circles   under   her   eyes,   the   way   her   shoulders   slumped   under   the   invisible   weight   of   grief.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

Aegon   shrugged,   looking   away.   He   didn’t   know.   He   wasn’t   sure   if   it   mattered   anymore.   His   gaze   returned   to   the   door,   still   and   silent   like   the   tomb   it   felt   like.   Helaena's   presence   was   a   comfort,   even   if   they   both   stood   on   opposite   sides   of   their   sorrow.   Neither   of   them   spoke   further,   but   he   felt   her   close,   just   as   broken,   just   as   sleepless.   After   a   moment   he   offers   his   own   question.   "What   about   you?"   A   short   pause   as   the   king   as   is   aware   that   her   mind   was   sometimes,   stranger   than   anything   else.

[vulpynus]

@crumbledstatues asked ; “People are born great but yet need to grow into greatness” - from Alicent (hi mom! ❤️❤️❤️)

"not everyone has the chance to grow into it, nor does everyone wish to, i imagine." her gaze lingers upon the boys down in the courtyard below for a handful of seconds longer before it returns to her own daughter. she reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, hand coming to cup her cheek before allowing it to drop away again.

"it is hard when you have to watch your own children following whatever path they end up taking." there is much she might have changed for her children, had she been able to, had her voice been heeded over otto's. she knows the worry that comes with misliking the situation they find themselves in. "they are still young, they haven't had to bear the weight of any responsibilities as yet. they will grow when the time is right, when they must. try not to worry yourself too much when they are far from perfect. they don't need to be perfect."

[bloodymyhands]

LONG AGO SHE'D LEARNED how to read alicent's expressions. it's so familiar now it feels like breathing, to see regret flash by in the other's woman's eyes, blurry through her own tears. the ache is like a physical thing deep in her chest. no one but alicent has elicited this sort of emotion from her -- not sorrow, not grief, but nostalgia. a longing for a past she could not return to. no matter how many years passed, she could still taste alicent's skin as if it were right up against her nose again, can still feel the warmth of her breath and she thinks being burned alive by a dragon might be less painful.

she knows it's for the better. that doesn't make it hurt any less.

she is still studying alicent's expression when the other woman pulls closer, taking her hand. it's as though they're back in time now, with alicent's thumb gently brushing against the scar she'd given her, something close to hope floating in the air between them. rhaenyra is weakened, and she can no longer hold back the tears at the edge of her eyelids, allowing them to spill over. it tastes like salt and she wishes she could feel nothing at all. her hands are not her own, gripping alicent's in return, turning it over until they're holding hands.

alicent stutters on her name and her own lips unwillingly part, wanting to say her name right back. come with me again, she wants to say. journey with me on dragonback and let's leave this all behind.

but the weight of her own duty overwhelms her. she knows she cannot, and her own desires do not matter. perhaps long ago she would've run away, but now her feet are rooted to the ground here. she has never really hated it until now. she's always accepted it. but a part of her, louder than ever, roars at the idea of escaping.

it was all she ever wanted.

"safe refuge," she repeats, her words sounding foreign on her own lips. she sort of wants to scream at her, to demand why in the world she thinks that she deserves to escape all of this when she can't. the anger, though, is misplaced, and softened by the touch of their hand. she feels herself trembling. she isn't sure she could spill the anger out of her even if she tried. her eyes flicker down, looking at their intertwined hands, and she wonders. "you desire to rid yourself of all of this," she continues, finally looking back up at her. her voice is a shaken, vulnerable thing, and she's grateful that her own guards know to keep a distance right now. "wash your hands clean of a war begun by your own kin. you think yourself above consequence."

but here she is, the alicent she'd known so long ago. her words are hurting, a pain she cannot rid of. the hand holding alicent's pulls her in, acting without thinking, until they are mere inches apart. "and what of myself, alicent?" she knows she'll need to take aegon's head, she'll need to take the throne by force. is alicent going to try and stop her? she opens her mouth to say that, but something else comes out. "i -- where would you go?"

ALICENT DOES SEE HER, mayhaps for the first time in what may be years. It shakes her to her core, lines her eyes with her own unshed tears. For someone who has spewed so much, she can barely bring herself to speak the truth. If only it had been that easy, to speak without being dismissed. Rhaenyra had listened, long ago, she had. But the world had grown cold, and Alicent does not wish to torment her further.

So much has already been lost: Luke, Jaehaerys. Hells, even Aegon, although not completely, not yet. There is still so much more that could fall in its wake: her sweet daughter, her grand children — still young and a grandmother already (‘tis the way of things.) She wishes for safety for her girl, innocent in such a corrupt world. If it be her last request, so be it.

Heart shatters at the sight of tears, violet eyes she had once sought comfort in so distressed. Alicent remains laden in her regrets, too many to count. Looking upon Rhaenyra releases a slew of them, some she has not thought of in years. Nothing could be undone, not when some are so permanent. She may as well be a monster in the eyes of her former companion.

Answers do not come. Instead, impulsiveness overrides all. Hand snatched around her neck drops to reach for the other’s hand, Rhaenyra’s skin burning, just like she remembered. Thumb runs along left pointer finger, bare from when their similar rings would lay upon her skin as girls, almost naked without the bright red jewel. She battles everything within her not to reach out to soak up Rhaenyra’s tears with said thumb, opting to rub at the underside of her wrist like she had done previously during their times together.

The pulse against her skin is so sure, so active, a reminder that this is real. No mind could dream such a thing as this, such familiar skin, hauntingly familiar eyes staring back at her. Lone tears stream down Alicent’s cheeks, guilt riddling that it may be undeserving to shed such tears after guiding hands to such destruction.

“Rhae-“ how simply saying it again would cause a loss of all semblance.

I wish to take you up on your offer so long ago. Take me on the back of your dragon, fly far away. Let us soak up the rays of the sun. Let us feast on only cakes. Rest your head in my lap as you once did all those years ago as I read a story to you. We can do it. We can leave all of this behind.

“… yes. I wish for refuge ; safe passage for Helaena and the children. I wish to do away with this.”

[heirtoharrenhal]

a starter for @crumbledstatues ( alys rivers )

𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃   𝐖𝐀𝐒   𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖, inconsequential—until he breathed. Pain was an old companion, one he had long ceased to resent, though on this night, it clung to him with a particular sharpness. There was something singularly irksome about the way this one bit into his side, each breath tugging at torn flesh like the grasping hands of a beggar. He had taken the first opportunity to strip himself of his armor, shedding the weight of it with a sigh of relief. The tunic beneath was dark with sweat and speckled with dried blood, some his own, some not. He had done what little he could—rinsing the wound hastily with water that had long since gone tepid, dabbing at the broken skin with rough fingers that had neither the patience nor the care for finer work. But there had been no time for proper tending. Not with the matters at hand. At last, with a weary sort of resignation, he lowered himself onto a bench, the wood groaning beneath his weight. He exhaled through his nose as he lifted the hem of his tunic, revealing the gash that curved along his ribs like a cruel artist’s stroke. It was not fatal, but it was deep enough to demand attention, deep enough to smart with every shift of his body. His brow furrowed as he pressed a hand against the wound, fingertips testing the raw edge of it, and he gritted his teeth at the answering throb.

The sound of approaching footsteps stirred him from his thoughts, though he did not bother to look up at first. It was likely one of the maesters, come to cluck their tongues and prod at him with their cool, impersonal hands, or some well-meaning fool who thought to scold him for his carelessness. The latter far more likely. “ You are late if you mean to lecture me, “  Harwin said at last, his voice touched with wry amusement, though there was no true humor behind it. His smirk absent, his expression unreadable. “ I have already suffered enough chastisement for one evening. If you seek to add your voice to the chorus, I pray you make it swift. “ 

[ozgog]

put your on repeat playlist on shuffle, list the first 10 songs then tag 10 people to do the same !

Dropped Soul - Murcof

Individuation - phobophilic

Only The Spine Remains - crown magnetar , Darius Tehrani

Deviant Primitive Debauchery - necroticgorebeast

Sehanh Teh Veriah - Treha Sektori

Do You Feel Real - Sevdaliza

Tortoise l - Ulk

Soliloquy - Aseptic Void

Blue Lies - PISS ANT, CELL

Crystal Casket - Chelsea Grin

tagged by: @greendowager tagging: @dimeremantiro , @zobrizys , @loreforged , @sungsilver , @n1ghtbreeze , @0fbabylon , @putrefacerem , @maidmyth , @crumbledstatues , @lvscinvs

[celtigaar]

@crumbledstatues

——— cerys hardly blinked as she looked at him. that was in part due to the lingering adrenaline —he had frightened her badly; and in part a means of attempting to figure him out. she didn't wish to close her eyes lest she should miss something, some expression or gesture, that would lead her to understand him. she continued to stare after he had finished apologizing.

he'd acted thoughtlessly, brusquely, but had not done her harm. if he had intended to hurt her, surely her stating that he was scaring her would not have stopped him. why then was he here? why did he fidget so? why did he ask to stay even if only to sit here in the dark? why did he apologize, again and again? why should he claim to not know why he came?

❝ you can hold me, if you like. ❞ her voice broke the silence that had fallen between them, but she did not like the sound of her words, so stiff and awkward. too unconcerned, when she was anything but. vulnerability did not come naturally to her. cerys tried again, softer, touching the cushions of the settee she sat on.

❝ come over here. i want you to hold me. ❞

[wcrriorhearts]

@crumbledstatues said: ❝ You have a gentle heart, but you do not understand. This is how it has always been. ❞ - alicent to jaehaera

Lavender eyes peered up at the dowager Queen, as Jaehaera took in her figure, bathed in the light of a crackling hearth. She was beautiful, her auburn hair reflecting the flames and shining like fire itself, but her features were hardened, pale and worn. The last weeks had changed her family. Her mother was descending deeper into madness each day, her father was more dead than alive after losing a battle on his dragon and everyone else around her seemed to have become more cruel and heartless.

The silent girl was not one to speak. Words were never her first choice of communication and it was rare that she used them at all. For as long as she could remember, she had loved and hated words equally. They were so beautiful when written with ink on paper, but spoke out loud they could be more deadly than the sharpest weapon. And she had struggled with them her whole life, which was why everyone had accepted by now that Jaehaera was silent. Many courtiers and servants believed her to be slow witted, but she was the opposite. A sharp mind well above her age was hidden behind her quietly observant facade and they were too easily fooled by her small, unobscure body and angelic face.

"I do understand", Jaehaera spoke, words uncharacteristically fluent and sharp. It was rare that she broke her muteness, but when she did, it held meaning. "But I don't think you do. Just because it has always been done that way, doesn't mean it is right."

[divin3rot]

𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒, 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇. her head leans back against the back of the chair, her eyes closed, her hand gripping her cup tighter than before. why did he have to do this now, bring it up now ? it seemed aegon was relentless in probing his mother as to why he wasn't 'good enough' for her ... or so he saw it. but, did alicent ? would she ever admit that to herself or even outloud for that matter ? the answer: no. she would go around the question, give excuses. if aegon were to know her inner feelings, thoughts, on him she feared it would be far too crushing. & so, it feels cruel to do so. ( i am your mother, i love you. i am your mother, i am disappointed the kind of person you've turned out to be. i would throw myself in front of you to protect you, but you represent nothing good to me. ) head goes back to facing forward were brown eyes settle on him ... the distance between them both physical & emotional. it always has been & some part of her regrets it.

@crumbledstatues SAID, " I'VE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING, AND IT'S STILL NOT ENOUGH. "

❛ what do you classify as 'everything' aegon ? ❜ asks alicent, tone on edge. uncomfortable, tense. nostrils flare slightly with another heavy intake of breath. ❛ what more ... could you possibly want from me ? ❜ caring, understanding, motherly affection perhaps. hand begins to mess absently with the star necklace around her neck, an alternative to picking her nails bloody the more uncomfortable alicent becomes. ❛ i have done my best. you may not see it that way, my boy, but i have. i have given you ... everything i know to give you as your mother. i have tried. ❜ 'but, of course you wish to leech more out of me ... to peck me to death like all children do.' alicent thinks. or, is it just hers ?

[firebloodicee]

" I am the fucking King mother ! " Aegon snapped as he looked at Alicent. His eyes were full of anger and hurt as he spoke. "A man came into the castle and cut my boy's throat without anyone seeing him." A sigh then left his lips. "How can I be King and feel so powerless?" His eyes then lowered while he thought to himself.

When Aegon looked back at Alicent he felt a bit of anger towards her. "And you mother?" He asked. "You were in bed, weren't you?" Slowly he got up from where he was siting and walked over to Alicent. "And who was in bed with you, mother?"

Shaking his head he turned his back to Alicent. "You don't think everyone knows? I hear the whispers mother; they speak such evil and wicked things about you and Criston Cole." Turning to face her once more, Aegon looked at his mother. "I didn't want to believe these whispers but then Halaena told me everything and I'd like to know what you have to say about that?"

----> @crumbledstatues <3

[onetrueheir]

#ONETRUEHEIR — independent, selective, and private Rhaenyra Targaryen from House of The Dragon with personal head-canons. established 16, august 2024; crowned by char ( she/her, 29, pst ) please read rules before following.

— quick links: memes | wishlist | thread tracker | carrd (tba)

— affiliates/mains: @kingmaketh & @roguecrown & @crumbledstatues ( alicent hightower & aegon ii targaryen ) & @withguilt ( harwin strong ) & @sadauroras ( alicent hightower ) & @worthyheir & @bigdaddydaemon & @king7doms ( laena velaryon ) & more to come!!

— ship exclusives ( will write w/other interpretations but will not ship ): @crumbledstatues ; ( rhaenyra x aegon )

welcome!! thanks for stopping by and checking my blog out. as stated above, this blog is for rhaenyra targaryen, TRUE HEIR to the iron throne. also as stated above, this blog is mutual's only as i do not have the mental capacity to write with everyone though i wish i could! so please keep that in mind when interacting with posts.

quick run down; this blog will have and will deal in heavy topics such as pregnancy, pregnancy lost, death, incest ( targaryen customs ), violence, murder, blood etc. given the source material, all of the topics listed are depicted and as i wish to keep to canon with my interoperation and exploration, these topics and more will be acknowledged. if this is something you are not comfortable with then this is not the blog for you and that is okay!

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[celtigaar]

@crumbledstatues said : hc + 🚶‍♂️ for a habit-themed headcanon / send an emoji for a headcanon

cerys visits the great sept fairly regularly even though she doesn't like it. it is very different from the claw isle religious sites, which tend to be smaller, more aesthetically reflective of the sea, and tied to older valyrian and celtigar religious practices. the sept feels foreign and cold to her, but she attends anyway as a social practice. she also has a small altar in her room to the maiden that is arranged in the celtigar style and is arguably more about giving her a piece of home than serving a religious function.

[zobriezalarys]

Daemon’s   gaze   remained   fixed   on   her,   his   expression   as   cold   and   sharp   as   the   blade   strapped   to   his   hip,   yet   his   eyes   held   the   faintest   flicker   of   something—perhaps   a   question   or   maybe   resignation.   Alys   Rivers   was   unlike   any   other   he’d   known,   steeped   in   mystery   and   rumors,   her   presence   as   ethereal   as   smoke,   yet   potent   as   wildfire.   She   was   unyielding   in   her   counsel,   her   words   striking   deeper   than   he’d   care   to   admit,   each   one   seeming   to   tug   at   the   weight   that   hung   heavy   upon   him   like   an   old,   familiar   shackle.

He   laughed   low   and   without   mirth.   “So   I   am   prideful,   then?   And   here   I   thought   myself   full   of   valor.”   His   voice   held   that   trademark   bravado,   but   there   was   a   tired   edge   beneath   it,   a   worn   place   beneath   his   armor.   “If   I   am   to   be   haunted,   Alys,   I’d   rather   it   be   by   ghosts   I   recognize.   Not…”   His   words   trailed   off,   his   usual   biting   humor   dulled   in   the   wake   of   her   foresight.   It   was   unsettling,   the   way   she   saw   through   him,   peeled   him   down   to   truths   he   himself   barely   acknowledged.

He   felt   his   shoulders   stiffen,   a   defiant   instinct   he   could   not   shake.   Daemon   Targaryen,   uncertain   of   his   next   move?   He’d   never   admit   it,   even   if   the   gnawing   feeling   crept   ever   closer,   like   a   shadow   slipping   from   room   to   room   in   the   back   of   his   mind.   He   was   not   a   man   built   for   doubt,   nor   did   he   embrace   it.   “It’s   true,”   he   conceded,   voice   lowered,   “I   don’t   care   for   not   knowing.   I’d   rather   meet   the   enemy   blade-to-blade   than   wander   blind   through   a   night   I   cannot   cut   through.”

They   stood   in   silence,   her   words   lingering   in   the   air   like   the   faint   scent   of   incense   and   smoke.   The   warnings   she   spoke   of,   the   riddles,   the   promises   of   a   future   unbidden…   Perhaps,   for   now,   he   could   allow   himself   to   walk   that   uncertain   path.   If   only   to   see   where   it   would   lead.   "This   place   is   certainly   like   no   other,   that   I   can   tell   you.   Made   a   mockery   of   me   saying   dreams   never   did   a   thing   for   my   family."

HE SEEMED TO BE AS OBSERVANT AS HE COULD with a man that felt as though the weight was on his shoulders. She did not see all, but it was definitely an advantage if many believed that. So many had whispered low, although she had been able to hear it : witch, enchantress; how she alone would lead men to their deaths. Yet the men had dug their own graves, put their flesh to the sword. Some may have been with some assistance, ailing health, feeble minded with no thoughts left inside a rotting brain.

“You can be both,” still stoic, even with the tiniest hit of the upturn of her lips. “You’re more prideful than anythin’. Anyone can see that, though.” She had heard stories of him, whispers, more often, before he set foot in this place in hopes of claiming it. A fiercesome warrior with many battles won under his belt. Yet he seemed to lose just about everything else. He had not yet worn it on his face until now, how she would find him lingering, almost haunted. War continued to take and take, whether victor or loser.

No one will ever know peace in this life, she foresaw long ago, both in the clouds and the flames, as well as with her own eyes. Power destroyed all, the desire for it the ultimate killer. It seemed like it would never end. Daemon was not the first, nor would he be the last. But he must relinquish some if he were to succeed. Correct in her prescience, he was not ready, not yet. Let him continue to be haunted, let him succumb to what may lay ahead before he is shown his true purpose.

“I have grown used to nights,” nights where in secret, she would mourn, tears sliding down her cheeks — those who were lost, those who were to be lost. There was no power within her to stop it, only show, only warn. “Whispers are … varied. Warnings, threats, riddles … some speak just to be heard. I entertain them all. There is nowhere else for them to go.” Just as alone as her, hoping to be listened to.