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missglaskin · 1 year ago

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Yandere Aegon's Conquest (platonic) headcanons

AKA Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys as your yan!parents + Aenys and Maegor as your yan!Brothers

Characters: Aegon the conqueror, Visenya Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Maegor & Aenys Targaryen, Orys Baratheon

Note: Adopted and female!reader, toxic relationships, some interpreted romance/incest, Fire and Blood spoilers

You may have joined the Targaryen family through any of them. Brought to King's Landing as an offer, a hostage from Dorne. Whatever the reason was, you have now become the obsession of three dragon riders.

Naturally, there was some opposition at first. It's enough to keep a whole kingdom together; with lords either bending the knee willingly or by force, having the faith tolerate their marriages, and now they bring a child into the fold who didn't seem to bear much resemblance.

Yet despite widespread opposition, there was utter silence when it became evident what would happen if someone were to comment on your legitimacy. It's frightening to face Aegon's wrath, but he and his sisters combined; downright terrifying.

They tended to differentiate when it came to ways of parenting. You would have likely been overindulged if it weren't for Visenya, who adopted a stricter role in place of Rhaenys and Aegon. On the other hand, it's Aegon who adopts the role of the meditator, keeping the peace whenever his wives come to disputes.

Orys is the only one Aegon truly trusts along with his sisters and despite Rhaenys and Visenya sharing Aegon's trust, they're not exactly thrilled about sharing you with anyone else. It’s noticed how quickly Orys steps into the role of an uncle, adding more fuel to the gossip (being Aegon’s brother). Like everyone else, he's just as protective and is more than willing to personally handle anyone who dares to cross you. But also similar to Aegon, beyond being protective, he's pretty laid-back. During your younger years, he'd times have you seated on his lap or playfully throw you up in the air.

As mentioned, Visenya is fiercely protective and sometimes may come off as a bit harsh, but her intentions are solely for your well-being. Her kingsguards are not only ordered to protect the king but are specifically trained to protect their little princess. She’s involved in your education, ensuring that you embrace your ‘Valyrian’ heritage.

Each day she’ll have you rehearse your words, recount the history of your family house, and fulfill all your supposed duties. It’s Aegon and Rhaenys who urge Visenya to give you a break from time to time (not just because they want to spend time with you). Visenya also insists on training you despite her brother and sister’s wishes. Rhaenys thinks your gentle hands shouldn’t touch a blade with Aegon claiming you’re protected enough.

While they might disagree on many things, both Aegon and Rhaenys agree with Visenya's idea of giving you your own dragon egg. Given as a gift on your nameday. And even if the dragon hatches and you may never ride it, they are sure to let it recognize you as their owner; to let it be yours and yours only. Besides it’s further proof to the rest of the kingdom that you’re indeed one of them.

Like Visenya, Rhaenys is very much involved in your life and rarely lets you out of her sighs. She’s much smothering and the most affectionate out of her siblings, known to watch you with great fondness and expect to be praised for even the smallest accomplishments.

Rhaenys takes charge of your wardrobe, dressing you in the colors of House Targaryen and embellishing you with all sorts of jewelry. The many songs she has ensured to be dedicated, praising your elegance and beauty that they are believed to have passed down generations.

That’s not to say Aegon isn’t involved, he is but tends to be overshadowed by his sisters; finding himself stuck in the middle of their disagreements. Despite this, he makes his stance known and will use all types of excuses to steal you away. Aegon goes as far as making you his cupbearer, though while the council members are hesitant to take you away from the king's side. Only Orys dares to have you come and fill his cup.

They often find themselves in childish arguments on who you should ride with. Aegon occasionally claims victory, it helps Baelrion is the largest. In fact, whenever any of the siblings go for a flight, they are likely to bring you along. During their shared flights, they would showcase all sorts of tricks like getting close to the water or letting their dragons spit fire in the open air just to witness the excited look on your face.

Aegon spoils you (rotten) and is ready to fulfill almost all your whims and desires. While he’ll gladly gift you with jewelry and gowns like Rhaenys, Aegon is more inclined to make grand gestures like contracting statues and naming things in your honor. If you were to ask, he'd happily construct a bathhouse, a vast garden, you just need to ask.

Aegon is surprisingly someone you find it easy to turn to whenever you get in trouble, along with Uncle Orys. He's perfectly fine with you doing your own thing, playing away while he watches from a distance.

Despite their occasional arguments, at the end of the day, they are united through their care for you. You mean everything to them, and though each may express it differently, they all just want to see you happy and safe.

Adding Maegor and Aenys into the mix just makes everything more chaotic. While it's not much of a hidden secret that Rhaenys and Visenya favor you, they attempt to keep it subtle. Aegon isn't very adept at hiding it, and there have been discussions where he expresses the desire for you to be his heir instead. However, by the Westerosi tradition, Aenys is the expected heir.

Aenys and Maegor are particularly attached to you, even when their parents clearly seem to favor you. Being a bit older than Aenys, Rhaenys actively encouraged the bond between you two. She always insisted your small self to hold him and it became well-known among the castle servants that baby Aenys would cry until you came at his side.

The death of Rhaenys threw everything into chaos. Visenya and Aegon, if possible, became even more protective, god forbid if Dorne were to make an attempt (or try to bring you back). You became the outlet for their grief, with Aegon demanding your presence more than ever. Aenys clung to you for comfort, a child who doesn’t seem to fully understand where his mother went.

A year or two passed before Maegor was born, and he was already different from the start. Aenys, always smaller than the other kids, remained easily carried by your child self even as he grew. You'd lift him up on your back as he squealed with delight, but Visenya would scold you; your back could get hurt and Aenys is heir, he must be expected to behave like one.

Maegor, on the other hand, was bigger than most kids, with round and full cheeks that you couldn't resist poking and pulling. Similar to Aenys, he constantly demanded your attention, but unlike Aenys who cried, Maegor caused tantrums, pushing other kids you interacted with and throwing things until he got the attention he sought.

A rivalry started between the brothers, and more often than not, you found yourself in the middle of it, but it was mostly one-sided with Maegor often starting the conflicts. Moreover, Aegon directed most of his attention toward Aenys with kingdom duties and all, leaving you mostly with Maegor and Visenya.

Unlike Rhaenys, who didn't have the time to mold her son, Visenya did. She made sure that her son knows that it’s his duty to protect and care for you, deeming Aenys as weak in her eyes. Maegor learned to value you above all else. Sparring was no longer necessary, as according to Maegor he’ll be the one to protect you from now. In one incident, Maegor attacked a noble boy who had jokingly insulted you. Aegon and Visenya never punished him, with the excuse that Aegon didn't want to cause a scene.

Aenys, much like his mother, is naturally affectionate. Openly embracing you in front of the entire court or hold your hand as you walk together. Such displays of affectionate were a never-ending lecture from Visenya and Aegon and all it did was fuel Maegor’s jealousy.

As all three of you came of age, there was a flood of suitors vying for your hand in marriage. Aegon would use any excuse to deter them, but deep down, he secretly wished to wed you to Aenys but he knows Visenya might insist on Maegor instead, further fueling the rivalry between the brothers. The reactions of your brothers toward your suitors only intensifies, with Maegor eagerly challenging anyone who seeks your hand and Aenys wearing a mask of happiness for you while secretly desiring to have you all to himself.

It becomes even messier if the brothers are wed to other women. Alyssa and Ceryse, in particular, feel the pressure to be on your good side, knowing that a gesture from you could sway their husbands in your favor. Despite being married to them, the wives can't shake the feeling of being the "other women". The awkwardness is heightened by Aenys, who insists on you being close to his children, going so far as to let you be one of the first to hold baby Rhaena.

The family was struck with a moment of grief upon Aegon's death, leaving Visenya as the sole parent. With Aegon, and even Orys, no longer present, Visenya had the freedom to enforce her regulations and expectations without interruption. Maegor, being a wild card, proved difficult to control. Despite Aenys' perceived weakness, he stepped into Aegon's place, not directly opposing Visenya and Maegor but making it clear that you were a line not to be crossed. Your place is to be with him and his family, by his side in council.

Aegon's death set off a chain reaction, fueling the underlying war within the family that had already been brewing.

#asoiaf x reader #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #yandere asoiaf #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #aegon i targaryen x reader #rhaenys targaryen x reader #visenya targaryen x reader #aenys targaryen x reader #maegor targaryen x reader #yandere #game of thrones x reader #yandere game of thrones #yandere family

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novaursa · 1 month ago

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Legacy (of dragons and gods)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Canon events have been altered to compliment the plot for this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: the march

- Next part: dragonfire

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The Lannister procession had stopped for the night along the banks of a winding river, its waters sluggish under the pale light of the waning sun. The camp spread out like a sea of crimson and gold, with soldiers pitching tents and stoking fires, the metallic clink of armor and the murmur of voices filling the evening air. At the center of it all, beneath the largest tent adorned with a golden lion on a blood-red field, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of a table, his mood as cold and unyielding as the steel dagger he turned between his fingers.

The air within the tent was stifling, thick with the heat of the gathered torches and the heavy silence that followed the latest report. Kevan Lannister sat to Tywin’s right, his face pale and set in a stern frown. Jaime stood near the tent flap, his armor dull beneath the flickering light, his expression impassive. Between them, the messenger—a frail man in dusty robes—shifted uneasily on his feet, his gaze flicking nervously between the powerful men before him.

Tywin’s voice, when it came, was low and dangerous, like the first rumble of thunder before a storm. “Repeat what you just said.”

The messenger swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming at his brow. “M-my lord, the High Sparrow… the Faith has taken hold of the city. King’s Landing is no longer under full control of the crown. The Sept has been fortified, and the Faith Militant patrols the streets.”

Tywin’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the dagger. “And my daughter?”

The man visibly flinched at the icy edge in Tywin’s voice. “Queen Mother Cersei… she was arrested, my lord. The High Sparrow accused her of sin and impropriety, and…” He faltered, choosing his next words carefully. “She has been made to atone. Her… walk has already taken place.”

There was a beat of silence so heavy it felt as though the air itself froze. Kevan let out a soft breath, his face etched with disbelief and anger, while Jaime remained silent, his jaw tense as he looked away, refusing to meet his father’s gaze.

Tywin’s expression, however, was unreadable, his green eyes fixed unblinkingly on the trembling messenger. “You will tell me every detail,” he said coldly.

The messenger hesitated, but there was no escaping Tywin’s command. “The queen was stripped of her clothing and marched from the Great Sept to the Red Keep, barefoot and unarmed. The people were… merciless, my lord. They hurled insults, food, stones. The walk lasted hours.”

Tywin’s grip on the dagger finally stilled, his eyes narrowing. “And you allowed this to happen?” His voice barely rose, but the fury in it was enough to make Kevan stiffen.

“The Faith controls the city, my lord,” the messenger stammered. “The crown has lost its power.”

Tywin’s silence was thunderous. He turned his gaze to Kevan, whose face was carved in stone. “This is the result of my daughter’s arrogance. Her foolish decisions have not only humiliated herself but sullied the name of House Lannister. She has given our enemies something they will not soon forget.”

Kevan nodded curtly. “The Faith must be dealt with. This cannot stand.”

“And it will not,” Tywin replied, his voice as sharp as a blade. His gaze snapped to Jaime, who still stood motionless by the tent flap. “You have nothing to say, Jaime?”

Jaime finally turned to look at his father, his face unreadable. “What would you have me say? That it should never have come to this? That I warned her?”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly in disgust. “Your warnings fell on deaf ears because you failed to command her respect.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Before another word could be exchanged, a deep, thunderous roar echoed across the camp, cutting through the murmurs of men and the crackling of fires. The ground beneath them trembled faintly, and every man within the tent turned sharply toward the sound. Outside, voices rose in alarm, and the shadow of something vast passed briefly over the canvas walls of the tent.

Kevan shot Tywin a concerned look. “The dragon.”

Tywin straightened, setting the dagger on the table with deliberate care. “Dismiss the men,” he commanded curtly.

Kevan opened his mouth to object but thought better of it, rising swiftly to usher the remaining guards and the messenger out of the tent. Jaime lingered for a moment, glancing toward his father, but Tywin waved him off with a sharp flick of his hand. “Go.”

Once the tent had emptied and silence returned, Tywin rose from his seat and strode to the entrance of the tent. He stepped outside into the fading light, the faint chill of evening brushing against his face as he looked up toward the source of the disturbance.

Viserion descended from the darkening sky, her great wings beating the air with an almost deafening rhythm. The fires of the camp guttered and danced wildly in her wake as she landed with a massive thud just beyond the edge of the tents. Her cream and gold scales gleamed in the twilight, and her neck curved as her golden eyes fixed on the men who scattered in fear at her arrival. Smoke curled lazily from her nostrils, and her chest rumbled with a sound so deep it made the earth itself shiver.

And then you appeared, sliding smoothly from the dragon’s back, your dark riding cloak billowing around you as you landed with practiced ease. You placed a steadying hand on Viserion’s snout, murmuring something softly to her before turning to face Tywin.

Tywin stood his ground, unflinching even as Viserion’s great eyes fixed on him. The anxiety in the camp was felt, men watching from the shadows as the Lord of Casterly Rock and the dragon stared one another down. For a moment, it seemed as though Viserion might let out another roar, but at your touch, she stilled, the smoke in her breath dissipating as she settled.

“Tywin,” you greeted coolly, pulling back your hood to reveal the silver cascade of your hair. The wind carried faint embers and the scent of smoke, as though the dragon’s fire lingered on your skin.

Tywin’s gaze did not waver as he took in the sight of you and the creature at your side. “Your arrival was… dramatic.”

“Viserion does not know subtlety,” you replied smoothly, stroking the dragon’s warm scales. “Neither do the Lannisters, from what I’ve learned.”

Tywin’s lip twitched faintly, though it was impossible to tell if it was amusement or irritation. He stepped forward, stopping just a few paces away from you, though his gaze remained locked on Viserion. “Is she so wild that you cannot control her?”

“She is not wild,” you countered sharply. “She is mine. She answers to me.”

“And yet her presence unnerves my men,” Tywin said, his voice cold. “You do not need to remind them of their place.”

“Then perhaps they should find their courage,” you replied pointedly. “The dragon will be with us in King’s Landing. They had best learn to accept it.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered briefly to you, something sharp and considering in his expression. “We’ll see about that.”

You stepped closer, your violet eyes steady as you looked up at him. “What is it you summoned me for, Tywin?”

He studied you for a long moment, as though weighing his words. “The city is no longer what it was,” he said finally, his voice low and clipped. “The Faith has seized power, and my daughter—has humiliated this house through her recklessness.”

You frowned slightly, sensing the anger simmering beneath his carefully measured tone. “What has happened to her?”

Tywin’s expression darkened. “She was paraded through the streets, stripped and shamed for all to see. It was a spectacle. A disgrace.”

You exhaled softly, a flicker of pity passing through you despite everything. “And you blame her for this.”

“I blame her for giving our enemies the means to harm us,” Tywin snapped. “Power demands discipline. She has forgotten that.”

You tilted your head slightly, your tone measured. “And what of the Faith, then? What do you plan to do about them?”

Tywin’s gaze was hard, unrelenting. “I will deal with the Faith as I have dealt with every other threat to my house.”

“And me?” you asked softly, your voice almost a challenge. “What do you plan for me and Viserion in the capital?”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly. “You will stand where I tell you to stand, Y/N. And your dragon will serve as a reminder to those who would oppose us.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “I hope you know what you’re inviting into that city, Tywin. Fire does not play by the rules of men.”

Tywin stared at you for a long moment before his voice dropped to a soft, dangerous murmur. “Then we will ensure the fire serves our cause.”

Viserion shifted behind you, her chest rumbling faintly as if echoing your thoughts. You turned back to the dragon, running a hand along her warm scales. “Be careful, Tywin,” you said quietly. “Fire is not so easily tamed.”

Tywin watched you for another moment, then turned sharply away.

The soft light of candles flickered inside the tent as Tywin Lannister ducked through the heavy flap, the air still tinged with the chill of the evening. Outside, the camp buzzed faintly with the sounds of men settling in for the night—boots on dirt, the crackle of fires, distant voices murmuring—but inside, there was nothing but quiet. A welcome reprieve.

The tent was a well-ordered sanctuary. Rich crimson fabrics lined the walls, the Lannister sigil subtly embroidered into their folds. The centerpiece was a sturdy bed with a carved wooden frame, draped in thick furs and silken sheets. Across the room, Damon slept soundly in his crib, his soft breathing barely audible beneath the gentle hum of the wind outside. The sight of his son—safe, warm, untroubled—brought the faintest softening to Tywin’s otherwise stern features.

You sat by the small table, clad in a loose gown of black and silver that cascaded around you like a midnight cloud. Your hair tumbled over your shoulders, illuminated faintly by the golden glow of the lantern. At the sound of his arrival, you glanced up, your violet eyes catching the light and shining with that unspoken challenge you always seemed to carry.

“Your men are watching Viserion like she might swoop down and devour them whole,” you remarked quietly, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you sat back in your chair. “Is she making them nervous, or are you?”

Tywin snorted softly, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he began to remove his crimson cloak, hanging it on a nearby hook. “The dragon unnerves them, as does her rider. It is a good lesson in fear.”

“And what of you, Lord Tywin?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do I unnerve you?”

He shot you a look that could have flayed lesser men, but there was no true sharpness in it. “Not nearly as much as you would like to believe.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood, walking toward him with deliberate grace. “It’s been a long day. You must be exhausted.”

“Exhaustion is a luxury,” Tywin replied simply, though there was no denying the faint relief in the way he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. His gaze flicked briefly to Damon, still asleep in the crib. “He is well?”

“Fast asleep,” you replied, glancing toward your son with a softness that did not often appear in your voice. “It seems he takes after you. He barely stirs, even with the roar of a dragon.”

Tywin’s lips twitched faintly, as if considering a retort, but he let it pass. Instead, he stepped toward the table and poured himself a goblet of wine, the liquid dark as blood beneath the candlelight. “Tomorrow will be a day history records,” he said finally, the weight of his words deliberate. “Our arrival in King’s Landing, with a dragon at our side—it will not be forgotten.”

You folded your arms across your chest, the playful edge fading from your expression. “That depends, doesn’t it?”

Tywin turned toward you, brow arching faintly. “On what?”

“On how it goes,” you replied smoothly, stepping closer until only a breath of space separated you. “If the city welcomes us with open arms, it will be a moment of strength. If they resist, if they see us as a threat…” Your voice trailed off, your gaze steady. “The histories could tell a very different story.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm. “Then I will ensure they see it the way I intend them to.”

You reached out, your hand brushing lightly against the front of his tunic. “You always did believe you could shape the world to your will.”

Tywin’s green eyes locked onto yours, the flicker of heat behind them unmistakable. “Because I can.”

“And what will you do with me?” you murmured, your voice softening into something huskier. “Am I to be part of this vision of yours? A Targaryen astride her dragon, or something far less… mythic?”

He set his goblet down with deliberate care, his hands coming to rest on your waist, pulling you just slightly closer. “You are my wife,” he said, his voice low but firm, as though that truth alone carried all the weight in the world. “And you are more than myth. You are fire made flesh.”

The words sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly as you looked up into his face. Tywin Lannister, cold and unyielding to the world, was a man of stone to everyone but you. With you, there was something deeper—something raw, something burning just beneath the surface. And in moments like this, when the world outside fell away, you saw it in him.

“Then claim me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His gaze darkened with desire, and in an instant, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips descended on yours, firm and demanding, sending sparks across your skin as you melted into the kiss. Tywin was not a man prone to tenderness; he kissed with purpose, with possession, and yet there was something almost reverent in the way his hand came up to cradle your jaw.

You responded in kind, your arms winding around his neck as you pressed closer, your body molding to his. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss, feeling his breath catch ever so slightly. When you pulled back, lips swollen and breath shallow, you looked up at him with a wicked smile.

“Undress me,” you whispered, your voice a challenge and a plea all at once.

Tywin’s gaze roamed over you, his eyes dark with hunger as his hands moved to the laces of your gown. He was deliberate, each tug of fabric exposing more of your skin, his fingers lingering where they brushed against you. He lowered the gown slowly, letting it pool at your feet until you stood before him, bare but for the faint glow of firelight against your skin.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained need.

You stepped forward, your fingers moving to the buckles of his leather doublet, loosening each one until you could push the heavy garment from his shoulders. You tugged at his tunic next, your touch lingering against the hard planes of his chest and the scarred strength of his body. When he stood before you, equally bare, the fire between you seemed to burn hotter.

Tywin’s hands slid to your hips, his grip firm as he guided you toward the bed. You stepped back with him, the furs cool against your calves as he eased you onto the mattress. He followed, his body pressing over yours, the weight of him grounding you as he braced himself above you.

You reached for him, your legs parting as you drew him closer, the anticipation thick between you. “Tywin,” you whispered, your voice soft and wanting.

His gaze met yours, his green eyes locking with your violet ones as he lowered himself. You felt him press against you, the sensation sending a thrill through you as your body arched instinctively beneath him. He entered you slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate, as though savoring every inch of you. Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely.

For a moment, he stilled, his face hovering just above yours as you both adjusted to the intimacy of the moment. You reached up, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Tywin’s control began to fray as he started to move, his thrusts steady and powerful, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from you. You met him with equal fervor, your hips rising to meet his rhythm, your nails dragging lightly down his back as the pleasure built between you. His mouth found the hollow of your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses there before trailing up to claim your lips again.

“Mine,” he murmured against your mouth, the word rough and possessive.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as you clung to him, the world outside fading to nothing but the two of you.

The pace quickened, the tension coiling tighter with each movement, the fire between you consuming everything. You cried out softly as the pleasure crested, your body trembling beneath his as he followed moments later, his breath ragged as he buried himself fully within you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still entwined as you caught your breath. Tywin finally shifted, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, his arm draped possessively over your waist. The quiet of the tent wrapped around you like a blanket, the faint sounds of the camp distant and unimportant.

You turned your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw as you whispered, “Do you still think you can control fire?”

Tywin’s lips twitched faintly, though he did not open his eyes. “I control what matters.”

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple as you whispered, “We shall see, my lord. We shall see.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, the weight of the day finally giving way to the warmth of sleep, Tywin’s steady breathing a comforting presence beside you. Outside, the fires burned low, and the dragon watched, her golden eyes glowing in the dark.

The air in Cersei’s chambers felt stifling, heavy with the scent of lavender oil that did nothing to soothe the throbbing ache in her body or the sharp sting of her pride. She sat on the edge of a cushioned divan, draped in a simple gown of muted black. A far cry from the golden silks and rich velvets she had once worn as queen. Her golden hair—shorn during her walk of atonement—barely grazed her shoulders, and her face, though still beautiful, was pale and hollowed with weariness.

Tommen sat nervously beside her, perched like a boy who no longer knew how to comfort his mother. His hands fidgeted in his lap as he glanced toward Qyburn, who stood silently near the hearth. The man had been her most trusted ally since her fall, but even he could not erase what had been done to her.

“Mother,” Tommen spoke softly, his voice tentative. “You shouldn’t stay cooped up in here. The maesters say you should—”

“I know what they say, Tommen,” Cersei cut him off sharply, her tone brittle. Her green eyes turned to him, and her expression softened—just barely. She reached for his hand, her grip weak but insistent. “I am not hiding. I will not cower before them again.”

Tommen nodded faintly, though his youthful face betrayed his unease. “We still have Margaery,” he offered quietly. “She’s in the Sept. You told me the Tyrells were weak. If Tywin—” He faltered, unsure if the word still applied. “If Grandsire returns, he’ll make things right, won’t he?”

Cersei let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow. “Your grandsire will see what I’ve done and scorn me for it. He’ll act as though it’s his house they mocked, not mine.” Her voice turned cold, a faint tremor of fury beneath it. “He’ll set the world right as he always does—through fear, not shame.”

Qyburn cleared his throat softly, stepping forward. “My queen, if I may. Tywin Lannister’s return could provide you with a path to redemption. There is still strength in your name.”

Before Cersei could answer, a loud blare of horns echoed from outside the Red Keep. The sound was sharp and jarring, splitting the quiet of the morning like a blade. Tommen jumped slightly, his head snapping toward the window, where the banners of the capital fluttered lazily in the breeze.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice high with worry.

Cersei straightened, her back stiff despite the lingering pain. “Horns,” she murmured, a shadow crossing her face. “A summons.”

The door burst open before another word could be spoken, and Varys stepped inside with his usual calm grace, though his expression was far from serene. His eyes darted briefly to Tommen before settling on Cersei. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice low and urgent. “Lord Tywin has returned.”

Cersei’s face remained still, though her nails dug faintly into the cushion beneath her hand. “So soon,” she said coldly. “And what has brought such a spectacle with him that the horns must scream about it?”

Varys inclined his head, his tone careful. “Your father does not travel lightly, as you know. His banners march through the gates as we speak. But…” He hesitated.

Cersei’s gaze snapped to him. “But what?”

Before Varys could reply, a sound pierced the air—high, unearthly, a shriek so terrible that it seemed to silence everything else in the world. It echoed through the walls of the Red Keep, reverberating like a distant wail of doom. Tommen clutched his ears with a cry, and even Qyburn startled visibly.

“What in the name of—” Cersei began, but another shriek cut her off, louder this time. Outside, chaos erupted. Horns blared anew, more frantically now, and distant screams carried on the wind. The sound of boots thundering across the courtyard and the cries of panicked soldiers filled the air like a rising tide.

Cersei stood quickly, ignoring the ache in her limbs as she crossed the room to the window. When she looked out, her breath caught in her throat.

The streets of King’s Landing swarmed like an anthill kicked apart. People scattered in every direction, pointing toward the sky. Guards yelled orders that fell on deaf ears, their swords raised uselessly. In the distance, high above the city, a vast shadow passed across the sun.

And then she saw it.

A dragon.

Viserion’s cream and gold scales gleamed like molten fire in the morning light, her massive wings stretched wide as she soared high above the capital. Her shadow swept over the streets and rooftops, darkening everything it touched, and for a moment, it seemed as though the very air stilled in her wake. She circled the city, her movements graceful and deliberate, her shrieks echoing as though announcing the end of all things.

“She’s circling,” Varys said softly, his gaze fixed on the sky with something akin to awe. “Three times.”

Cersei’s fingers gripped the edge of the window frame tightly, her knuckles white. “Is this Tywin’s doing?” she asked, her voice trembling with fury. “Did he bring this to my city?”

Varys’s gaze remained calm, though his words were clipped. “Yes. And it appears he means to make a statement.”

As Viserion completed her second circuit, the shrieks grew louder, almost deafening. The city below had descended into chaos—citizens dropping to their knees in prayer, others fleeing into doorways and alleyways. Mothers clutched their children, and soldiers, pale-faced, stared upward as though witnessing the stuff of nightmares made flesh.

The dragon dipped lower, her wings sending gusts of wind across the streets, rattling shutters and banners. And then, as she began her third circle, she turned sharply toward the Sept of Baelor.

The Sept loomed in the center of the city, its grand dome a beacon of the Faith—and a fitting perch for a creature of fire and fury. Viserion beat her wings powerfully, rising higher before descending with deliberate grace. Her talons curled as she landed atop the dome, the metal groaning under her weight. Her body coiled, tail curling down one side of the structure while her wings folded tightly against her back. From the streets below, she appeared like a living statue of destruction.

The city watched in stunned silence, awe and terror mingling as one.

Cersei took a step back from the window, her breath shallow as she turned to Varys. “Where is she? Where is the Targaryen whore who rides that beast?”

Varys did not flinch at the venom in her tone. “Your Grace, it is Lady Y/N. She has returned with your father. On his orders, I presume.”

Cersei’s face twisted with fury, though it was undercut by something far more dangerous: fear. She turned back to the window, her lips pressing into a thin line as she watched the dragon remain perched atop the Sept, her eyes scanning the city as though she owned it.

“She circles us like prey,” Cersei murmured darkly, her voice trembling with rage. “And my father allows it.”

Tommen crept closer to the window, his wide blue eyes fixed on the dragon with awe. “It's… beautiful,” he whispered.

Cersei spun on him, her voice sharp. “It's a weapon, Tommen. And don’t you forget it.”

Outside, the horns continued to blare, but the panic had begun to ebb as soldiers recognized the banners of House Lannister streaming through the city gates. The gold lions marched in disciplined formation, banners unfurling like rivers of blood and gold. The Lannister host had returned—but with a dragon at its back, the city would never see it the same way again.

Cersei turned away from the window, her face pale and taut with anger. “Summon the council,” she snapped at Qyburn. “And find out where my father is. I want answers.”

Qyburn bowed quickly and exited the chamber, leaving Varys standing in silence beside the window.

“This changes everything,” Varys murmured softly, half to himself as he looked out at the dragon. “Fire has returned to the capital.”

Cersei sank heavily onto the divan, her hands trembling faintly as she curled them into fists. “And so has my father.”

She stared blankly ahead, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “I will not let him take everything from me.”

But even as she spoke, the faint shrieks of the dragon echoed again in the distance, a sound that promised power, chaos, and a future that no one—not even Tywin Lannister—could fully control.

The streets of King’s Landing trembled under the boots of marching soldiers. The sound was thunderous, echoing off the stone walls of buildings and the cobbled streets as Tywin Lannister’s procession carved its path toward the Sept of Baelor. The golden lions of House Lannister gleamed in the sunlight, their banners streaming like rivers of fire and blood, punctuated only by the green-and-gold sigils of House Tyrell fluttering in time with the wind. Lord Mace Tyrell, stout and beaming, rode at Tywin’s side with all the self-importance of a man convinced of his own worth.

The city had quieted. Fear still lingered thick in the air—fear of the dragon that perched atop the Sept like an ancient god made flesh—but there was also the growing hum of curiosity. Windows cracked open, and desperate eyes peered down from rooftops as the procession approached the grand square before the Sept. The people were quiet, hushed, too afraid to jeer, too in awe to cheer.

At the head of it all rode Tywin Lannister, his crimson cloak billowing in the wind, his golden armor polished to a mirror’s sheen. His face was cold, composed as always, though his green eyes carried the weight of expectation, the certainty of a man who did not come to parley but to rule. Beside him, Mace Tyrell bounced slightly in his saddle, his bearded face twitching nervously as he glanced toward the looming form of Viserion still perched atop the Sept.

“Your dragon is a fine deterrent, Lord Tywin,” Mace muttered, tugging nervously at his green doublet. “The Faith will surely see reason now.”

Tywin did not look at him as he replied, his voice clipped and firm. “They will see what I tell them to see.”

The Sept loomed before them, its massive steps already filling with robed figures. The Faith Militant gathered like a black tide, armed with spiked cudgels, spears, and shields marked with the seven-pointed star. The sun gleamed off their crude armor, their faces hidden beneath thick hoods, yet the fervor in their posture was unmistakable. At the head of them, emerging from the shadowed entrance to the Sept, came the High Sparrow.

The man was as Tywin remembered him—frail, weathered, his simple robes of grey and beige hanging loosely from his thin frame. But it was his eyes that held a strange power, the unwavering gaze of a man who believed himself unshakable. He moved slowly, his hands clasped in front of him as he descended the steps. The Faith Militant parted for him like water, their presence unyielding but silent as the grave.

Above them, Viserion moved. The dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, the sound vibrating through the stone beneath their feet. With the practiced grace of a creature far more agile than her size would suggest, Viserion began to climb down from her perch. Her talons dug into the sides of the Sept, causing great plumes of dust to rise as bits of stone crumbled under her weight. She slithered to the square below, wings furling close to her body as her long tail swept the ground with ominous finality.

Atop her back, you sat tall in your saddle, silver hair gleaming like molten silk in the light. The dragon’s motion was fluid beneath you, and when Viserion’s massive body finally came to rest upon the square, her wings curled neatly, and she let out a low, ominous hiss. You were a vision of power—your black riding leathers embroidered with Valyrian sigils in silver thread, the saddle a masterpiece of black and gold.

The High Sparrow stopped mid-step, his gaze fixed not on Tywin Lannister, but on you and the beast at your command. For the first time, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossed his otherwise serene expression.

Tywin reined his horse in at the foot of the Sept steps, dismounting with practiced efficiency. His polished boots struck the stone square as he turned sharply to face the High Sparrow. Mace Tyrell followed clumsily, huffing as he struggled to dismount with his dignity intact. Behind them, the Lannister and Tyrell men fanned out in disciplined ranks, swords at their sides, their banners snapping in the wind.

The High Sparrow inclined his head faintly, his weathered face calm. “Lord Tywin,” he said, his voice soft yet clear enough to carry across the square. “It has been some time since you last darkened the steps of the Sept. What brings you to this holy place with such… pageantry?”

Tywin’s lips curled faintly, the expression cold and humorless. “The Faith has overstepped its bounds, as foolish men often do. I have come to see that order is restored.”

The High Sparrow’s gaze did not falter. “Order, my lord? Or obedience? There is a difference.”

“Semantics do not concern me,” Tywin replied curtly. “You will surrender Queen Margaery back into the custody of her family. You will dissolve your hold over this city and the throne. Do this, and you may yet live to see another sunrise.”

The gathered Faith Militant bristled at the words, their grips tightening on weapons, but the High Sparrow raised a hand, calming them. He turned his attention to you now, his gaze lingering as though assessing something far older, far more dangerous than the man standing before him.

“And you,” he said softly, addressing you for the first time. “A child of fire and blood, astride a creature of chaos. Tell me, do you serve the lions of House Lannister willingly? Or have they chained you as men have always sought to chain beasts?”

You smiled faintly, unbuckling yourself from the saddle and sliding gracefully down Viserion’s side. The dragon shifted slightly at your absence, but remained still, her golden eyes locked on the gathered men before her. You stepped forward, your boots striking the stone square as you came to stand at Tywin’s side.

“I am not chained,” you replied coolly, your voice carrying easily. “And I am no beast. I stand here because I choose to.”

The High Sparrow tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Then you choose to stand with those who corrupt and defile. With those who believe power grants them the right to rule without faith, without penance.”

Tywin’s voice cut through like a blade. “Save your sermons for the fearful and the weak. I am neither.”

The High Sparrow turned back to him, his expression calm once more. “And yet you come here demanding surrender. Why? Because you hold swords? Because you bring a dragon?” He gestured toward the Sept, the great dome behind him rising high and holy above their heads. “This is the house of the gods. No beast, no army, no man is greater than the Seven.”

Tywin stepped forward, his presence looming like a shadow cast across the square. “The gods cannot save you from what comes next, Sparrow. Nor will your Faith Militant hold against my men.”

The High Sparrow held his ground, though his followers shifted uneasily behind him. “You are a man of numbers and gold, Lord Tywin, but you do not understand faith. Faith cannot be cut with swords. It cannot be burned with fire.”

A sound interrupted him then—a low, guttural rumble that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Viserion shifted her great head, her golden eyes narrowing as she bared her fangs, smoke curling lazily from her nostrils. The sound of her growl carried across the square like a warning, sending chills down the spines of those gathered.

The High Sparrow turned slightly to look at the beast behind you. For the first time, his voice faltered. “Dragons do not belong here anymore.”

You stepped forward, your voice calm but edged with steel. “They belong wherever we will them to be.”

Tywin glanced at you, the faintest flicker of approval in his gaze before he turned back to the High Sparrow. “You have until sunset to decide, High Sparrow. Surrender Queen Margaery, dissolve your militant farce, and relinquish control of this city. Defy me, and the Faith will burn.”

The High Sparrow’s gaze lingered on both of you, his expression unreadable. “The gods will decide,” he said softly. “Not men, and not dragons.”

Tywin did not reply. He turned sharply, motioning for his men to hold their positions as he stepped back toward his horse. You lingered a moment longer, your gaze meeting the High Sparrow’s. For a moment, it seemed as though he would speak again, but he did not. Instead, he turned and ascended the steps of the Sept, the Faith Militant closing ranks behind him.

You glanced at Tywin as you rejoined him, your tone low. “Do you think he’ll surrender?”

Tywin’s expression was hard as stone. “Men like him never surrender willingly.”

“Then what happens next?” you asked, your voice calm.

Tywin glanced back toward the Sept, his gaze lingering on Viserion as she loomed like a living weapon in the center of the square. “Negotiation,” he said quietly. “And if that fails, fire.”

You said nothing, but as you looked back at the great dome of the Sept, you could not shake the feeling that the High Sparrow’s defiance would be his

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was a cavernous expanse of cold stone and flickering torchlight, its gilded edges dulled by years of neglect and turmoil. The Iron Throne loomed at its far end, a jagged monstrosity of twisted steel, a reminder of power as cruel as it was absolute. Today, the room buzzed with quiet tension, courtiers and guards lingering in uncertain clusters as the sound of heavy Lannister boots echoed through the long hall.

Tywin Lannister entered first, flanked by rows of his crimson-cloaked guards, each step measured and deliberate. His polished armor glinted in the light, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a mantle of blood. At his side, you strode with equal confidence, your black riding leathers and silver-threaded cloak still dusted with the residue of dragon flight. Every eye in the room turned to you—whispers rising like a storm—but none dared to linger too long on the sight of the dragon bride of the Lion of Lannister.

A distant, haunting roar shattered the murmurs, sending a ripple of fear through the gathered crowd. The sound echoed over the castle walls, reverberating through the Red Keep with primal force. Viserion’s massive shadow swept across the narrow windows of the hall as she circled above, her shriek a declaration that fire and power had returned to the capital.

Tommen sat on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by the immense seat of swords. His face lit up with joy and relief at the sight of his grandsire, the golden curls of his hair catching the dim light as he rose to his feet. “Grandsire!” he called, his young voice breaking the silence as he all but ran down the steps of the dais to meet him.

Tywin’s expression softened—slightly—as he stopped to face his grandson. Tommen’s small hands reached for him, clutching his grandsire’s armored forearm as though anchoring himself. “I knew you’d come,” Tommen said breathlessly, his blue eyes wide. “They said you were still marching, but I knew you’d come.”

“You are a king,” Tywin said, his voice steady and calm as he studied the boy. “A king should never doubt the strength of his house.”

Tommen nodded fervently, smiling. “It’s stronger now. You’re here. And… and the dragon is real, isn’t it?”

Before Tywin could reply, another voice cut through the air—sharp and biting.

“So it *is true,” Cersei said, her tone dripping with venom as she descended the steps of the dais. She wore a gown of dark gold that hung loosely on her diminished frame, her face pale, her hair shorn and harsh against the sharp lines of her features. But despite her weakened state, her green eyes burned with resentment as they landed on you. “The Targaryen whore and her beast have come to King’s Landing under your banners, Father.”

The room fell silent at her words, the tension thick enough to choke. Even Tommen flinched, turning to look at his mother in confusion. You said nothing, though your expression remained cold, your violet gaze meeting hers without so much as a blink.

Tywin did not look at her immediately. Instead, he turned to one of his men and gestured curtly. “Take the king to his chambers. He does not need to be here for this.”

“Grandsire—” Tommen began, but Tywin’s gaze flicked sharply toward him, brooking no argument.

“Go, Tommen,” he commanded softly, though there was steel behind the words. Tommen hesitated, glancing between his mother and his grandsire before reluctantly following the guards who ushered him out of the hall.

As the doors closed behind him, Tywin turned fully to face Cersei. His presence seemed to darken the hall itself, his expression one of pure, cold fury.

“Watch your tongue, Cersei,” he said, his voice low and even, yet it carried through the hall like a physical blow. “I will not have my return marred by your pettiness.”

Cersei’s lip curled, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “Pettiness? You bring dragons and Targaryens into my city, and you call me petty?”

“Your city?” Tywin’s voice turned sharper, his words slicing through her like a knife. “Is this the city you claimed as your own when you were paraded naked through its streets? The city you surrendered to the Faith Militant through your arrogance and your utter lack of discipline?”

Cersei recoiled as though struck, her pale face flushing crimson. “I did what I had to do to protect our family!”

Tywin advanced toward her, and for all her bravado, she stepped back, her eyes wide. “Your recklessness has humiliated this house. You invited the Faith into power, thinking you could wield them as a tool. Now, they rule your city while you cling to scraps of pride and wounded vanity.” His voice grew colder still. “And in your folly, you lost the respect of every lord who might have stood by you.”

Cersei’s mouth opened as though to retort, but Tywin cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Do not speak.”

She faltered, her teeth snapping shut as she seethed in silence, her fists clenched at her sides.

Tywin turned slightly, his gaze shifting to you where you stood calm and unbothered. “Lady Y/N is here because I brought her. She is my wife and the mother of my heir, and her dragon now stands as a symbol of our strength.” He turned back to Cersei, his words a final blow. “You will accept that, or you will leave this city entirely. I will not tolerate your undermining of what must be done.”

Cersei’s chest heaved with barely contained fury, her face pinched and red, but she said nothing.

Viserion’s roar split the air once more, louder this time as she flew low over the Red Keep, her wings casting vast shadows across the throne room. The distant cries of startled courtiers carried faintly through the heavy windows.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Tywin’s gaze remained fixed on his daughter for a long moment before he turned away dismissively. “Return to your chambers. You are no use to me here.”

Cersei froze, her face twisting with indignation. “Father—”

“Go,” Tywin said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Cersei’s hands trembled at her sides, her mouth opening and closing as though searching for words that would not come. Finally, she turned on her heel, her movements stiff with humiliation as she strode toward the doors, her shorn hair catching the light like a tarnished crown.

The room remained deathly silent as Tywin turned back toward you. His expression had softened—slightly—as he regarded you with a measured calm. “We have work to do,” he said quietly.

You nodded faintly, stepping toward him. “The Faith Militant will not yield easily.”

“No,” Tywin agreed, his voice like steel. “But they will yield.”

The doors to the throne room closed behind Cersei with a heavy thud, and Tywin’s presence seemed to fill the hall once more. The Lion of Lannister had returned to King’s Landing, and with him came the fire and fury of the dragon at his command.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #house targaryen #house lannister #got #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #got tywin #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin x y/n #legacy

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cherryclitgirl · 2 months ago

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The Gods II

Pairings : Maegor x reader

Warnings : abortions, child loss, young pregnancy

Notes: brief mention of y/n

The days following the Death of king Maegor’s oldest son and heir where filled with sorrow. The two men responsible for the cold murder were caught fleeing Kingslanding with Aegon’s head on a sack. Maegor’s wrath was inevitable, putting multiple members of the faith to the blade, torturing the head of the kings guard for failing to protect his son. He tortured the two men to death, but it was still not enough. No one dared to step in his way. Adding fuel to the fire, the queen mother Visenya died of a sudden illness. Allowing dowager queen Alyssa and her two young children Jaehaerys and Alysanne to flee from Dragonstone, in return Maegor tortured Viserys to death.

He did everything but comfort his wife. The young girl was consumed with grief, she refused to eat or sleep since the death of her son. She grew paranoid of the shadows, believing the gods would come for her remaining children. When they slept, she didn’t. She would sit in bed clutching Aegon’s toy dragon, when she closed her eyes she could still hear the sound of her son’s muffled cries. The sound of the flesh cutting under the blade, her poor babe. Ripped off her arms so easily. The death of her brother Viserys only made her grieving worse. She began to neglect her motherly duties, as well as her children.

Baelon being the second oldest did not understand why he could not find Aegon. Rhaenor would cry for hours for no apparent reason in the arms of his wet nurse. The new born Rhaella having grown accustomed of being breast fed by her mother would not accept the milk from her wet nurse.

Queen Ceryse having be shut off by Maegor and the young girl, tried multiple times to speak with her. But the young girl refused to speak with anyone. That was until she managed to sneak into her room with the wet nurse who begged the young girl to feed Rhaella.

She saw the young girl standing by the large window holding Aegon’s funeral shroud. The burning of the body had yet to be done, as no one dared to intervene the grieving of the young queen and the cruel king.

Queen Ceryse did not know what to say, how to start. She stood watching the young girl for a moment. She didn’t have the courage to tell the poor girl that it was she who went to Maegor. Despite trying her best to deny it. It pained her when Maegor married his niece. It pained her even more when girl fell pregnant quickly. Seeing the girl bear four healthy children was a stab in the heart for Ceryse. Sending her away with Visenya was the least she could do. It gave her time to be with Maegor and pray that she would fall pregnant. But now her actions, her greed, her jealousy had consequences. “ The gods punished us, they punish me” she thought as she snuffled and wiped her tears away.

She didn’t have the heart to tell the poor girl she had completely forgotten to tell the guards to stand by the door. “It was never my intention to cause harm to you or your children “ Ceryse sniffed softly. The young girl had been condemned to punishment far beyond her understanding. Ceryse gulped and continued talking “I had every intention on telling the guards, protecting the sanctity of you and your children was my first priority”. Not matter what what Ceryse said, she knew it would never be enough. The girl was not at fault. She was innocent.

The young queen slowly looked back, “What they did-“ she said wanting to hold the poor young girl. “It doesn’t align with my personal beliefs of the faith “ she spoke hoping to sooth the girl. The young girls eyes fell on Ceryse’s necklace.

Ceryse clutched her necklace, she regretted wearing seven pointed star necklace, after all was the faith militant that killed Aegon. The young queen said nothing, but beneath those hurt and red eyes, was just a girl, who lost both of her of her brother, her son, and whose mother and sister were nowhere to be found.

Ceryse slowly walked to the girl “What you saw that night” she sighed softly trying to reach and hold the girl “when you came into Maegor’s room-“ The young girl gently shoved Aegon’s funeral shroud into her arms. “This is for my boy” she said walking past Ceryse.

Meagor insisted that both his son Aegon, and his mother Visenya were burned at Dragonstone at the same time. Many lords of minors and great houses traveled to the Dragonstone, although very few were present during the burning of the bodies.

Baelon stood by his mother watching the body of his brother burn away into ashes. His mother held his hand tightly. Baelon felt his mother’s grief, his heart clenched watching her cry. He’s only response, was too cry was as well. Baelon the bitter the history books would call him.

- - - - - - -

Alyssa had fled to Storms end with Jaehaerys and Alyssane.They were promised to be housed and welcomed by Lord Rogar shortly after fleeing . Rhaena had fled with her daughters shortly after the death of her husband Aegon. Alyssa had yet to receive word from her and her whereabouts. Her second daughter was but a walking corpse of sorrow and grief trapped in the hands of Maegor. Viserys had been tortured to death by Maegor. Her grandchild murdered in cold blood.

It was what they did to her sweet girl that pained Alyssa. Her poor daughter a victim of a crime she did not commit. She watched when Maegor took her to marry. She was there when her girl of ten and five gave birth to her first child, only to return months later pregnant again and again. She watched and could not save her.

She could only pray that Jaehaerys would take the throne. Save his sister and her children. Allow them to be free from Maegor’s grasp.

Alyssa exited the wheelhouse she had managed to pay for. The guards of house Baratheon stood with their Lord Rogar. She looked up as the rain began to fall on her face. A sight of freedom, a bitter sweet freedom. Unfortunately her daughter could not experience it. Oh her precious y/n, how much she adored the rain. She would’ve enjoyed dragging Aegon and Rhaena into the courtyard to play in the falling rain.

Before Alyssa could take step another step towards Rogar she fell to her knees. The hard rain fell on her;mixing with the salty tears that rolled down her cold cheeks. She could only remember times where her six children were together. Sitting at the long table together as Aenys wished for it to be. They were contented. A happy family, a good family. Maegor took that from her.

She cursed his name, desperate and angry she cried, her nails clenching into her palms. She wished for nothing more than to run, get her daughter and grandchildren and give them the freedom they deserved.

- - - - - - - - - -

In 45 AC shortly after the construction of the red keep and a year after the death of three year old of Aegon. Baelon Targaryen at just four summers old was officially named heir of the iron throne and prince of Dragonstone. A large tittle for a small boy who did not understand the it’s great significance. Soon after the announcement Maegor took his wife to her chambers. Her arm wrapped around his they walked past Ceryse. Her relationship with the girl had become strained and unpleasant.

“Baelon will marry Rhaella” Maegor firmly told as he left his wife’s bed. Y/n sat up from the bed lifting the sheets up to her bare chest. Her long silver hair covered her shoulders, weakly guarding her naked body “She’s barely one ” she muttered.

Maegor looked back at her “Let her be promised to him from a young age” he replied coldly. “I have let you name our children, let you pampered them with love, so they grow weak and feeble. He spat moving closer to the bed. He sat down close to her “You have no say on the matters “ he said firmly.

“Why keep me here then” she asked him. Slowly she was regaining the strength that was once taken from her. Although she still mourned the death of her son, the constant overlooking of those who surrounded her made her regain what she once lost. Her desire to fight. Not for Maegor, not for the crown. But the her children.

Maegor looked at the girl for a moment, his hand twitching to reach over and tighten itself around her neck. He liked her better when she did not question him. But something had changed in her, he knew it , he felt it. It had taken him off guard when she first rode him. He still remembered her hands on his large bare chest. The way she looked when she moaned. She was not just riding him to please him, she was doing it to please herself. Something in their marriage that had never happened. She was no longer callow and afraid , she took him for her own pleasure. For every night that he spend with Tyanna or Ceryse he would spend ten nights with y/n. Ultimately, he stopped visiting them. Solely focusing on his young wife. She would take him good. facing him , on her back, on her knees, his cock down her throat, the things that made him proud.

He didn’t answer her question. The silence between them felt long and unease. He pulled the silky sheets further up her bare chest.

He stood up and began butting up his breeches “You have been faithful, despite the circumstances you remain at my side, that’s why I keep you here”. He reached for Blackfyre and held up to her, the sharp end pointed at her. “I assume even when I’m gone you will carry me in your thoughts”. Unfortunately he was right. Despite her being deathly afraid of him and after years in his cruel grasp.She developed fidelity and compassion for him. Strongly believing he would protect her. Maegor knew this, he used to his advantages. Fueling his wife with lies and deceptions. Believing she had no one else to turned to , knowing she would do anything for her children. Maegor believed she will do anything to have Baelon on the throne. He offered her a seat in the small council to serve as his advisor. This did not go over lightly with Tyanna, but to her misfortune, Maegor did not care. He wanted her close, manipulate her as he always wished. Maegor left her chambers leaving her covered with the sheets of their aftermath, alone in the large empty room. Despite her enjoying their intimate moments the constant act of enjoying his company felt foreign to her. But it was necessary for her survival. Although the developed feelings of safety and compassion for him were strong. Something inside her opposed them.

The morning shortly after he left her trusted maid drew her a bath, and carefully cleaned and washed her. The warm water kissed her skin as the sponge glided down her arms and on her back. Her maids soft fingers caressed her scalp with gentleness, soothing away her turbulence. Kiara was her most trusted maid.She was gentle and attentive, appointed by grand maester Benifer himself. Kiara was fiercely loyal to her queen .

“Does my queen wish for a moment alone?” Kiara asked her as she brushed the last of her hair. The queen looked at her maid through the mirror and nodded “please “ she said softly. Kiara nodded, she made sure her queen had everything she needed before bowing and leaving.

She was to await someone, who always came after a night with Maegor. Moments late the door of the chamber opened, y/n looked to see Grand Maester Benifer standing by the door holding a something covered with a small cloth. He looked back the door as it shut and made sure no one was looking as he unveiled a small round cup with a lid. “Good morrow your grace”. He bowed his head at her and slowly walked to where she was. His wary expression was noticevale as he placed the cup on the table. “Good morrow grand maester” she said watching him place the cup on the table. The tea’s vapor dancing on top of the cup. “As requested “. He watched her slowly take the cup and smell it before she drank it slowly. She never enjoyed the taste of the sour taste, it burned her throat as she drank it, pausing here and there.

“If I may your grace” he spoke solemnly “ This happens to be the third one you’ve taken” he said in a hush voiced. “If the king find outs.. this is treason, killing potential heirs-“ Maester Benifer was cut off by the y/n who placed down the cup. “I’m aware…grand maester, but the king has three healthy heirs” despite her justification, the act was still immoral and distasteful to some. “ But his desires are not mine…this is my choice, my right “ she said firmly.

Grand maester Benifer nodded and looked down “What you do for your children your grace… it’s admirable…your labour will not unheeded go ” he promised her. He covered the cup with the cloth again. He had brewed the tea for her, and advised her when to take it. He was well aware of the risk that came with aiding the queen, but he would take that risk and more.

Unfortunately for him, and for the young queen it was not Maegor’s wrath they ought to be afraid of. For the gods tend to not be satisfied with only one son.

#maegor x reader #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen #king maegor #maegor smut #asoif/got #house targaryen #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones

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damneddamsy · 4 months ago

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renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part ix)

a/n: Silverwing being ride-or-die is my new favourite trope

Princess Aemma Velaryon's death reached Dragonstone only after her forlorn brother, Prince Lucerys, feverishly searched the seas and skies alike for any sign of her or Silverwing. All he came upon of her was the shredded length of her velvet cloak by the shores of Shipbreaker's Bay, his sister's sweet lavender perfume lost to the salt of the sea. He had clung to it like it was his lifeline, and that's how they found him in the Sea Dragon tower, within Aemma's chambers—crying his eyes out and calling out to her.

Luke sobbed deeply, pulling at his hair. "It should've been me."

Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon walked in on Luke, eager to see her children again, and eventually registering his undone suffering. Once the mother noticed the familiar article of clothing—formerly her own—she went insensate. Her shoulders shook, composure gone to ashes, and sank to her knees. Daemon was stoic to the scene, save for his hand that went to direly fist at his sword.

The older prince spoke first, relieving the tension. Despite his grave face, his tone was forbidding, intending to burn. "Who the fuck did this?"

Luke's upper lip curled, his hands clenching at his sister's cape. "Him."

Nothing else needed to be said. The reality of who was capable of executing such treason was well understood, though uttering his name was like spitting venom.

Rhaenyra roared out with the visceral fury of a dragon, and once that drained, she was but an empty vessel. She heaved a solemn breath, palming at her abdomen. The misery that wracked her labours was far less cruel than whatever this was, the anguish overwhelming, her chest aching with the burden of mourning two daughters, their deaths igniting the flames of war.

When she tearily looked to her side, Daemon had disappeared.

Prince Daemon had been conditioned to barbarity and grief, so much they were welcome drinking companions of his. Aemma was no different to this addition. In her, he saw echoes of his own turbulent youth—the same steely determination, the same unpredictability, the restless drive to remain an enigma to those around her. Perhaps it was this reflection of his own wild spirit that spurred him to seek out grisly revenge.

Daemon's warpath toward Caraxes suddenly stopped as he saw him standing before the painted table. The hollow swordsman. The one-eyed kinslayer. A mirror of Daemon's worst motivations. Here stood the rider of the beast that had slain his daughter.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister without hesitation, the Valyrian blade slicing through the air with a menacing swish.

"Poetic justice or self-destruction?" he muttered, masking his fury.

Aemond bore a black smile, barely lifting his lips. "Depends on which of us you ask, uncle."

Rumours had begun to spread that Aemond Targaryen had defected to the Blacks. Some even called it a surrender. Perhaps it was the stabs of a prickling conscience, the blood stains of love in his hands, or the affliction of sorrow that had overtaken him, making him ready to face the wrath of a grieving mother—and his own death. Bereft of his truest calling, shattered by dreams he had destroyed with his hands, the one-eyed prince swiftly concluded that life held no meaning without his princess. He intended to follow her footsteps soon enough, to fulfil the conclusive detail of their promise: never to part from Aemma henceforth.

Without Aemond and Vhagar, King’s Landing had become perilously vulnerable. The soaring pall of the largest and most terrifying dragon no longer loomed over the capital, and it was clear to all that their strongest defence was now absent. The Greens' was evidently morale staggered. With Vhagar’s absence, Rhaenyra’s forces could bring the fire with seven dragons and fewer consequences, and rumours of dissent spread throughout the city. The Greens were losing their grip, outmatched in numbers and firepower, leaving the smallfolk exposed and the city teetering on the edge of defeat.

Terrible fables spoke of King Aegon and Aemond One-Eye’s grandiose schemes to slay the false queen under the guise of begging for mercy. But these tales were discredited when it was revealed that Aemond had been imprisoned in the chambers of the late princess—a ruthless move orchestrated by Queen Rhaenyra. It was, in every sense, a final sentence.

“If that savage snake truly loved her,” Rhaenyra had said vengefully to her husband, “then that place will drive him mad. Let his evil haunt him. I want to see the fear in his eyes when I burn him.”

Yet fear was not something Aemond would entertain. He would sooner fall on his sword than show terror before his wretched half-sister.

Over time, however, he did fall—deeper into madness consumed by the unfamiliarity of being locked in the space that had once been Aemma’s. The burden of memory became the iron bars and chains of this prison. Numb to everything else, he wandered her chambers aimlessly, haunted by her absence. She was everywhere and nowhere at once—in the vanity, where strands of her hair clung to her hairbrush; in the bureau, where her meticulously folded maps and lists remained undisturbed; and in the faint perfume that lingered in the air, forever scenting her dresser.

A full moon's cycle passed before Aemond began hearing her voice. A breathy echo, a laughing whisper, a figment of his broken mind. With each crash of the waves against the jagged rocks beneath her balcony, he would catch that soft, familiar sound: My friend.

The echo eased him in ways nothing else could, drawing a smile to his face. If this was madness, it was madness he welcomed. My love, he thought, and in that moment, he would’ve gladly surrendered to it.

Jace was the one who finally confronted Aemond, his vengeance boiling over upon his return from the Vale. Sword in hand, he cornered the one-eyed prince in his sister's chambers. What was surprising was how the captive did not baulk at the sight of the angry prince. He simply tilted his head, offering his neck and awaiting the onslaught.

"Fucking murderous cunt," Jace spat, barely above a whisper, trembling with restrained fury.

Aemond was inured now. It resounded in his mind with every breath, a constant reminder of what he'd become. His gaze remained distant, vacant as he met Jace's stare.

"Mount your dragon," Jace ordered, dripping with disdain. "I only spare you this avail because of how dearly Aemma loved you."

Aemond didn’t even blink. It took more effort than expected to form words after days of silence.

"I will not fight you," he muttered, voice gravelly from disuse. "So, get it over with. Finish me."

But Jace wasn't about to grant him that release.

"You're coming with me," he growled, eyes blazing with wrath. "I won't believe my sister is gone until I see it with my eyes. Find me Silverwing, and only then will you get what you so desperately crave."

Aemond turned away, blinking back a rare sting of emotion clouding his vision. He had been so benumbed, that the sensation sliced him raw. His jaw clenched, forcing his voice through the anguish tightening his throat.

"Silverwing sank beneath the waves."

"Then she should've washed ashore by now," Jace snapped, his tone sharpening. "Or been spotted near Storm's End, or found by sailors off Driftmark. Someone would've seen her. I will not grieve with my family until I know for certain. Until I’ve seen damning proof."

Aemond’s teeth ground together in frustration. "My hope ended with her."

"Hope?" Jace sneered, the word wresting bitterly in his mouth. "Know this, uncle—gods forbid I find what I seek, you won’t just be dead to the realm, you’ll be nothing more than a relic of a prince no one will remember."

We cannot know the ancient minds of dragons. They were not merely instruments of war—they were beasts of chaos, as unreliable as the gales they rode. A bitter reminder of how little command Targaryens truly held, even over their own beasts. Yet, the Good Queen's Silverwing had always been distinct from the others—gentler, some would say, with a serenity that belied the strength coiled within her shimmering, pale-scaled body.

Her loyalty to her peaceful rider ran deeper than bloodshed or battle, for it was not assumed upon command or duty but of a friendship that transcended power. It was instinctual, a mutual loneliness that they shared. Silverwing had intuited Aemma’s presence since her first touch upon her scales, the soft whispers of affection, the implicit trust.

Following Aemma's descent from her dragon's saddle, the waters hit her hard, churning her into the abyss. Just as the waves threatened to pull her deeper, Silverwing cut through them, her talons outstretched, and in a swift, precise motion, she plucked Aemma from the depths before the sea could claim her entirely. Silverwing’s grip was painstaking, cradling her rider’s limp form between her sharp talons, ensuring she was protected. With a great struggle, Silverwing battered her wings against the storm, fighting the ocean’s pull, lifting them both back into the air, finding cover above the storm clouds.

And now, in the quiet of this remote sanctuary, camouflaged against rocks, their bond held firm, even as Aemma lay unconscious amidst the mud and grass, suspended between life and death.

The old dragon sensed more than the warmth of her rider's skin when she nudged her snout against her constantly, letting out a low, concerned rumble. She felt the pulse of her heart, flimsy but steady, the rhythm of her breath, shallow but resilient. Every beat, every rise and fall of Aemma’s chest was a call to Silverwing, one that she refused to neglect.

Silverwing would shift her body closer at night, nestling Aemma to the earth, her massive wing folded protectively over the young princess' limp body like a shroud of safety from the bitter storms and the chilliness of dusk. Her fiery breaths ghosted over Aemma, keeping her warm.

Days turned into nights, and nights into days, but Silverwing never left, only venturing far enough to find sustenance, returning quickly, her eyes scanning the skies for any threats that might approach. But none came. The world remained unaware of the little hidden firth by the hills and the fragile life it cradled.

Silverwing’s troth was not just an animal instinct—it was a devotion to the one person who had never treated her as a mere beast. For nigh on a week, Aemma had doted on her, spoken to her in the tongue of Old Valyria, just as Alysanne did, with the same reverence and care, and Silverwing, in turn, had taken her into the skies, free from the burdens of the mortal realm.

In this isolated place, far from the throes of war, Silverwing held the last vestige of hope for her rider’s survival. It wasn't until a dark-haired sailor had stumbled upon their refuge that the mighty she-dragon let out her first roar in a while.

Addam of Hull hadn't expected much that day. He had set out on his small boat with nothing but the hope of catching enough fish to feed Driftmark's shores. The oceans had been restless ever since the bloodshed over Shipbreaker's Bay, and his mind had drifted as the waves lapped at the sides of his skiff. He cast his net, whistling a well-known sea shanty, letting the salt air fill his lungs, when something unusual caught his eye, beyond a small inlet of water rambling away from the beach.

A flash of silver. A rustle in the trees.

As his little skiff crept closer and into the currents of the slight strait, Addam’s heart surged. There, nestled within the protective embrace of the rocks, lay a great silvery-blue dragon that was the name on everyone's fuller lips—Silverwing. Her glittering hide was unmistakable, though it bore the wear of days spent at the mercy of the weather. She lay low to the ground, her immense wings tucked tightly around something as if guarding a prized jewel.

Addam wasted no time. He rowed forth, with all the strength he could muster, his mind racing. Could it be? Could Princess Aemma have survived the hand of fate, the cruel sea, her murderous husband, and the relentless storm? Could it be that Rhaeynra's heir was very much still alive?

As he drew nigher, disembarking his boat and clambering up the rocks, Silverwing raised her head, her auburn eyes locking onto him with a vicious intensity. She cautioned him with a low rumble, ready to spew out her ire.

For a moment, Addam feared she truly might lash out, mistaking him for a foe, but she did not move. Instead, she took a prudent sniff and juddered her head, softening almost.

Eventually, she unfurled her wings narrowly, revealing the motionless form of Princess Aemma cradled beneath her. She was drenched, emaciated, tattered, bruised, and her silver hair matted to her gaunt face, but her chest rose and fell.

There was yet life in her. Barely. All alone. No one else. Just Silverwing standing vigil over her as if she’d been guarding the princess all these days. Ten days.

"Gods be good," Addam murmured.

Silverwing shifted away, stooping into the rocky niche, as if to offer her rider to him, but kept her weather eye on him. Addam made quick work of it, lifting her carefully into his arms off the wet ground. She was light, too light, but she stirred faintly at his touch.

"Princess?" He was unsure if she could hear him.

As he carried her back toward the boat, shrouded her in the coils of his nets, her fiery guardian observed the sailor, her vigilant eyes never leaving Aemma’s form.

She pierced a startling trill at her rider's saviour.

Addam jerked in shock, nearly dropping his docking ropes.

Silverwing rose off the ground, and shook herself off, wings beginning to unfurl as if preparing to take flight.

"You—er, stay," Addam stammered, desperately gesturing with his palms, trying to convey some form of command to the dragon.

He knew full well he was speaking to a creature that answered to no man but her rider, and she was not going to let just anyone snatch the princess away unless she was certain they meant no harm.

Carefully, Addam took a step closer, heart thudding in his chest as he bowed his head to the dragon.

"I'm not here to harm her," he said softly as if Silverwing could understand his plea. "I want to save her."

For a long moment, the dragon stayed unmoving, watching him closely, casting her own unfamiliar judgement. Then, with a slow and deliberate movement, she backed away scarcely.

"Thank you," he whispered, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was thanking the dragon, the gods, or fate itself.

Returning Princess Aemma in such a state to her kin on Dragonstone would have them questioning Addam's heartening intentions toward her. Rather than have them cast their vile aspersions on him and taint his shoddy name further, the brothers knew it was only proper to nurse the princess to health before anything else. The secret of Aemma's survival would remain closely guarded for a while longer.

"She thinks I'm her father," Addam quietly shared with his brother, Alyn, upon the fifth evening of secretively nursing Princess Aemma in their meagre home. It had been a total of sixteen days since she was believed deceased.

Alyn raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the small, makeshift room where their heir to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms lay in a thrifty cot, wrapped in linen blankets and tended to with great care. Her condition had steadily improved, but she remained barely conscious and frail.

"What do you mean, ‘she thinks I’m her father’? Is she delirious?" He asked.

Addam leaned against the doorframe, picking off the herbs from his thumb. "Perhaps she seeks comfort. And she finds it in the late Laenor."

As they spoke, a soft groan emanated from the cot, interrupting them. Aemma stirred, her dark eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again. Her lips moved silently, murmuring incoherent words. Addam and Alyn exchanged a glance, their choices harshening.

Alyn's brow furrowed. "How is she then?"

"Better than expected," Addam replied, shaking his head. "Her fever broke, I've stopped feeding her milk of the poppy. She recalls her mother often. The poor thing had nearly cracked every rib in her chest, the healers had to brace her spine with wood until yesterday. The blood of Old Valyria heals quick, I suppose."

Alyn nodded, absorbing the solemnity of his brother’s words. "And the dragon?"

"Stays close, hovers around the Driftmark groves. I've been feeding her, too," Addam said, shaking his head with a small, wry smile.

Alyn clapped his brother on his back, grateful for him. "How are you faring?"

Addam shrugged casually. "I’m doing what I can."

"Good. Keep watch," Alyn instructed, nodding at him. "On the morrow, I’ll prepare a fresh supply of herbs and check on the guards. There's only so long that we can keep her out of prying eyes."

Addam sat by the firelight in the hearth, his eyes constantly drifting to the young girl as she lay nestled beneath the heavy blankets, adjusting them around her again, his movements careful, almost tender. Every now and then, Aemma would stir, her brow twitching in her sleep, speaking illegibly. The flicker of the flames stained her face in hues of gold and shadow, silvery hair glinting, making her seem almost unearthly, untouchable. She could not have been older than fifteen, an age no child should have to raise battlements in a war.

“She’s strong,” Addam murmured, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Stronger than I imagined.”

"A future queen," Alyn said. "There's hope for her yet."

The second sons of the Blacks and Greens, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Aemond Targaryen, were unlikely allies as they scoured the realm despite their bitterness, united on a front to find a whiff of Aemma or Silverwing, searching high and low, from the misty mountains of the Vale to the shadowed peaks of Harrenhal and the foggy forests of the Riverlands. Every whisper of a silver-blue dragon sighting raised their hopes, only to be dashed moments later.

The weight of Aemma's absence dangled over them like a blade. Jace was fierce, relentless in finding that damned dragon himself, dead or alive. Maybe they were on a wild goose chase, led astray to not confront the reality that awaited them. Every dead end with clueless lords and fishermen was a new wound, yet he never yielded.

Their unwavering trepidation whenever the folk and lords saw Aemond cut deeper than a lash of a thousand scorpions. Each glance was a reminder, a searing echo of his own words to Aemma that fateful night: "Better to be feared than scorned." But now, as their suspicions pressed down on him, the question gnawed at his memory—was it really? The cold satisfaction he once sought had curdled into something far more bitter, and he found himself wondering whether 'fear' had ever truly been the answer, or if it had only left him more isolated, more empty.

Aemond, however, wore a stoic mask over his understanding of the truth, though beneath it, the torment tore at his soul. If Aemma's room had been perfect chaos, this was his purgatory. His nights grew sleepless, plagued by the recollections of his mistakes, the sight of her empty saddle still burned behind his eyes. He carried the guilt like a second skin, abrading when it got too thin. A little part of him was driven to heed Jace, an insignificant confidence, not by burden but by desperation—a need for redemption, to see her alive, to prove to himself that she had somehow survived.

Now, close to five nights, it had become custom for Jace, drunk on grief and rage, to drag his feet outside Aemond's pitched tent, embracing his shining sword, fighting his morals. Fighting the inevitable. Jace never spoke to Aemond directly, but his accusations found a way into his earshot.

"Aemma was good. Peaceful," he would hear Jace lament. "She had dreams. She was our sunshine. Now she’s out there somewhere, alone in death. Or worse. And you, of all people, claim to be the one who loved her? You never did. You fucking murderer. Selfish cunt."

This night, a familiar darkness flickered alight in Aemond. Unfailing despair powered him to react. He walked out of his tent, stepping forward in a threat until Jace's raging face was inches apart, his sword slipping from his grasp. His single eye narrowed.

"Say it again," Aemond dared, his voice low and cold. "Say that I do not love her. Say it, bastard."

Jace shoved him by his chest, his rage boiling over. "You threw her away like she was nothing! For your treacherous family! You never gave a fuck about her, and that is the truth!"

Aemond stumbled back but didn’t fight back. How could he, he had nothing left to withstand. His mouth twisted in pain, but his voice remained hard.

"Hate me all you want. Blame me. Strike me down. Your words hold facts. But don’t think for one second that your fury burns hotter than mine. Or that your love for her transcends mine own."

"Fuck you!"

Jace shoved him again, shouting out his rage, this time harder, the power of his wrath pushing Aemond back a step. And again and again, until Aemond fell back into the mud. Back again to ten years ago, when a spiteful Aegon had towered over him, Sunfyre peering over his shoulder mockingly.

Jace met his gaze, the two facing eye to eye, the consequence of years of rivalry and betrayal still fresh between them. But beneath it, there was something else now—shared desperation, grief that only they could understand. The closest brother of Aemma and her husband.

Aemond's breath hitched, bearing himself with his palms, the words barely escaping through his gritted teeth. He looked Jace in the eye, his jaw tight.

"I have nothing left. Seize your sword and end it all."

Jace leaned down, seething, his voice trembling with scorn. "Look at where your absolution got you. Begging your foes for death. Pathetic."

Aemond’s hand twitched toward his dagger on instinct, his face a storm of rage and remorse. He had been so accustomed to being on his back, bearing through the punches thrown, facing defeat, now when he was made to encounter this yet again.

"Yes. That is all you see," Aemond agreed, his expression darkening. "All you ever see. Aegon, Rhaenyra, you. A pathetic boy too sightless for power. I've belonged nowhere but with Aemma all my life"—his voice cracked—"and now she's gone, too. And I am left trapped in this resenting world."

Jace stayed quiet, breathing deeply.

"I could not save her," he whispered, the words hollow as they left him. "No atonement will ever free me from this, even while I chase forgiveness from a ghost. I will never know peace again until my last breath."

His trembling fingers unsheathed his dagger and threw it to Jace's feet. "Make your shot count, nephew. Plunge it into my other eye, and take what is due. I do not care anymore."

Jace’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a step back, torn between fury and pity, his expression unreadable. He looked away, blinking back tears as if the significance of Aemond’s words was too much to bear. He couldn’t bring himself to speak—there was nothing left to say.

"You don't deserve peace, not even in death," Jace eventually whispered before walking away.

The air was dense with the scent of salt and damp wood as Aemma lay in a bed draped with soft linens, the faint sounds of the lapping waves against the rocky shores of Driftmark echoing in her ears. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by an invisible force. Pain coursed through her like a vicious tide, abrupt and relentless, yet there was a warmth surrounding her that whispered of safety.

Fingers of consciousness began to weave their way through the fog enveloping her mind. Flashes of memory flickered like distant constellations—Silverwing’s fierce wings, the chaos of the storm, and Addam’s urgent voice calling her name. She struggled against the haze, her heart pounding with the remnants of fear and desperation.

"Aemma." The voice broke through her reverie, softer now, tinged with concern.

She fought to open her eyes, the effort feeling monumental. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and the dim light of the stuffy room began to emerge. A figure stood at the foot of the bed, cloaked and hooded, shrouded in shadow.

A wave of shock washed over her, and before she could fully grasp the situation, he lunged forward, pressing a warm hand to her lips to silence her gasp. Heart racing, Aemma’s gaze narrowed, the edges of her memory sharpening.

"Ssh, my love," he shushed her.

She recognized the intensity in his gaze, even from beneath the hood. He hovered close, his presence both alarming and strangely familiar. His silver hair rolled off his neck and shoulders, catching the light and casting shadows that accentuated the depth of his expression. One striking violet eye shone through the darkness, piercing and filled with emotion, while the other was shrouded in shadow.

“Aemond,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, like the faintest breeze. It felt like a lifetime since she had last spoken, her throat dry and cracked.

He flinched at the sound of her voice as if she had struck a nerve. Slowly, he lifted his head, an indigo eye swirling with a charged storm—pain, regret, and something darker lurking beneath the surface.

His voice was as firm as steel, yet equally gentle. "We've done our parts here. You’re coming with me, and this time, forever."

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felassan · 5 months ago

Text

New BioWare Blog post:

"Journal #6 Lethality and Levelling An inside look into Rook’s Warrior combat Hello everyone, Since our summer reveal in June, we’ve been reading all the great excitement for the game and listening closely to what you’d like to see next. Our reveal trailer showed off the prologue and very beginning of the game, and now we want to shift our focus to higher level combat. Today, we’re going to cover our game’s combat system, looking at how Rook and Companions can be built up to meet the perils facing Thedas, using deep RPG systems. This starts with choosing a desired class as there are three main classes to select from when creating Rook: stalwart Warrior, deft Rogue, or spell-slinging Mage. This blog and accompanying videos will focus on the Warrior class, and we’ll have more to share on the other classes before launch."

"PREPARE FOR BATTLE By choosing Warrior, the fighting style revolves around close range combat and defense. Skills, Traits, Runes, and Abilities are customizable to best suit that type of playstyle. The loadout will have slots for Abilities, accessed from the Ability Wheel. Picking which Abilities from the many in the arsenal to bring into battle is a strategic choice made for each encounter, and they can be swapped out anytime, except during combat. For some added depth, there are up to three equipable Runes. Runes provide a variety of control, utility, or additional damage to synergize with your build. While in combat, all three Runes can be cycled through and activated. There are a wide range of potential Abilities that are unique to each Class and can be customized by spending Skill Points. For example, the Warrior class will have certain abilities that deal fire damage. Players can plan their build around this, and each skill point spent could be in pursuit of this build. Each step taken is designed to augment Rook and/or Abilities. Eventually, Rook will gain access to Specializations, which grant powerful Abilities, unique to each Specialization. These Specializations will also provide a unique Ultimate Ability (more on that later below) tuned to the theme of that Specialization, so a Warrior specializing as a Grey Warden Champion will gain access to the devastating incendiary Warden’s Fire that launches a flurry of searing strikes that ignite foes like tinder. This is the best Specialization Area for defeating darkspawn, an enemy that many Dragon Age fans know well. Check out all the Specialization Areas below (minor gameplay spoilers) and we’ll have a separate spotlight on progression later as well."

"Warrior Rook Specialization Areas: Reaper - Become night's blade. Steal life and risk death to gain incredible, unnatural abilities Slayer - Leap into the fray. Wield massive, punishing weapons while rushing enemies to deal devastating blows. Champion - Be the shield. Shrug off damage while summoning righteous fire down on enemies. Rogue Rook Specialization Areas: Duelist - Draw your steel. Parry and dodge past enemies to gain strength with every strike. Saboteur - Set the stage. Deploy explosives and turrets that devastate enemies, then pick them off with arrows. Veil Ranger - Hunt the enemy. Snipe enemies from afar using artifacts that charge arrows with dangerous, powerful magic. Mage Rook Specialization Areas: Death Caller - Embrace the dark. Drain life from enemies and cast spells that writhe with the essence of death itself Evoker - Call the void. Freeze enemies in their tracks, then summon the deepest cold to tear them apart. Spellblade - Be the storm. Channel potent spells for close-quarters combat infused with lightning's wrath."

COMBAT BASICS Now let’s talk about the foundations of the combat system. The four core moves that all three classes share include jump, dodge, light attack, and heavy attack, which can all be chained together. Rook can dodge at any time, even mid-attack, which adds fluidity to the combat. Is taking damage or dealing it better at that moment? Light attacks do quick damage and build small amounts of stagger; heavier attacks are slower and build more stagger to your opponent. Once enough stagger is built, the enemy will be rendered more vulnerable to all incoming damage and allows Rook to perform a takedown. Each of these attacks (light and heavy) can be charged by holding down the button to deliver a more potent version of the strike. For example, a heavy attack can be charged while using a staff to unleash a magical wave of destructive energy. Attacks can also be triggered while sprinting and/or jumping to add depth and fluidity to combat. In addition, each class has ranged attacks, blocks (or parries, if timed properly with the right weapon set), and the ability to control Companions’ combat strategy. Each Class also has two distinct weapon sets, which can be swapped seamlessly in the heat of battle. This drastically changes the available move-sets and strategies. Heavy attacks remove Armor Barrier (denoted by a yellow bar) faster, and ranged attacks remove Shield Barrier (denoted by a blue bar) faster. There is also the Stagger meter (denoted by a lavender bar) which builds as hits are landed against an enemy. Stagger creates opportunities for bonus damage and special Takedowns. The Ability Wheel pauses the fight for more precise control over Rook’s own abilities and those of their Companions, and where those tactical RPG elements come into play. Players can use the Ability Wheel to assign Companions to attack specific enemies, individually or together. Abilities can also be bound shortcut keys to keep the action flow going, instead of always bringing up the Ability Wheel. Vulnerabilities and resistances of enemies can also be seen while targeting enemies in the Ability Wheel. For example, Darkspawn are weak to fire damage."

"BUFFS, DEBUFFS & CROWD CONTROL Some Abilities apply buffs or debuffs to help you in the fight. For example, Davrin has the Heroic Strike Ability which applies the Overwhelmed debuff to enemies. This will increase the enemies’ Stagger and make it easier for Rook to perform a Takedown. There are also Area of Effect Abilities to help the party defeat large groups of enemies. Controlling the field of battle is a key consideration in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Players will need to consider which buffs/debuffs or crowd control Abilities will work best for each situation. Abilities require Class Resources (Mana, Momentum & Rage) to be able to use. Each class primarily builds up their Class Resource by dealing damage with basic attacks. In addition, each class has a secondary way to build their Class Resource - Warriors build Rage by taking and dealing damage, Rogues build Momentum by dodging attacks and parrying successfully, and Mages regain Mana passively over time. Warriors who go into battle with a sword-and-shield build, will have access to the Shield Throw Volley. By landing a Heavy Attack on a Shield Throw return, the shield will ricochet, taking out multiple enemies. This sequence can repeat up to three times, causing a devastating ring of damage around Rook. This attack works well against swarms as well as distant adversaries. Other ways to manage distant enemies lean into Companion abilities, such as Davrin’s Death from Above to send Assan, his griffon, to attack enemies. Warriors also have the Grappling Spear Ability to pull enemies close for an easier victory. With these tools, attacks can be chosen based on the type of enemy and the situation to dispatch foes in the most optimal way, especially on higher difficulties."

"PRIMERS, DETONATORS & ULTIMATES Many Abilities include some type of coordinating effect and serve as either a Primer or a Detonator that can result in devastating combo attacks when properly executed with the Companions. These Ability combos can be set up in the Ability Wheel. Finally, you have your most powerful attack: Rook’s Class Ultimate Ability. Doing damage to enemies increases your Ultimate Meter. The Ultimate Meter won’t fully fill during smaller skirmishes, because they are designed to decimate a significant swath of the battlefield or the toughest bosses. All of these options combine together to create a rich combat experience that is highly customizable. The entire Skill Tree is also fully refundable, and Skill Points can be redistributed. We encourage you to try out multiple builds, use different Abilities for each mission, and change up the Companions you bring into battle. These videos have highlighted several of the ways that players can achieve strategic combat in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. We’ve put them all together in case you wanted to see them back-to-back. Check out the full video below! there’s a lot to explore in the game and a lot more to talk about. We’ll have more to share on the Rogue and Mage before launch, as well. Next week, we look forward to companions week, along with another Discord Q&A planned for August 30th where we can answer more of your questions about the game. Chat soon! — The Dragon Age Community Team"

[source] <- video links at link

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost

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elguritch-art · 5 months ago

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Silfr Life Stages

Wanted to do a bit of a lineup through the prominent points in time that Silfr's gone through, the guy's been through A Lot.

Some more in depth explanations/lore ramblings below:

"Birth"

Silfr was born of a profaned ritual of a heretical branch of the Dragon Cult, from the soul of a stillborn infant "Dragon God", and the body of a discarded Warrior.

Silfr's first memories are the scent of blood, jumbled mixtures of knowing this body was too big, but the soul within too small, the body too weak but the mind too strong, everything, everything, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Scales were barely visible and only a stripe across the eyes, the fingers, and a barely formed tail originally, along with visible scarring and a blind eye!

Pre ER

Healing and growing stronger under the care of the Cult, Silfr, at the time referred to only as the "Dragon God", was put on a pedestal, cared for as more of an object of worship then a person.

Silfr knew very little, for the most part following the Cult's dictations, but still something deep within knew this was not right. Silfr ated the weight of responsibility and worship put into the air Silfr breathed, and began to question if the Dragon God had really been reborn into this inhabited flesh, or if it was something worse.

Scales over the top half of Silfr's face, but not quite onto the ears yet, along with fully covered hands, a slightly longer tail, and scars starting to shrink and fade.

Start of ER

Silfr finally worked up the courage to flee the Dragon Cult after waiting for the flesh to grow strong enough to swing a blade, a gesture both extremely foreign and new, and something deeply buried as a comforting, welcome motion.

The garb of a Confessor was the first and only thing Silfr was able to find to escape the Cult, and very early on picked up the Reduvia as a first weapon after receiving aid from Yura upon being attacked by Nejirus not long after escaping.

Scales cover the top half of Silfr's face, ears, and up to the elbows, tail is almost as long as Silfr's legs, and scars are fully gone. Left eye is still blind. About 5'8" tall.

Mid-Late ER

Growing in confidence as a warrior, Silfr's buried frustrations, mixed with the constant fear and paranoia, and the newly consumed Dragon Hearts culminates in Silfr becoming a creature of wrath and silent anger, taking everything out on almost every living thing crossing Silfr's path.

The Dragon Heart Communion starts awakening and unlocking Silfr's inherent draconic abilities, increasing Silfr's already existing abilities for fire breath, along with allowing magic, scarlet rot, and frost breaths as well, and slight transformations with claws, horns when emotional, and the start of the half-transformation.

Scales more prominent on face, covers up to shoulders, and tail is noticeably larger and harder to hide. Slitted pupils and sharp teeth emerge, and Silfr more commonly has smoke breath when speaking. About 7' tall.

Post SOTE

Now a calmer, serious, more confident warrior, though still has moments of a temper flaring and draconic behaviors. Silfr still fears the Cult and it's attempts to reclaim their Dragon God, but has grown massively in both size and strength, along with finding refuge in the Shadow Keep, finally granting a semblance of peace.

Has also grown into an identity Silfr finally considers a unique identity that Silfr owns, and was not created by someone else. Silfr, the Dragonblooded. Silfr, the Dragon of the Shadow Keep. Silfr, The Impaler's Consort. All titles Silfr forged without the Cult, and identities Silfr holds dear.

Post-Bayle and the consumption of Bayle's heart, Silfr fully entered the form of the Dragon God (or what could be it), for the first time. It was through the efforts of Messmer, enlisting the aid of the Dragon Priestess, that after twenty-four days of agonizing reverting of the transformation, bit by bit, that Silfr returned to a familiar form, though not unscathed.

Scales fully cover top half of face, with permanent two sets of horns, and pointed ears. Small scale spikes on jaw, and small tusks. Scales fully cover shoulders and up to mid thigh, collarbones, and Silfr's entire neck and throat. Tail is quite large and often drags on the floor, and Silfr has a pair of infantile, underdeveloped wings that are kept bound due to chronic pain (With Messmer's help for it.) About 8' tall.

:) The little bracelet is one of Messmer's and was gifted to Silfr upon accepting the offer to become a consort to Messmer's claims of Lordship.

#i do have plans to draw maybe another mini comic about Silfr's Dragon God transformation and Messmer's reaction 👀#I'm currently super busy and backed up on owed art so I'll pick at that real slow but I already have my script written too #my art #digital art #artists on tumblr #digital drawing #elden ring #elden ring oc #dragon oc #silfr #elden ring tarnished #tarnished oc #tarnished #dragon original character #original character #monster

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graceofagodswrath · 2 years ago

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She tore across the fields, the deserts and the oceans. She destroyed villages, cities and empires. She jumped across planets and worlds, ravaging, killing, burning. Nothing could stop a woman with such rage in her soul.

And a mother’s wrath in her bones.

It had been peaceful. An out of the way back world planet, green and bright. An oasis form of the planet earth. And it was a secret. A secret she kept between her and her child. A little boy, sweet as can be. With swirling black curls atop his head and big honey brown eyes, he’d stare at the only home he knew with playful awe. He’d dance while she tended to the garden, sing as they walked the wood’s paths. He’d ask a million questions about a million things, and she rarely grew tired of it. He filled her days with entertainment and happiness, and she filled his with knowledge and play.

But all good things end. That is the universe’s constant cycle. She came back from a mountainous trip to find her home ravaged, and her boy gone. She tore through the ruins, a woman of green spirits no longer. Now, she was fire and brimstone. A mountain of storm.

It didn’t take long for her to find the tracks. She called back to her dark past, the one she ran from to keep her child in a net of safety. It only did so much good. So she called back that dragon fire fury of her warrior days, and hunted down those scavenging fools who’d taken her only treasure.

And caught them she did. She stormed their ship, all metal and fang, claw and bullet, sweeping through them like a hurricane. Blood and carcasses painted the bridge in eerie art.

But she did not find her boy. However, She did find her next target. And it would not be long until they’d tasted the rage of her blades.

So beware the venomous scorn of a woman.

And the hellfire of a mother’s wrath.

#my fiction #humans are crazy #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #my writing #writing #flash fiction #maternal instincts #sorry I took a while to post my fiction #been having a shitty week #but hopefully I’ll start doing it a bit more often #to help me cope with the stress

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ladythornofrivia · 1 year ago

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Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Three)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader bloody and beaten up but the prince interrupted the scene.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: please read chapter 2 before reading chapter 3 to know what’s happening. I hope you don’t mind long chapters.

Chapter Three: The House of Black & Green

~ Aemond’s POV ~

Thunder and rain barraged outside the Red Keep. So does Aemond’s heart, thundering and disoriented, clashing like the volcanos in the Doom of Valyria.

Aegon, on the other hand—surprisingly—stopped drinking; silently looking beyond the carved hole and examined the events unfold.

A gush of blood tainted onto the stoned floor when Ser Marrow thrashed your body forward, collapsing with a wet thud.

In the house of the dragons, Targaryens and Velaryons immediately stood from their seats, watching the events unfold. Ser Marrow huffed with his might, abiding for the Targaryens to come to an understanding with Ser Marrow’s reasons.

Alicent rose onto her feet and hoisted you up, but only meet halfway by you sitting up, bleeding as Alicent untied the blindfold and shielded you with her arms, as if Alicent has regret something in the first place.

“Explain yourself, Ser Marrow,” Alicent demanded, brows furrowed in ferocious temper.

Rhaenyra got up from her chair at a slow pace, mouth opened with terror at your current state. She knew that you were hurt from the battle; poisoned by the blade piercing through your youthful flesh.

“I was only doing good for the realm, to keep the peace intact,” Ser Marrow explained. “For Targaryen dynasty!”

“Lady (y/n) rescued my daughter from falling off the bridge, and you call it a ‘threat’,” Alicent defended.

Rhaenyra contained her wrath when Ser Marrow spoke for the ‘good of the realm’. “She saved my son,” she scolded him. “If it wasn’t for her, my son would’ve been killed from the wretched fools.”

“Yes, the wretched fools that this thing brought to the Red Keep!” Ser Marrow accused. “People are dead because of this monstrous bitch!”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Ser Marrow, you forget yourself. What in the Seven Hells are you thinking? Beating her to a pulp, causing an uproar in the room was no good of excuse for you to gain sympathy of your ranking from us! Why do you think so highly of yourself? Have you had no shame on what you’ve caused?”

Ser Marrow hesitated for a moment, looking at you, then looking back at Rhaenyra. “I only did my duty, princess. Should she stay here in King’s Landing, death and destruction will bring upon the Targaryen line.”

“She did what she had to do to keep my family safe—”

“She’s a monster!” Ser Marrow bellowed. “A monster hiding beneath the human skin. She’s isn’t ordinary! Dangerous and filled with malice and lascivious intents to destory Westeros!”

Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. Prince Daemon, who stood the corner of the room, watched the events unfold.

Meanwhile, Alicent still embraced you tight, lessening the anxiety you were trying to suppress.

Aemond watched you from afar. Even awake, he found himself focused on your features—all fragile with grace and beauty within quietude. Droplets sank onto your tainted dress and your once immaculate hair has disarray from hair pulling. Aemond kept his composure and cast his sentimental aside.

Behind him, Aegon took notice of this, but said none; only amusement etched onto his drunken face.

“How dare you raised your voice against me, your future Queen, an heir to the Iron Throne and Seven Kingdoms?!” Rhaenyra declared.

Ser Marrow chuckled. “We all know in our hearts that you will never be queen or inherit the throne like that Rhaenys bitch, stringing along in a comfortably life with that old and weak man like that Sea Snake fucker!”

Everyone’s eyes snapped at his statement. Even Aemond’s and Aegon’s—halt from their tracks.

“Oh yes, surely you think it’s time to realize that you, a woman with big tits, hideous face and a loose cunt will never stand a chance against the son to rule to Seven Kingdoms on the Iron Throne. Sons are meant to rule, never the daughters.”

Rhaenyra had gone pale.

The silent gasps ensued.

Alicent stood up and approached Ser Marrow. “Remove your cloak and sword; you are hereby exiled from Westeros and reside at the Wall.”

Ser Marrow snorted without batting an eye on Alicent. “I don’t take orders from an ugly, vicious cunt.”

Alicent withstood her ground. “I won’t ask again, Ser Marrow.”

Anger blazing, Aemond make haste outside of the secret passage to enter the room, but Aegon hauled him back.

“Release me, brother. I have no time to indulge with your silly antics,” Aemond warned.

Aegon clutched Aemond’s arm tighter. “You’ll get in trouble. In more ways than one,” he warned back.

“Since when do you give a shit about your younger brother other than your wine and whores?” Aemond yanked his arm off from Aegon and entered the scene without noticing him; everyone is too focused that they’re unaware of Aemond’s presence hidden behind the thick pillar, his sword in hand, with his watchful eye, he was waiting for a moment to strike.

~Your POV~

Clutching your stomach as you were urging not to cough more blood. Behind you, the shadow overcast the ground, revealing Rhaenyrs Velaryon offered you a comforting smile and hands on your shoulders, though appearing more apologetic and saddening.

“Ser Criston, take Ser Marrow and escort him outside the Red Keep at once,” Alicent demanded in a low tone.

Ser Marrow shoved Criston back; Criston held his sword on his throat as the other guards in the room held their swords directly in front of Criston and Marrow.

“I will take no part in this charade,” Ser Marrow replied.

“Stand down now, good sir,” Criston said. “And walk away from the Red Keep.”

Ser Marrow. “This is your doing, Criston! If you haven’t brought that bitch here in the Red Keep, I would’ve still be part of the Kingsguard!”

“This is your own choosing to beat Lady (y/n),” Criston responded, apathetic.

“If only the monster hadn’t save the Rhaenyra’s bastard son, the succession to the Iron Throne would be secured. But he’s no son of the late Prince Laenor”—chuckled—“no, rather both monsters brought great ruination.”

For once, you’re glad Jace isn’t here.

“Fuck you,” you choked, blood spattered. “Admit it, you couldn’t handle a woman who bested you.”

Ser Marrow’s mouth clenched so tight, veins protruding from his neck. “You vile, insolent de—”

All the guards’s swords lowered, except for one blade tip kissed on Marrow’s neck with a pointed end. “A war hasn’t even begun and you’ve beaten a young maiden. Do you really think that have you a chance of walking out alive,” a voice said. “I dare you to say the word “demon” again, Ser Marrow.”

All their eyes turned to Aemond, who was looking down, gazing at you.

Though your eyes nearly dwindled, you heart beat pounded against the cage in your chest at the sight of him.

“Aemond, what are you doing here?” Alicent asked, rushing to his side, tugging the upper sleeve of his leathered jacket.

“I was only here to defend her,” Aemond answered with a droned hum. “After all, she saved my dear sister,” Aemond said coolly without averting gaze away from Ser Marrow, though given the exception of looking towards you ever so benign.

“Get back out in the hall, Aemond. This is no fight of yours; Ser Marrow must stand down and leave from the Red Keep,” Alicent said, frantic.

But Aemond ignored her, deepened the blade. “If you touch her again, there will be war.”

Everyone held their breath as they watch Aemond, his cautions ingrained into their minds.

“Aemond,” Alicent hissed, nudging him.

Aemond lowered his blade, and as soon as he did, Ser Marrow rushed towards you with his fist high up, but the sword cleaved Marrow’s head into two, leaving the guards already held their swords to disarm Aemond, as the table clanged loud; one guard bled from his head; Aegon slammed the guard down from trying to stab Aemond on his blind side, and held a short sword; the blade’s tip scraped the guard’s cheek.

“I wouldn’t do it again if I were you,” Aegon said to the guard and caught sight of you with a faint smirk on his wine-stained lips.

Prince Daemon lazily made his way to the crowd to retrieve Rhaenyra as the guards collected Ser Marrow’s body. But before that, Aemond said, “Feed Ser Marrow��s corpse to Vhagar. His service is no longer needed.”

Spectators stared in awe at the sudden events; not one utter a word of objection or sputter disagreement with the one-eyed dragon prince, as Aemond swept his sword clean with a cloth, not sparing a glance to anyone.

Once he sheathed his sword, Aemond advanced towards you and lifted you up, leaving everyone staggered at his proclamation for you.

Taglist: @galactict3a @toodlesxcuddles @daonenonlysandman @hufflepuff1700 @me753 @fredskum @danika1994 @colored-tr-panels @valeskafics

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moondustgleam · 4 months ago

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Every Armor Description in TDP: Xadia

There will be no accompanying visuals on this post, the designs are already on my blog under the individual character's tags. This is a compilation of all of them for people who don't want to scroll through all the images to get to the juicy lore. I reccomend everyone read Rayla/Runaan's, Callum/Karim's, Claudia's, and Soren/Viren's if you care about the show's lore.

They're organized by order they appear in the hero select menu in TDP: Xadia, region, and type of armor if you were wondering.

Rayla & Runaan’s Armor

Firebrand Wraps - Seize what is yours and burn away the rest.

Firebrand Waistcoat - Meant to keep the heat out!

Firebrand Runners - Let your colors shine in the light of the Sun.

Shadowblade Gloves - An assassin knows she holds fate in her hands.

Shadowblade Cover - An assassin knows she is already dead.

Shadowblade Footpads - An assassin knows we are all, in the end, alone.

Nightsky Grips - The Nightsky Bandit had no interest in the Great Climb, only in its climbers’ pockets.

Nightsky Vest - While the others sought a single treasure, he had his pick of plenty.

Nightsky Buckleboots - Only the Nightsky Bandit ever grew rich from the Great Climb - and his feet never left the ground.

Amaya & Zeph’s Armor

Katolian Gauntlets - “We are the hands of our kingdom…”

Katolian Surcoat -“...we raise blades, we bear shields, we carry the scars of the past…”

Katolian Greaves - “...but we are the strongest when joined with others.” - Katolian Soldier’s Oath

Nightguard Gauntlets A relic of long-ago warriors who served the Dragon Queen, Luna Tenebris.

Nightguard Brestplate The Nightguard vanished with their Queen, but their spirits remained.

NIghtguard Sabatons Now they roam the Moonshadow Forest, searching for Luna’s heir.

Stormrunner Gauntlets - Maybe you could punch the Eternal Storm in the face!

Stormrunner Cuirass - Armor that really says, “Come at me, Eternal Storm! Bring it on!”

Stormrunner Sabatons - You know what? The Eternal Storm could use a good kick in the butt, too.

Callum and Karim’s Armor

Flamedance Tassels - Dance, little flame, dance to a silent song.

Flamedance Chemise - Warm our hearts and bodies, keep our spirits strong.

Flamedance Sandals - Dance, little flame, dance - for the night is very long.

Illusionist Handwraps - “Most people believe that reality is truth and appearances are deceiving…”

Illusionist Amice - “...but the Moon Arcanum tells us we can only truly know the appearance itself…”

Illusionist Treads - “You can never touch the so-called reality that lies just beyond the reach of your own perception.” -Lujanne

Feathered Wrists - Let nothing clip your wings.

Feathered Jerkin - Let nothing weigh you down.

Feathered Footwraps - Let nothing keep you from the sky.

Claudia’s Armor

Dawnheart Maniple - No shadows escape the wrath of the Sun at its zenith.

Dawnheart Amice - You buried your shadows deep - but the Light sees them still.

Dawnheart Slippers - When the darkness in you burns away, what remains?

Silvergrove Bracers - The traveler told a breathless tale: a village, there one moment and gone the next.

Silvergrove Vest - Impossible, they laughed at him: the forest’s magic has simply played a cruel trick.

Silvergrove Boots - But when the Moon is dark, is she not still there in the sky…?

Daybreak Reach - “I found my lover weeping, gazing up at the night skies…”

Daybreak Doublet - “... I took his hands in mine and said, my darling, dry your eyes…”

Daybreak Walkers - “...the dark is not forever, love! The sun must always rise.” -Skywing Song

Janai’s Armor

Golden Knight Vambraces - Gold, for the Sun’s light.

Golden Knight Hauberk - White, for her radiance.

Golden Knight Treads - Red, for her power.

Moonfire Grips - Some say the Moon is the Sun’s shadow, a pale imitator, a sad reflection.

Moonfire Tunic - Some say the Sun kills the Moon hen she dares grow bright enough to challenge her radiance.

Moonfire Greaves - The truth? The Moon and the Sun are sisters, a fire charred between them.

Empyrean Gloves Some - Great Climbers keep an open mind about strategy.

Empyrean Brigandine - One path to victory is to beat everyone else to the prize…

Empyrean Stompers - …another path to victory is to beat everyone else with your fists.

Soren and Viren’s Armor

Blacksteel Grips - Something echoes in the metal.

Blacksteel Aegis - Does it sing, or does it scream?

Blacksteel Boots - What did they bury down there beneath the earth?

Ghostfeather bands - “Bit by bit the moon fades away, then bit by bit it will brighten again. That is our cycle.”

Ghostfeather Treads - “...for those who will come after you, think on all you will give them.” - Lujanne

Ghostfeather Tunic - “For those you have left behind, think on all they have given you…”

Skyblazer Vambraces - A group of elves called the Skyblazers were the first to ever attempt the Great Climb

Skyblazer Collar - Their ambition drove them higher, higher, and higher still…

Skyblazer Sandals - …but hubris brought them down again.

#the dragon prince: xadia #tdp: xadia #xadia game #the dragon prince xadia #tdp #the dragon prince #everyone pray for me i've started recording all the accessories *sob*

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kradogsrats · 6 months ago

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so having painstakingly leveled up every single fucking character in all three regions to see their regional gear flavor text, some of it just... fucking TORMENTS me, I am TORMENTED

Rayla, Moonshadow Forest - Shadowblade set:

An assassin knows she holds fate in her hands.

An assassin knows she is already dead.

An assassin knows we are all, in the end, alone.

(Naturally, Rayla and Runaan have the same gear sets.)

Callum, Far Reaches - Feathered set:

Let nothing clip your wings.

Let nothing weigh you down.

Let nothing keep you from the sky.

(Slightly less naturally, Callum and Karim have the same gear sets.)

Viren and Soren, Moonshadow Forest - Ghostfeather set:

Bit by bit, the moon fades away, then bit by bit it will brighten again. That is our cycle.

For those you have left behind, think on all they have given you…

… for those who will come after you, think on all you will give them. — Lujanne

(Yes that is just a TTM quote from Phoe-Phoe's rebirth ritual SHUT UP I'M EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED, anyway Soren and Viren share all the same gear ha ha kill me.)

Claudia, The Border - Dawnheart set:

No shadow escapes the wrath of the Sun at its zenith.

You buried your shadows deep - but the Light sees them still.

When the darkness in you burns away, what remains?

Claudia, Far Reaches - Daybreak set:

I found my lover weeping, gazing up at the night skies…

… I took his hands in mine and said, my darling, dry your eyes…

… the dark is not forever, love! The sun must always rise. - Skywing Song

Janai, The Border - Golden Knight set:

Gold, for the Sun’s light.

White, for her radiance.

Red, for her power.

Janai, Moonshadow Forest - Moonfire set:

Some say the Moon is the Sun’s shadow, a pale imitator, a reflection.

Some say the Sun kills the Moon when she dares grow bright enough to challenge her radiance.

The truth? The Moon and the Sun are sisters, a fire shared between them.

Amaya, The Border - Katolian set:

We are the hands of our kingdom…

… we raise blades, we bear shields, we carry the scars of the past…

… but we are strongest when joined with others. - Katolian Soldier’s Oath

Amaya, Moonshadow Forest - Nightguard set:

A relic of long-ago warriors who served the Dragon Queen, Luna Tenebris.

The Nightguard vanished with their Queen, but their spirits remained.

Now they roam the Moonshadow Forest, searching for Luna’s heir.

(Amaya shares gear with Zeph but lbr no one cares.)

#do i wish they'd done unique gear for every character? yes #am i still going to read way too much into soren and viren being the only cross-class sharing pair? YES #meanwhile claudia's just make me want to chew off my fucking hands #xadia game

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grinbrothers · 10 days ago

Video

youtube

Wii Game Rankings! - Wii Wonders Season 2!

Souldin has reviewed many a wonderful Wii game in Season 2 of Wii Wonders and will now discuss and rank them. Prepare for Wii Wonders Words; it's Premiering at 9PM on 15/1/2025!

Shantae 1/2 Genie Hero Art by 3kkio: https://www.deviantart.com/3kkio/art/COM-Day-At-The-Beach-760982074 Dragon's Crown Pro Art by ShimayaEiko: https://www.deviantart.com/shimayaeiko/art/Dragon-Crown-Pro-Commission-795750580 Subnautica Art by Beabop: https://www.youtube.com/c/Beabop307 A Hat in Time Art by xXxSai (STARteam2017): https://www.deviantart.com/starteam2017/art/xXxSai-Commission-for-Sould1n-2-884439623 No Straight Roads Art by AngelAik0: https://www.deviantart.com/angelaik0/art/Commission-Rocking-show-917721771 Okami Art by Comfybeansqwq : https://www.deviantart.com/duckadoodles/art/Okami-Commission-964227643 Nier Automata Art by WhiteNamikaze: https://www.deviantart.com/whitenamikaze/art/COMMISSION-Nanka-and-2B-1036832538 Wii Wonders Season 1 Cover Art by Patdarux: https://www.deviantart.com/patdarux/art/Commission-Nanka-banner-OC-825702059 Wii Wonders Season 2 Artwork by AngelAik0: https://www.deviantart.com/angelaik0/art/Commission-Nanka-872606281 Wii Wonders Season 3 Artwork by ScarletSpy: https://www.deviantart.com/samidarescarletspy/art/Wii-Wonders-Cover-Art-Commission-998158723 Nanka with Sign by ShySamArt: https://www.deviantart.com/shysamart/art/Commission-Nanka-966702081 Endlate by Locke3K: https://www.youtube.com/@l3kkoi Tea Sampled: Valley Tea Breakfast Tea

Date Made: 11/1/2025 YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@grinbrothers/featured Tumblr: http://grinbrothers.tumblr.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/GrinBrothers

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downtherabbithole-tumbleedition · 1 year ago

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Ok so this one a little different but I wanted to see what you can do with it

Can I request a yandere alduin x reborn Dragon Born reader x yandere playtonic pryox

So the reader was alduin mate and pyrax little sister ( i can not remember how to spell that Dragon name the one that on the throat of the world with the Gray beards) but during the war she was killed but she reborn as a dragon born and not only that but got married. And pyrax is torn on helping his sister and joining alduin.

And reader not happy with them and she married a Dragon Slayer

Blood in the Water (Yandere! Alduin x Reader x Platonic Yandere! Paarthurnax)

“We’ll never get free

Lamb to the slaughter

What you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water?

The price of your greed, is your son and your daughter

What you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water?”

- Blood // Water, granson

Paarthurnax knew you.

The dragon had always been told that he read too much into others, searching for things that weren’t there - trying to gain a better understanding of someone by peering into their soul. Well, he liked to believe he could.

But you were different, he knew you. From the moment you climbed his mountain, your very soul spoke to his; like a flicker of fire light after trudging through an endless snowstorm.

This must be a malicious plot, he told himself, remaining guarded with his icy gaze even as he longed to approach you with all the gentleness of the world. Perhaps the Greybeards had decided it was time for Paarthurnax to pay his dues, or the Blades had finally gotten to him… anything would be more plausible than her soul returning.

“Why have you intruded on my solitude, mortal?” He questioned harshly, your shocked and fearful gaze almost making him regret it.

Still, you were able to catch your bearings and face him - something most mortals would not do. “The Greybeards sent me. I am the Dragonborn.”

Ah… perhaps this was Akatosh’s way of punishing Paarthurnax for his misdeeds.

Although Akatosh often did not play by his own rules, there were usually only two ways for a Dragonborn to be birthed into existence: a dragon and a human breeding, or the soul of deceased dragon being reborn into a human.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, not when he really thought about it. Whilst it was unlikely for you to be reborn - what will millions of other dragons who could have been reincarnated - but out of every dragon he had ever met, of course it was you. Dragons could only be reborn because their souls were made of far sturdier stuff than mortals, the very substance refusing to dissipate. And you had the strongest soul of all.

Strong enough to put up with Alduin, after all.

Alduin, the very thought brought unrest to Paarthurnax’s stomach, his insides squirming at the idea of Alduin knowing of your return.

By all rights, Paarthurnax was supposed to help the Dragonborn - you - defeat Alduin and stop the dragons from once again taking over the world. Alduin and his subordinates would give Paarthurnax Oblivion, of course, fighting fang and claw to have the Dragonborn’s head on a pike. But the Dragonborn was a larger threat to most dragons than they were to the Dragonborn, very few having the ability to stand against them. With enough training, perhaps the Dragonborn even stood a chance at defeating Alduin, especially if they wanted to see another day.

However, if you really were her, well… that complicated everything.

Alduin had always ruled with an iron claw, leaving the mortals alive only out of necessity and sinister amusement. His tyranny was not reserved for mortals, either, even the dragons themselves fearing Alduin’s wrath. After all, if he grew tired of the world, he could simply destroy it.

But even Paarthurnax had feared Alduin after your death.

Alduin had always enjoyed ruling, conquering, entertaining the idea for centuries rather than destroying the world and allowing birth for a new one. But when you’d been killed, it was like the dragon stopped caring - as if any emotion aside rage had been beaten out of him. Alduin decided to destroy the world because his had been taken from him.

You, however, had always been kinder - far kinder than an average dragon. No one really knew why, perhaps it was because Paarthurnax and, eventually, Alduin had always shielded you from the world. As the World Eater’s mate, you weren’t expected to lift a claw.

It had been heartbreaking when you discovered just how much Alduin (and Paarthurnax, although he tried to forget that) terrorised the mortals. You just couldn’t understand why Alduin - your Alduin, who always showed you nothing but kindness - would inflict such horrors on those who could not fight back. That was the start of Paarthurnax’s guilt.

You begged Alduin to stop and, because it was you, he compromised - allowing the mortals to exist without being burned down at every move. But some of those mortals took Alduin’s mercy for weakness and formed the building blocks for the revolution.

A revolution where you had been killed.

Paarthurnax almost wanted to side with Alduin after watching you, one of the only dragons who gave a damn, be killed. But, in your dying breaths, you begged Paarthurnax not to fall with Alduin into vengeance. After all, why should all the mortals be blamed for the act of few?

For you, Paarthurnax helped the mortals and ceased the end of the world, dreading the day Alduin would return.

But now you and Alduin were both back and, for once, Paarthurnax had no idea what the outcome would be.

“Have you encountered the World Eater, Dovahkin?”

“I haven’t,” you replied, as he thought; if Alduin had found you before Paarthurnax, you’d never be allowed to stray from the World Eater’s grasp.

Paarthurnax sent you on a “quest” then, to “prove your worth and skill”. In reality, he needed time to think, to gather the thoughts racing through his mind and figure out what he planned to do. It was also to get you away from the throat of the world because Paarthurnax had a strong feeling he would be paid a visit from Alduin.

He was proven right when the black dragon landed on his mountain, quiet anger radiating from his scales.

“The word is true, then. You have returned,” Paarthurnax mused, trying his very best to mask the wariness that was etched in his veins. The ancient tongue felt good, like an old friend he hadn’t spoken to in centuries. He had missed having dragons to communicate with.

“Where is she?” Alduin demanded immediately, voice as commanding and ferocious as Paarthurnax remembered. He didn’t have the strongest thumm for nothing.

“I am unsure what you mean, brother.”

Alduin growled, a warning no doubt. “I am not in a gaming mood. Tell me where my mate is, Paarthurnax.”

“What would make you think she has returned?” Paarthurnax asked casually, the lie easily rolling off his tongue. “She died with the war.”

Paarthurnax knew he was poking a hungry, vengeful bear but, if it meant keeping Alduin off your trail, he would make that sacrifice.

“Cease your treacherous lies, her soul calls to mine. I can feel her very essence. If you do not reveal her presence to me, Skyrim shall burn.”

Well, Paarthurnax would lose no sleep over that. Not if it meant your well-being. You were far more precious than the whole world.

Eventually, Alduin left after his fire clashed against Paarthurnax’s, the throat of the world fortunately remaining upright. Now, Paathurnax just had to pray to Akatosh that you stayed far from Alduin’s reach.

——

Vilkas wrapped his arms around you as your back sunk into his strong chest, nuzzled in his warmth and the comfort of the thick blankets. He placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder, making a smile grace your face - the crackling of the fire lulling you to sleep.

“You frightened me today,” he said gently, nose resting in your hair.

“How so?” You replied tiredly, eyes still shut.

“You went into that cave all by yourself and I though…” he sighed. “I thought I lost you.”

You turned your head to look at him then, an almost amused smile on your lips. “You know I can handle a dungeon, right?”

He should have known that, considering the many times you, he, and Farkas explored the deep crevices of Skyrim together. Fighting tooth and nail against the Silver Hand to bring safety and glory to the Companions.

Of course, that was a different life.

“I am allowed to worry about you,” he defended, almost pouting, wrapping his hand gently in your hair. “This Dragonborn stuff… it is not easy, or safe. I want you to be safe.”

You practically shrugged. “I still believe it was mistake.”

He sighed again, tired of already having this conversation a million times. “It was my no mistake, my love. You absorbed the dragon’s soul.”

“And you killed it.”

The Companions had been a home for both of you, especially Vilkas. But he had found a new home with you, one where he didn’t feel the need to constantly fight and kill. For you, he left the companions.

You’d tried to convince him to renounce his wolf form too, explaining that he did not need to live with the constant hunger and bloodlust. He said he would, one day, but he was scared to be vulnerable - especially when he’d left all he knew. You let the matter drop, giving him time to adjust.

You had been accepted into the Companion’s inner circle, given the opportunity to take the wolf form and transcend mortality.

It didn’t work.

Almost immediately, your body burned, forcing the blood from your lungs, coughing it up as if you were drowning. You had passed out and were sick for nearly a week, as if your body simply refused to change its form.

Vilkas had been in charge of nursing you back to health then, and the two of you quickly fell for each other.

At least you were finally given an explanation; the dragon in you denying any other form of blood or soul that would change you.

Regardless of what did or did not happen, Vilkas left the companions and, although he already had an abundance of money saved up (enough to let the two of you live comfortably for the rest of your lives), he became a hunter. Or, more specifically with what had happened to the world, a dragon hunter.

The return of dragons had been daunting for everyone, but not Vilkas. He saw people cowering in fear and found it in his heart to help them, even at the risk of his own life.

You were just there at the right place and right time (or wrong place, wrong time, depending on how you looked at it) and, suddenly, you were the Dragonborn. The person destined to stop the end of the world.

It should have been Vilkas - he was the one he wasn’t afraid of the beasts, who could slay them without so much as a bat of an eye. Perhaps you were strong - even compassionate in the right circumstances - but, selfishly, you did not want the weight of the world on your shoulders.

You did not want to have to face the World Eater.

Paarthurnax had been frightening enough, and he didn’t even want to kill you. How in the divine’s name were you supposed to defeat Alduin? Perhaps that was it - the divines had given up on this world, deciding to mock the chance of survival by throwing them a useless Dragonborn.

“It should have been you,” you often whispered to Vilkas, in the dark of the night when your false bravado left you and only the insecurities remained.

“I will be with you every step of the way,” he would always reply without fail, gently placing a kiss on your skin and holding you close.

You wished he hadn’t promised such a thing because, as you stood in the snow shivering to the bone with a ginormous black dragon flying above you, all you could think of was Vilkas’ safety.

Paarthurnax told you that the secret to defeating Alduin would lie within the Elder Scroll, which was located in the outskirts of Skyrim where no one dared to venture.

So how had Alduin found you? Was he not supposed to be eating the world?

Perhaps Alduin found you unassuming, weak even, because his fire was targeted solely at Vilkas, the nord panting from the constant dodges.

However, one thing you knew you were skilled at was archery.

Your hands shook from the cold and the fear coursing through you, but you did your very best to hold the bow steady, shutting one eye to gain a better perspective on where the arrow would it. You released the string, a flicker of pride running through when it hit its target.

Of course, that was snuffed out when Alduin’s furious red gaze shot to you.

Vilkas yelled out your name, warning you to move as the dragon approached you faster than you thought possible. In a flash, a claw closed around you and your world turned black.

——

Dragons mate for life.

Alduin always believed the sentiment to be stupid, preferring to mount and fuck whoever he deemed worthy. There was no need to risk his own convenience and concern for the sake of attachment.

But then there was you.

Paarthurnax had always had far too much mercy for a dragon, practically allowing his emotions to rule him. Even so, no one expected him to take a younger, abandoned dragon under his wing.

Without even being seen by most, you had become a common conversation topic - none of which was flattering. From what Alduin had heard, you were the runt of the litter, by all means. Abandoned for your inability to grow. Paarthurnax kept you shielded from the words, and even sharper teeth, of the dragon world.

It wasn't until about half a century later when Alduin first saw you - when, under Paarthurnax's mentorship, had you become fully fledged dovah. The spark was instantaneous, Alduin immediately filled with a possessiveness he had never before experienced.

You were his at first sight - nothing Paarthurnax or anyone else did would change that.

And you really were the most captivating creature Alduin had ever met; filled to the brim with life and excitement and curiosity. Perhaps he didn't show it very much but you held his beating heart in your claws, and he was willing to risk that so long as you stayed his. And you did - you were lovely, and extraordinary, and his.

Until you weren't.

Alduin was used to anger. He had felt and understood rage, the need for vengeance. But he never thought he'd experience sorrow - he had always mocked those who felt such a thing, claiming it was a weak emotion that a true dovah would never feel. But then you had been stolen him and his heart hurt.

Ruling had always satisfied him, enjoying every being bowing to him in fear and awe - his ability to do so was the only reason he never ate the world... until there was you, of course.

The world - or at least those who understood what being the World Eater entailed - took a breath of relief when he mated with you; finally the World Eater had something to tie him down, to make him want to keep the world turning.

But then you had been murdered by those mortal scum and Alduin decided that if he couldn't have you, the rest of the world wasn't permitted to live.

However, it seemed Paarthurnax never truly cared for you, disrespecting you and your memory by siding with the mortals and sending Alduin into a time loop.

When he first returned, Alduin was filled with rage, preparing himself to hunt Paarthurnax down and kill the traitor. But then he felt it - felt you. Your soul - as long as it had been - called to his, begging him to find you.

And find you he did, even if you were in the clutches of some mortal half-breed bastard.

It didn't matter; if the World Eater wanted something, he took it. Even if you were kicking and screaming.

----

I'm so sorry that took so long, and the abrupt ending. This was mostly just set up but I'm actually really interested in this concept so, don't worry, there's gonna be a part two! Thanks for reading and I hope to see you there.

#yandere skyrim #skyrim #alduin #female mc #yandere #yandere paarthurnax #paarthurnax #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #romantic yandere #dragons #male yandere #dragonborn

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novaursa · 26 days ago

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Legacy (the pyre)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: castle black

- Next part: of snow

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The icy air of Castle Black was sharp and biting, but it did nothing to temper the fire in your veins. The courtyard was eerily silent, save for the crackling of the massive pyre that had been constructed in its center. Snow fell gently, the flakes catching the golden glow of the flames that now licked at the edges of the wooden platform.

Before the pyre stood the men who had betrayed Jon Snow—Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and the boy Olly, along with several others who had participated in the mutiny. Their hands were bound, their faces pale and tight with fear. Some muttered prayers to the Seven and the Old Gods; others stared ahead defiantly, their fates sealed.

Above them all loomed Viserion, her pale gold and cream scales glinting in the firelight as she shifted restlessly, her massive wings stirring the air. Her eyes burned with an intelligence and ferocity that made the gathered men tremble. The dragon’s low growl reverberated through the courtyard, a promise of what was to come.

You stood tall before the pyre, your silver hair whipping in the wind, your violet eyes cold and unyielding. The snow melted as it touched the heat of the flames, steam rising around you like a shroud.

“This is justice,” you declared, your voice carrying over the crackling fire and the muffled sobs of the condemned. “You betrayed your sworn brother, a man who sought only to protect you. You plunged your blades into the man I called my son. And for that, you will burn.”

Alliser Thorne, standing at the forefront, glared at you with unbroken defiance. “You call this justice?” he spat, his voice hoarse but strong. “This is vengeance. You’re no better than a Wildling queen, riding a beast of flame and fury.”

You stepped closer, your expression hardening. “You think yourself noble, Alliser? You who killed a man in the dark, surrounded by cowards? You think you can shame me with your words?” You gestured to the pyre. “This is mercy compared to what you deserve.”

Olly, the youngest among them, whimpered, his eyes wide with terror. His fear tugged at something deep within you, but you pushed it aside. He had made his choice, just as the others had.

Raising your voice, you called out to your dragon. “Dracarys!”

Viserion let out a deafening roar, her neck arching gracefully as she reared back. The air grew unbearably hot as fire erupted from her maw, a torrent of golden flames that engulfed the pyre and the men bound to it. Their screams pierced the night, a terrible, haunting sound that echoed across the Wall. The flames danced higher, consuming everything in their path, as the snow melted into slush beneath your feet.

The assembled men of Castle Black stood in stunned silence, some looking away while others watched with grim faces. Justice, vengeance, or horror—it was all the same to them now.

As the screams faded and the fire roared, Davos Seaworth burst into the courtyard, his face pale and drawn, his breath visible in the cold air. He pushed his way through the onlookers, his eyes wide with urgency as he called out to you.

“My lady!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the crackle of flames. “You must come back inside! At once!”

You turned sharply, the cold expression on your face softening into confusion. “What is it, Ser Davos?”

“It’s Jon!” he exclaimed, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—fear, hope, disbelief. “The Red Woman… she’s done something. You need to see this.”

Your heart lurched, your breath catching in your throat. Without another word, you spun on your heel and began striding toward the keep, the heat of the pyre and the cold of the night forgotten as you followed Davos back inside.

Viserion let out a low rumble behind you, her wings folding as she settled near the smoldering pyre. The crowd parted as you passed, their eyes lingering on you with a mixture of awe and fear.

Inside, the air was heavy with an unnatural stillness. You could feel it in your bones as you ascended the stairs to Jon’s quarters, your footsteps quick and determined. Davos stayed close behind you, his expression grim but focused.

When you reached the room, you stopped short at the doorway. Melisandre stood at Jon’s side, her hands outstretched over his still body. The ruby at her throat glowed faintly, pulsing with a dim, otherworldly light. The air around her shimmered, as if the very fabric of reality bent to her will.

“What have you done?” you demanded, your voice sharp and filled with suspicion.

Melisandre turned to you, her face serene but lined with exhaustion. “What I was meant to do,” she said softly. “The Lord of Light has not abandoned us.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding as you stepped closer to Jon’s lifeless form. His face was pale, his chest still. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had changed. But then, you saw it—a flicker of movement, the faintest rise and fall of his chest.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your knees threatened to buckle. “Jon…” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks as you reached for him. “Jon.”

The room held its breath as you watched, the faint pulse of life slowly returning to the man you had thought lost forever.

The halls of Dragonstone were quiet, save for the soft patter of servant footsteps and the distant crash of waves against the rocky cliffs below. Tywin Lannister sat in his solar, a fire crackling in the hearth as he reviewed reports from the capital and updates from his emissaries scattered across Westeros. The weight of governance was a familiar burden, one he bore with ease, yet tonight his focus was fractured.

The absence of his wife weighed on him—not as a distraction, but as a variable. Her sudden departure to the North, riding Viserion under the cover of darkness, had left him both irritated and uneasy. She was strong, fearless, and determined—but also unpredictable. It was a trait he admired, even if it vexed him.

A sharp knock at the door broke through his thoughts. Tywin’s sharp green eyes lifted from the parchment. “Enter.”

The door creaked open, revealing a flustered young servant carrying a squirming Damon in her arms. The boy’s face was red and tear-streaked, his small fists balled as he wailed loudly. The servant, clearly out of her depth, struggled to soothe him.

“My lord,” she stammered, her voice trembling, “the young master… he will not settle. He misses his mother, and none of us can calm him.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the boy with a mixture of irritation and something more subtle—concern. He set down the parchment and rose from his chair, the firelight casting his imposing shadow across the room.

“Bring him here,” Tywin ordered, his tone even but firm.

The servant hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, gently setting Damon on his feet in front of Tywin. The boy’s cries quieted slightly as he looked up at his father, his violet eyes were wet with tears, which only made pale green flecks in them more pronounced.

“Damon,” Tywin said, his voice softer now but still commanding. He knelt slightly to bring himself closer to the boy’s level. “What is the meaning of this?”

Damon sniffled, his bottom lip trembling as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Mama’s gone,” he whimpered, his small voice cracking. “I want Mama.”

Tywin’s expression remained stern, but his gaze softened imperceptibly. He placed a steady hand on Damon’s small shoulder, his touch firm but not unkind. “Your mother will return,” he said firmly. “She has important matters to attend to. In the meantime, you are here, under my care. You are a Lannister. Do you know what that means?”

Damon blinked up at him, his sobs quieting as he listened. “It means… I’m strong?” he said hesitantly, his small voice unsure but hopeful.

Tywin’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. “Yes. It means you are strong. And strength is not shown by tears but by how you endure. Do you understand?”

The boy sniffled again, nodding slowly, though his tears hadn’t completely stopped. “But I miss her,” he said softly, his voice breaking again.

Tywin’s gaze remained steady. “Missing someone does not make you weak. But letting it control you does. Your mother would not want to see you like this.”

Damon’s small fists unclenched, and he wiped his face again, this time with a little more determination. “I’ll be strong,” he said quietly, though his voice wavered. “Like you.”

Tywin straightened, his hand still on Damon’s shoulder as he regarded the boy. “Good,” he said simply. “Now, come. Sit with me.”

He led Damon to the large chair by the hearth, lifting the boy effortlessly and setting him on his knee. The boy leaned into his father’s chest, still sniffling softly but beginning to calm. Tywin picked up the parchment he had been reading earlier, holding it in one hand while his other arm rested around Damon, steadying him.

“Do you know why your mother left?” Tywin asked after a moment, his tone conversational.

Damon shook his head. “To punish bad men at the Wall,” he said, his small voice uncertain.

Tywin nodded. “Yes. She went because she believed it was the right thing to do. She acted with purpose and conviction. That is what it means to be a leader. To put the needs of others before your own desires. Do you understand?”

Damon tilted his head slightly, his small brow furrowing in thought. “I think so.”

Tywin allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “Good. Because one day, Damon, you will be a leader too. Dragonstone, Casterly Rock—they will be yours to command. You must be ready.”

Damon’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of those words dawning on him. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Tywin replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “You have the blood of lions and dragons. Never forget that.”

Damon seemed to draw strength from his father’s words, his small hands curling into determined fists. “I won’t forget.”

For the first time that night, Tywin allowed himself a moment of quiet pride. He returned his focus to the parchment, the boy settling against him as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

The servant lingered near the door, watching the scene with a mixture of awe and relief before quietly slipping away. Damon remained nestled against his father, his small breaths steadying as sleep began to claim him.

And for a moment, the weight of the world outside the walls of Dragonstone seemed a little less pressing.

The morning sun was barely visible through the dense fog rolling over Dragonstone. The air inside the war council chamber was strained but orderly as Tywin Lannister stood at the head of the table, his sharp green eyes scanning the map of Westeros spread before him. Jaime Lannister was sitting nearby, arms crossed, while Varys lingered in the shadows, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

The quiet hum of conversation among the assembled lords and knights was abruptly shattered as the heavy doors to the chamber burst open. Two of Tywin's men, their faces pale and their breaths ragged, stumbled inside, their armor clinking with every hurried step.

"My lord!" one of them exclaimed, his voice filled with panic. "Dragonmont… there's something inside. Something that attacked us!"

Tywin straightened, his gaze narrowing. The room fell silent as every pair of eyes turned toward the men. "Speak clearly," he commanded, his tone icy but composed. "What happened?"

The soldier swallowed hard, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill of the castle. "We went to prepare food for Viserion, should the lady return with her dragon. But something else was there… something smaller, but just as deadly. It—it killed one of our men, my lord. Ripped him apart before we could do anything."

A ripple of unease spread through the room. Jaime stood up, his golden hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "What do you mean, something smaller?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

The second soldier, his hands trembling, spoke up. "A dragon, Ser Jaime. It was about the size of a horse, but it moved faster than anything I've ever seen. Its scales were dark—black, maybe, with streaks of red. It burned the others alive before taking flight deeper into Dragonmont."

The weight of those words settled heavily over the chamber. Tywin’s expression remained impassive, but his gaze flicked to Varys, who raised a brow in faint amusement.

"A second dragon," Varys mused, his voice smooth and measured. "How curious. Could it be that one of Viserion's eggs hatched after all this time? Such a creature would be far too small to have been here before."

Jaime frowned, his gaze shifting between Varys and Tywin. "If it was one of her eggs… I didn’t think any were viable. That’s what we were told."

Varys offered a faint, knowing smile. "Tales of dragons are often filled with mysteries and half-truths. Perhaps the heat of Dragonmont was enough to awaken the dormant life within one of the eggs. Or perhaps something else entirely is at play."

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the implications. "You’re suggesting that this dragon, if it truly exists, is newly hatched?"

"It would seem so, my lord," Varys replied smoothly. "A creature of such size could not have been hidden here for long without discovery. If it is indeed from one of Viserion’s eggs, it raises… intriguing possibilities."

The soldiers shifted uneasily, their fear still palpable. One of them ventured hesitantly, "My lord, what should we do? That beast… it’s dangerous. And if it’s still in Dragonmont—"

Tywin raised a hand, silencing him. His gaze was cold and calculating as he addressed the room. "If there is a second dragon, it belongs to my wife—and by extension, to House Lannister. Its presence here may be unsettling, but it is an asset, not a threat."

Jaime stepped closer to Tywin, his expression skeptical. "And what do you propose we do with it? You saw how difficult it was to control Viserion, even with Y/N. Another dragon, unbonded and unchecked, could be catastrophic."

"Which is why it must be secured," Tywin replied evenly, his tone brooking no argument. "I want a team sent into Dragonmont immediately to confirm the creature’s presence and ensure it does not escape."

"My lord," the first soldier stammered, his voice shaking, "with all due respect, no man will willingly go back in there. Not after what we saw."

Jaime smirked faintly, though his humor was grim. "So much for Lannister bravery."

Tywin’s glare silenced him. "If none of you have the spine for it, I’ll see to it that others are brought in who do. This dragon will not roam unchecked."

Varys tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "Might I suggest that, should this dragon indeed be viable, we consider how best to use it? Dragons do not merely symbolize power, my lord—they are power incarnate. To possess a second would tip the balance in our favor."

Tywin didn’t reply immediately, his mind clearly working through the layers of this revelation. Finally, he turned to Jaime. "You will lead the effort to secure this creature. Take only those you trust and proceed cautiously. I will not have any more unnecessary losses."

Jaime nodded, though his expression remained doubtful. "As you command."

The anxiety in the room remained as the soldiers were dismissed, their relief evident as they hurried out. Tywin turned back to the map, his fingers tracing the edge of the parchment as he considered his next move.

"If it is true," he said quietly, almost to himself, "then House Lannister’s strength will grow tenfold."

Varys inclined his head, his smile faint but knowing. "And with it, your enemies’ fear."

Jaime left the room to begin his preparations, his steps purposeful despite the uncertainty etched on his face. Tywin remained behind, his gaze fixed on the map as the implications of the morning’s revelation took root.

Far below in Dragonmont, the shadows stirred once more, and the low growl of a young, hungry dragon echoed through the depths.

The dim light of the candles in Jon Snow’s quarters flickered as though trembling in anticipation, the air heavy with an almost suffocating silence. You stood frozen near the door, your hands trembling despite the warmth of the room. Ghost, normally a calm and watchful presence, paced uneasily at Jon’s side, his red eyes glowing with something primal and unsettling. His low growls filled the room, vibrating through the wooden floor beneath your boots.

On the table lay Jon, his chest rising and falling faintly, the stillness of death having given way to something impossibly fragile—life. His pale skin seemed to glow under the dim light, and his dark curls were damp with sweat. Beside him, Melisandre stepped back, her face unreadable but her eyes flickering with the faintest glimmer of something resembling awe.

Behind you, Davos Seaworth lingered, his presence steady but subdued. His voice broke the silence, a soft and reverent murmur. “He’s breathing, my lady. He’s alive.”

Your breath caught, a lump rising in your throat as you stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a storm. Jon Snow, the boy you had raised as your own, the man you had grieved for, was alive—but at what cost?

Ghost let out another growl, his ears flattening as he stood protectively over Jon’s prone form. His unease mirrored your own, a gnawing fear that this miracle carried a terrible price.

As you approached the table, your voice trembled. “Jon?”

Jon stirred at the sound of your voice, his head shifting slightly on the table. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing his grey, haunted eyes. His gaze was unfocused at first, his breaths shallow and uneven. But then his eyes met yours, and something shifted. Recognition dawned, faint but unmistakable.

“Mother,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and weak, yet filled with a depth of emotion that broke something inside you.

A sob escaped your lips, and before you realized it, you were at his side, leaning over him. Your hands cupped his face, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his cold, clammy skin. “Jon,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Oh, my sweet boy… you’re alive.”

Jon’s gaze softened, though it was still clouded with confusion. “You… came,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I… saw you. I think I saw you. In the dark.”

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned closer, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’ll always be here.”

Your arms wrapped around him gently, pulling him into a careful embrace. His body was weak and unsteady, but he leaned into you, his breaths shallow but real. The relief that flooded through you was overwhelming, a tidal wave of joy and anguish that left you trembling.

Behind you, Davos remained silent, giving you the space to grieve and rejoice. Melisandre watched from the shadows, her ruby pendant faintly glowing, her face serene yet enigmatic.

But even as you held Jon, a storm raged within your mind. He is alive, you reminded yourself over and over, clinging to the joy of it. But the voice in your mind, the one that whispered truths too dark to ignore, would not be silenced.

"At what cost?" it asked, gnawing at the edges of your relief. You thought of the flames roaring in the courtyard, the screams of the traitors as they burned alive. The thought made your stomach churn. Was that the price?

You pulled back slightly, your hands still cradling Jon’s face as you looked into his eyes. “Jon, do you know what happened? Do you remember anything?”

He shook his head faintly, his brow furrowing. “I… I was in the dark,” he said softly. “It was cold. Empty. And then… I heard voices. Yours.” His gaze flickered with uncertainty. “And hers.”

Your jaw tightened as you turned to Melisandre, your tears giving way to a sharp glare. “What did you do?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. “What price did you pay for this?”

Melisandre met your gaze evenly, her voice calm and unflinching. “I did what the Lord of Light willed. Life was taken, and life was returned. The flames of the traitors were accepted as a sacrifice.”

You stiffened, your mind racing. Her words rang with a grim truth, and the memory of the pyre flashed before your eyes—the heat, the screams, the finality of it all. “You’re saying that burning them made this possible?”

“Yes,” Melisandre said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. “The Lord of Light requires balance. Death for life. Your act of justice in the courtyard satisfied the flames. It allowed me to call him back.”

You clenched your fists, your body trembling with anger and unease. “You used me,” you said, your voice cold. “You waited for me to carry out your god’s will without telling me the truth.”

Melisandre inclined her head slightly, her expression serene but unapologetic. “It was not deception, my lady. It was fate. You made your choice, and it was the right one. The Lord of Light guided your hand.”

You stared at her, your fury mingling with confusion and unease. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of her words pressing down on you like the icy winds beyond the Wall.

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve done,” you said finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you ever try to manipulate me again, I will ensure the flames take you next.”

Melisandre said nothing, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before shifting back to Jon.

Jon stirred again, drawing your attention back to him. He looked at you with a mixture of weariness and gratitude, his lips parting as he whispered, “You saved me.”

“No,” you replied, your voice softening as you stroked his hair. “You saved yourself, Jon. You’ve always been stronger than you know.”

Ghost, still uneasy, let out a soft whine, his red eyes fixed on Jon as though sensing something neither of you could. You placed a reassuring hand on the direwolf’s head, silently promising that you would protect Jon, no matter what.

In the quiet of the room, you held Jon close, your tears falling freely as the storm inside you raged on. Joy and grief, relief and fear—they swirled together, leaving you raw and vulnerable. But one thing was certain: Jon was alive. And no matter the cost, you would ensure he stayed that way.

The cavernous tunnels of Dragonmont were dark and suffocating. The air was filled with the sulfurous stench of the volcano’s dormant power, and every step taken by Jaime Lannister and his men seemed to echo endlessly in the vast emptiness. The group moved cautiously, their hands gripping swords, spears, and crossbows as they ventured deeper into the mountain.

Jaime led the way, his expression a mask of determination. The stories brought back by Tywin’s terrified soldiers had been troubling enough, but the idea of a second dragon hiding within Dragonmont was something that could not be ignored. If it truly existed, it was both a threat and a potential asset, but Jaime couldn’t shake the unease settling in his gut.

“This place is cursed,” one of the soldiers muttered under his breath, glancing nervously at the darkened passage ahead.

“Quiet,” Jaime ordered, his voice low but firm. “Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. If there’s a dragon in here, you’ll hear it long before you see it.”

Another soldier, younger and less disciplined, whispered, “Do you really think it’s a dragon, Ser Jaime? Couldn’t it just be some… creature from the depths?”

Jaime shot him a sharp look. “You heard the men’s accounts. It’s a dragon. The question is how large and how dangerous.”

The group pressed on, the tension mounting with every step. The tunnel began to widen, the walls shimmering faintly with deposits of obsidian. The heat grew more oppressive, beads of sweat forming on the soldiers’ brows despite the chill of fear running down their spines.

“Tracks,” one of the men said, kneeling near the ground and holding his torch closer. The faint indentations in the dirt were unmistakable—clawed feet, larger than any normal beast, but still small enough to suggest youth.

Jaime crouched beside him, studying the marks. “It’s fresh,” he said grimly, rising to his feet. “Whatever it is, it’s close.”

The sound of heavy breathing broke the silence, a low, guttural rumble that sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. The soldiers froze, their eyes darting around the chamber as the noise grew louder.

“Form up,” Jaime ordered, his voice steady despite the mounting tension. The men moved quickly, forming a semi-circle with their weapons raised, their breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps.

From the shadows ahead, two glowing yellow eyes appeared, narrowing as they focused on the intruders. A low growl rumbled through the air, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet.

“Hold your ground,” Jaime barked, drawing his sword as the creature stepped into the torchlight.

The dragon was small—about the size of a horse—but no less menacing. Its sleek, black scales glinted in the dim light, streaked with veins of deep crimson that pulsed like molten lava. Smoke curled from its nostrils, and its sharp teeth gleamed as it opened its maw, letting out a piercing roar that echoed through the cavern.

The men faltered, their grips on their weapons tightening as the beast reared back, its wings spreading wide and casting long shadows against the walls.

“Steady!” Jaime shouted, stepping forward to rally his men. “It’s just a beast. Remember the plan.”

The dragon lunged forward, its talons scraping against the rocky ground as it advanced. The soldiers held their positions, waiting for the creature to step into the trap they had carefully laid—a series of reinforced nets and spiked restraints designed to hold even a young dragon.

“Now!” Jaime yelled, signaling for the men to spring the trap.

The nets shot forward, ensnaring the dragon’s wings and pinning it to the ground. The creature thrashed wildly, its growls turning into enraged roars as it struggled against the restraints. The soldiers moved quickly, driving iron spikes into the ground to anchor the nets.

For a moment, it seemed as though they had succeeded. The dragon’s movements grew more frenzied, but the nets held, and the men began to cautiously close the distance.

Jaime held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. “Wait,” he said, his eyes fixed on the dragon. “Let it tire itself out. Don’t get too close.”

But the dragon was far from finished. With a deafening roar, it surged upward, the muscles in its powerful wings straining against the netting. The iron spikes began to creak and groan, and before the men could react, the restraints snapped free.

“Fall back!” Jaime shouted as the dragon burst from the trap, its wings unfurling and sending a gust of hot air through the chamber. It lunged at the nearest soldier, its talons raking through armor and flesh with terrifying ease.

Chaos erupted as the soldiers scrambled to retreat, their shouts of panic echoing through the cavern. The dragon turned its fiery gaze toward Jaime, smoke billowing from its nostrils as it prepared to strike again.

“Hold your ground!” Jaime roared, though his own heart pounded in his chest as he raised his sword.

The dragon reared back, its head darting forward with a hiss, and Jaime swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade narrowly missing its snout. The creature roared again, its massive wings sending rocks and debris clattering to the ground as it leapt toward the shadows.

“Regroup!” Jaime shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Back to the entrance! Now!”

The soldiers obeyed, retreating toward the relative safety of the tunnel, their faces pale with terror. Jaime lingered for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the dragon as it disappeared into the darkness, its growls echoing ominously.

As the men gathered near the tunnel’s mouth, gasping for breath and tending to their wounds, Jaime turned to them, his jaw clenched. “This isn’t over,” he said grimly. “We’ll trap it again. And this time, we’ll make sure it holds.”

But as the dragon’s distant roars echoed through the mountain, Jaime couldn’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. This creature was no ordinary beast—and it wouldn’t be subdued so easily.

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raeynbowboi · 2 years ago

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Creating a Thematic Bard

Through Bardic Magical Secrets, any Bard can pick up any 6-8 spells of their choosing depending on their subclass. I thought I’d go through some thematic options for a Bard to choose from to cater to different themes and archetypes the Bard aspires to do. For each, I will offer the 8 spells I would recommend if you were to play as a Lore Bard, and if you pick a different subclass, just elimate two of the options.

HEAVENLY CHOIR 6th Spiritual Weapon, Spirit Guardians 10th Flame Strike, Destructive Wave 14th Holy Weapon, Summon Celestial 18th Divine Word, Holy Aura

THAT INFERNAL BARD 6th Hellish Rebuke, Summon Lesser Demons 10th Summon Greater Demon, Planar Binding 14th Summon Fiend, Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise 18th Planar Ally, Shapechange

WOODLAND WOODWINDS 6th Spike Growth, Plant Growth 10th Grasping Vine, Wrath of Nature 14th Transport Via Plants, Wall of Thorns 18th Tree Stride, Guardian of Nature

NECRODANCER 6th Animate Dead, Summon Undead 10th Spirit of Death, Danse Macabre 14th Create Undead, Finger of Death 18th Negative Energy Flood, Antilife Shell

PYRODANCER 6th Scorching Ray, Fireball 10th Ashardalon’s Stride, Flame Strike 14th Immolation, Investiture of Flame 18th Fire Storm, Meteor Swarm

CRYODANCER 6th Ice Knife, Rime’s Binding Ice 10th Ice Storm, Cone of Cold 14th Investiture of Ice, Otiluke’s Freezing Sphere 18th Wall of Ice, Control Weather

WET T-SHIRT CONTEST 6th Tidal Wave, Wall of Water 10th Control Water, Maelstrom 14th Watery Sphere, Summon Elemental 18th Tsunami, Water Breathing

TAKE THE WORLD BY STORM 6th Thunder Step, Lightning Bolt 10th Control Winds, Storm Sphere 14th Chain Lightning, Investiture of Wind 18th Whirlwind, Storm of Vengeance

DOWN TO EARTH 6th Max’s Earthen Grasp, Erupting Earth 10th Stone Shape, Wall of Stone 14th Bones of the Earth, Move Earth 18th Investiture of Stone, Earthquake

A DANCE OF DRAGONS 6th Chromatic Orb, Dragon’s Breath 10th Elemental Bane, Summon Draconic Spirit 14th Fizban’s Platinum Shield, Draconic Transformation 18th Illusory Dragon, Shapechange

BARDS GONE FEYWILD VOL VII 6th Summon Fey, Spirit Guardians 10th Conjure Woodland Beings, Healing Spirit 14th Heal, Conjure Fey 18th Mass Heal, Wish

FIND ME SUMMON TO LOVE 6th Conjure Animals, Summon Undead 10th Summon Aberration, Summon Draconic Spirit 14th Summon Fiend, Summon Celestial 18th Summon Construct, Summon Elemental

ROCKY HORROR NIGHTMARE SHOW 6th Dissonant Whispers, Fear 10th Phantasmal Killer, Dream 14th Mental Prison, Feeblemind 18th Maddening Darkness, Weird

CLOAK AND DAGGER 6th Counterspell, Pass Without Trace 10th Death Ward, Steel Wind Strike 14th Contingency, Simulacrum 18th Feeblemind, Foresight

NECROSIS 6th Inflict Wounds, Wither and Bloom 10th Blight, Enervation 14th Harm, Finger of Death 18th Abi’s Horrid Wilting, Destructive Wave

STEP THREE: PROPHET 6th Augury, Clairvoyance 10th Divination, Commune 14th True Seeing, Detect Thoughts 18th Astral Projection, Foresight

GLOWING REVIEWS 6th Blinding Smite, Spirit Guardians 10th Destructive Wave, Wall of Light 14th Sunbeam, Crown of Stars 18th Guiding Bolt, Sunburst

SIMPLY PSIONIC 6th Mind Spike, Tasha’s Mind Whip 10th Raulothim’s Psychic Lance, Telekinesis 14th Rary’s Telepathic Bond, Synaptic Static 18th Telepathy, Psychic Scream

SONG OF WAR 6th Hunter’s Mark, Spiritual Weapon 10th Staggering Smite, Steel Wind Strike (or) Swift Quiver 14th Holy Weapon, Blade Barrier 18th Conjure Volley, Blade of Disaster

SHIELD MASTER 6th Armor of Agathys, Shield 10th Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere, Wall of Force 14th Fizban’s Platinum Shield, Globe of Invulnerability 18th Forecage, Invulnerability

MAGIC MIKE 6th Magic Missile, Glyph of Warding 10th Arcane Eye, Bigby’s Hand 14th Arcane Gate, Symbol 18th Demiplane, True Polymorph

SPELLBREAKER 6th Absorb Elements, Counterspell 10th Circle of Power, Synaptic static 14th Fizban’s Platinum Shield, Forecage 18th Feeblemind, Antimagic Field

SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED 6th Spiritual Weapon, Spirit Guardians 10th Guardian of Faith, Bigby’s Hand 14th Mordenkainen’s Sword, Blade Barrier 18th Max’s Earthen Grasp, Blade of Disaster

TWO-FACED 6th Alter Self, Water Breathing 10th Guardian of Nature, Stoneskin 14th Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise, Draconic Transformation 18th Animal Shapes, Shapechange MASTER OF ILLUSIONS 6th Blur, Pass Without Trace 10th Phantom Steed, Creation 14th Mental Prison, Nystul’s Magic Aura 18th Illusory Dragon, Weird

A DANCE WITH DEATH 6th Wither and Bloom, Vampiric Touch 10th Blight, Enervation 14th Contingency, Soul Cage 18th Clone, Invulnerability

MERCY MAIN 6th Aura of Vitality, Beacon of Hope 10th Aura of Purity, Aura of Life 14th Heal, Regenerate 18th Mass Heal, True Resurrection

PLAGUED BY GUILT 6th Hex, Bestow Curse 10th Vitriolic Sphere, Contagion 14th Eyebite, Harm 18th Feeblemind, Weird

BLUE EXORCIST 6th Counterspell, Remove Curse 10th Dispel Evil and Good, Banishing Smite 14th Forbiddance, Plane Shift 18th Forecage, Imprisonment

BARD EX MACHINA 6th Elemental Weapon, Tiny Servant 10th Fabricate, Creation 14th Animate Objects, Summon Construct 18th Mighty Fortress, Blade of Disaster

CONCLAVE OF THE HOUND DOG 6th Hunter’s Mark, Conjure Animals 10th Swift Quiver, Conjure Volley 14th Guardian of Nature, Dominate Beast 18th Animal Shapes, Insect Plague

OATH OF MERRIMENT 6th Blinding Smite, Crusader’s Mantle 10th Find Greater Steed, Destructive Wave 14th Staggering Smite, Banishing Smite 18th Circle of Power, Holy Weapon

And of course, you can always mix and match. Going for a Fire Dragon theme? Mix the Pyrodancer and A Dance of Dragons spell lists. As an example:

LOVE AMONG THE DRAGONS 6th Dragon’s Breath, Fireball 10th Flame Strike, Summon Draconic Spirit 14th Investiture of Flame, Draconic Transformation 18th Illusory Dragon, Meteor Swarm

These are all the bard themes I could think of, but if you can think of some more that I missed, or have better suggestions for some of my choices, let me know your own thematic magical secrets builds. Obviously, these were made with the Lore Bard in mind, since it gets the most magical secrets, but I’m sure some synergize better with other bard types, such as Song of War with the College of Valor. I just used Lore as the default. How well do these magical secrets builds work for you?

#dungeons & dragons #Dungeons and Dragons #bard #bardic magical secrets #magical secrets #dnd bard #dnd 5e #fifth edition #5th edition #dnd #d&d #d&d 5e

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angelynmoon · 10 months ago

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"It was forged in a Dragon's fire." Merlin grinned at Lancelot.

There was alot Lancelot wanted to ask about that, like how Merlin got close enough to a Dragon's fire and lived to tell about it but Merlin was already handing the Dragon's blade to him and taking Lancelot's.

"You're better off using it, Kilgarrah will have to sulk about it." Merlin told him.

Again Lancelot had questions, like the Dragon had a name and it was still alive, but those would have to wait since he had a Warlock to protect.

Lancelot decided he liked the Dragon's blade and he wondered if he could request his own, surely the one in his hand had been meant for someone else, likely Arthur, but it felt right in his hand as Lancelot defended Merlin from the Immortals' swords.

Then they were in the throne room and they should have known it would be guarded.

Lancelot looked at Merlin and nodded, the Dragon's Sword ready as they continued, so focused were they on getting to the Cup that they didn't register the sound of the warning bell ringing as they fought.

Lancelot letting out a gasp as he took a hit to his shoulder, luckly not on his sword arm.

Merlin looked at him but Lancelot shook his head, motioning to the Cup, he'd be okay, the others might not be.

Merlin knocked the Cup from its podium as the doors burst open, the men whose blood now spilled across the throne room floor exploding in bright light as the Cup clattered to the ground.

A shout of rage left Morgause and she threw Merlin at a wall.

Lancelot forced himself up to get between them when Merlin laid on the floor gasping, he hoped nothing was too injured, Lancelot had seen men be thrown like that and never walk again, he couldn't let Morgause hurt Merlin.

"Get out of my way, boy." Morgause snarled.

"No." Lancelot said, ignoring Merlin's quiet gasp of his name.

"I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion." The woman smirked as Arthur and the other Knights entered the room from behind the throne and Morgana entered the same door Morgause had, "What do you hope to do against me?"

"Sir Lancelot, your Oath." Merlin said as he shifted to sit against the wall he'd been thrown into.

Lancelot glanced at him, Merlin was giving him the same look he'd given him when he'd Knighted him, so proud, so loving, even as his arm rested across his chest, he likly had several broken ribs.

"Your Oath." Merlin said again.

Lancelot nodded and turned back to Morgause and Morgana, who now stood next to her sister, hand up preventing Arthur and the others from coming to their aid.

"And I am a Knight of the Old Religion," Lancelot said, taking in the way Morgana frowned and Mogause stiffened, "A Knight is sworn to valor, his heart knows only Virtue, his blade defends the helpless, his might upholds the weak, his word speaks only truth, his wrath undoes the Wicked."

As he said the last line Lancelot swung the Dragon's Blade at Morgause while she incanted a spell that hit the Shield Merlin had cast over him.

The Blade hit Morgause in the stomach.

And she laughed, "No mortal blade can kill me!" She shouted.

Lancelot tore the Blade out of her, watched her stumble back.

"Then you should know that this Sword was forged in a Dragon's fire." Lancelot said as he watched her fall.

"NOO!" Morgana screamed as she grabbed at Morgause, her cry echoing against the walls, shaking them, making dust spill down.

"Merlin!" Lancelot cried as he turned to gather him up, the man still sitting on the ground.

"Lancelot." Merlin whispered, "We can't leave Morgana, we can't."

"Percival." Lancelot turned to the large man who had fallen into step next to him, "Grab Morgana."

Thankfully the man did not question him as he grabbed the woman and threw her over his shoulder.

Merlin pressed a hand on her ankle and she screamed as her magic was locked away, though the damage had been done and the Castle still shook.

Lancelot felt the moment Merlin passed out and swung him fully into his arms, Gwaine taking his sword so he could hold Merlin better against him as they ran.

Once in the Courtyard Gwen and Gauis both ran to them as the Castle continued to shake.

"What happened?" Gauis asked as he motioned Lancelot to lay Merlin out.

"Morgause threw him into a wall, it must have hurt him badly because he did not stand back up." Lancelot explained.

"Let me go, you peasent." Morgana shouted as she fought Percival's hold.

"Why did you bring her?" Elyan asked, glaring at the woman.

"Lancelot told me to grab her." Percival shrugged, making Morgana yell more at being jostled.

"Morgana." Arthur said quietly.

Morgana glared at him, "Don't think being my brother will save you."

"I miss you." Arthur said softly, "You used to be my best friend, the person I could confide in, where did that woman go?"

"She never existed." Morgana snarled, "She was lied to and hunted and betrayed."

"Arthur." Merlin said sluggishly as he woke, "The bracelet, I think Morgause enchanted it to manipulate Morgana."

"When did you discover this?" Gauis asked as he forced Merlin to stay laying down.

"When she first stared wearing it, Gwen said she wasn't acting the same, she was restless and quicker to anger, so I researched it and had Lancelot look in to personality enchantments in other kingdoms, sometimes they are used to make opinionated women dolcile." Merlin explained.

"You think Morgause enchanted it to make Morgana angry." Lancelot concluded.

"Yes. The Morgana we knew would never turn on the lower people." Merlin said softly.

Arthur and Gwen looked hopeful.

"Fine." Gwaine said and stormed over to wrestle the bracelet off of Morgana's wrist.

She fought him until the metal was no longer against her skin and then she went still.

Percival pulled her off his shoulder to set her on her feet and followed her down as she crumpled.

"What have I done, Arthur, Arthur, I'm so sorry." Morgana said as she began to sob, "I killed so many people, I tried to kill Uthur!"

"Well, a lot of people have tried to kill Uthur." Merlin joked.

"Merlin!" Gaius scolded, even as he let Lancelot help him sit up so he could wrap his ribs.

"I'm still angry at you!" Morgana shouted at him, being held back from throwing herself at him.

"Yeah, that's fair." Merlin agreed as he put a hand over Lancelot's where he'd grabbed the Dragon's Blade.

Morgana stilled, "'That's fair'?"

"I poisoned you, admittedly it was to break the curse on Camelot that Morgause used you to anchor, but still, I hurt you and it's okay to be mad at me." Merlin told her.

"Oh." Morgana exclaomed softly, "She wouldn't have done that if she really loved me, would she?"

"No, Morgana, she wouldn't have." Gwen said softly as she sat next to her friend.

"I hurt you too." Morgana said, "I'm so sorry, I tried to kill you because I was jealous."

Gwen paused, not sure what to say.

"I'm going to teach you everything you need to know to be a good Queen, and maybe you can forgive me?" Morgana asked, hopefully.

Gwen smiled and pulled her into a hug, "You're going to be my sister when I marry Arthur, I suppose I have to."

They both started to laugh quietly.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Unfortunatly, Morgana did use Magic and Magic is against the Law in Camelot."

"Arthur!" Gwen cried as she clung to Morgana.

"Lancelot." Merlin said, making Lancelot sigh as he stood between Arthur and Morgana, Sword in hand.

"Sir Lancelot." Arthur frowned.

"I can't let you harm her, Sire, it goes against my Oath, she's," Lancelot looked down at her and her fearfilled, teary eyes, before turning back to Arthur, "She's helpless, Sire."

"She's a Witch." Arthur argued.

"I bound her Magic, Arthur, she'll only Dream until I realease her." Merlin said as he stood up, ignoring Gauis' protests, coming to stand with Lancelot.

"Lancelot, you are a Knight of Camelot, stand aside."

"Yes, but I am a Knight of the Old Religion first, I swore an Oath to defend the helpless." Lancelot told him.

"You said something like that to Morgause." Gwaine said thoughtfully, "she seemed unnerved by it."

"Because the Old Code is binding, to go against it is to forfit your life." Gaius explained as he stood to go tend to Uthur, who stared at nothing "When the kings of old realised that many Noble Houses could not survive taking such an Oath they got rid of it's use."

Arthur looked at Lancelot and his position in front of Merlin and Morgana and at Gwen's pleading eyes.

"Fine, but she goes nowhere without an escort, if she does she'll be locked in the dungeons for a week." Arthur said, frustrated.

"What about her Magic and the Law?" Leon asked, having been silent until now.

"Oh, fine, I guess I'm lifting the Magic Ban as well, it wouldn't do to spare only the Royal family, I'm not a hypocrate." Arthur cried out.

"Well, there's one thing in your favor then." Morgana teased.

Arthur pointed a finger at her, "Do not make me regret this, Morgana."

"I won't." Morgana promised as she clung to Gwen.

"As for you Merlin, when were you going to tell me you had Magic?!" Arthur shouted.

"To be fair, I've never told anyone." Merlin said.

"Don't make me put you in the stocks." Arthur threatened.

"Don't make me set my Dragon on you." Merlin countered making everyone turn to look at him.

"I'm sorry, your Dragon?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin paused, "So, um, I may or may not be the Last Dragonlord since my Father Died and I inhereted his powers."

Merlin shrugged and winced as his hand came up to cradle his chest.

"We're going to have a long talk later." Arthur sighed, "For now, let's salvage what we can and make a camp. Merlin, you and Gwen babysit Morgana, Percival, you Babysit Merlin and Gwen."

"Yes, Sire." Percival nodded.

"Everyone else, split up, see what you can find, and be careful." Arthur told them, pleased when they split into pairs without him needing to tell them to.

Gwen stood to help Merlin sit down and pulled him close to her and Morgana.

"So, tell us all about how Sir Lancelot took your virginity, was he sweet and gentle or does that hide a more rougeish nature?" Gwen asked.

"Gwen!" Morgana cried, offended.

Merlin almost sighed in relief at getting out of answering.

"You know you're supposed to start by asking what the first kiss was like." Morgana said and turned to look at Merlin expectantly.

"Well..." Merlin began, knowing there was no escape as even Percival was looking at him curiously.

Eventually they would fall asleep, after giggling over the men they loved or in Morgana's case the knight she was never allowed to pursue, perhaps, in time she might be able to win his heart as he'd always held hers but for now they slept and in the morning a new beginning would rise with the sun.

A/n: is this an excuse for Morgana to not be evil? You betcha. Is it also me wondering why Merlin didn't give the Dragon Sword to Lancelot, you know the skilled swordsman, and fixing it? Yep. Yeah I know it was probably Kilgarrah making hin promise but he can just be a sulky Dargon about it. Also Merlin does get Lancelot his own Dragon Blade for the Anniversery of his First Knighthood. The other's whine about it so Merlin teases them by getting them daggers and calls the baby swords since they're being babies about it. They get anniversery Swords too but baby swords first.

#a knight #part 3 #mercelot #merlin/lancelot #knights of the round table #arthur pendragon #guinevere #morgana #merlin bbc

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