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meanqueens · 6 months ago

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The Real Alicent Hightower

(or, a compilation of every passage in George R. R. Martin’s “Fire and Blood” pertaining to her character)

(unless i missed something, in which case please let me know and i can update this post!)

disclaimer: my goal was not to include every time her name was mentioned, but rather to highlight everything that could be indicative of her actual character (i.e. things that she did or were done to/said about her). for full contexts and details regarding other characters, i highly recommend reading F&B yourself.

Heirs of the Dragon—A Question of Succession

“Ser Otto brought his wife and children to court with him, and served King Jaehaerys faithfully for the years remaining to him. As the Old King’s strength and wits began to fail, he was oft confined to his bed. Ser Otto’s precocious fifteen-year-old daughter, Alicent, became his constant companion, fetching His Grace his meals, reading to him, helping him to bathe and dress himself. The Old King sometimes mistook her for one of his daughters, calling her by their names; near the end, he grew certain she was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea. In the year 103 AC King Jaehaerys I Targaryen died in his bed as Lady Alicent was reading to him from Septon Barth’s Unnatural History.” “Another woman had caught his eye. He announced his intention to wed Lady Alicent of House Hightower, the clever and lovely eighteen-year-old daughter of the King’s Hand, the girl who had read to King Jaehaerys as he lay dying. The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family, of impeccable lineage; there could be no possible objection to the king’s choice of bride. Even so, there were those who murmured that the Hand had risen above himself, that he had brought his daughter to court with this in mind. A few even cast doubt on Lady Alicent’s virtue, suggesting she had welcomed King Viserys into her bed even before Queen Aemma’s death. (These calumnies were never proved, though Mushroom repeats them in his Testimony and goes so far as to claim that reading was not the only service Lady Alicent performed for the Old King in his bedchamber.)”

“When King Viserys took Alicent Hightower to wife in 106 AC, House Velaryon was notable for its absence. Princess Rhaenyra poured for her stepmother at the feast, and Queen Alicent kissed her and named her “daughter.” The princess was amongst the women who disrobed the king and delivered him to the bedchamber of his bride.” "...mummers and singers heralded the birth of each new Targaryen princeling. Queen Alicent had soon proved to be as fertile as she was pretty. In 107 AC, she bore the king a healthy son, naming him Aegon, after the Conqueror. Two years later, she produced a daughter for the king, Helaena; in 110 AC, she bore him a second son, Aemond, who was said to be half the size of his elder brother, but twice as fierce." "“Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?” Queen Alicent asked one day at court. The amity between Her Grace and her stepdaughter had proved short-lived, for both Rhaenyra and Alicent aspired to be the first lady of the realm…and though the queen had given the king not one but two male heirs, Viserys had done nothing to change the order of succession." "Still, questions persisted, not the least from Queen Alicent herself. Loudest amongst her supporters was her father, Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King." "Even after Ser Otto had returned to Oldtown, a “queen’s party” still existed at court; a group of powerful lords friendly to Queen Alicent and supportive of the rights of her sons. Against them was pitted the “party of the princess.” King Viserys loved both his wife and daughter, and hated conflict and contention. He strove all his days to keep the peace between his women, and to please both with gifts and gold and honors."

"In 111 AC, a great tourney was held at King’s Landing on the fifth anniversary of the king’s marriage to Queen Alicent. At the opening feast, the queen wore a green gown, whilst the princess dressed dramatically in Targaryen red and black. Note was taken, and thereafter it became the custom to refer to “greens” and “blacks” when talking of the queen’s party and the party of the princess, respectively. In the tourney itself, the blacks had much the better of it when Ser Criston Cole, wearing Princess Rhaenyra’s favor, unhorsed all of the queen’s champions, including two of her cousins and her youngest brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower."

"Though [Daemon] treated Queen Alicent with all the courtesy due her station, there was no warmth between them, and men said that the prince was notably cool toward her children, especially his nephews, Aegon and Aemond, whose birth had pushed him still lower in the order of succession."

"...entertained [Rhaenyra] by making mock of the greens at court, the “lickspittles” fawning over Queen Alicent and her children."

"Others assert that it was at Queen Alicent’s urging that Viserys sent Daemon away."

"Queen Alicent had her own candidate: her eldest son, Prince Aegon, Rhaenyra’s half-brother. But Aegon was a boy, the princess ten years his elder. Moreover, the two half-siblings had never gotten on well. “All the more reason to bind them together in marriage,” the queen argued. Viserys did not agree. “The boy is Alicent’s own blood,” he told Lord Strong. “She wants him on the throne.”"

"(The princess always took care to refer to Queen Alicent’s sons as half-brothers, never as brothers.)"

"Denied Rhaenyra’s favor, Criston Cole turned to Queen Alicent instead. Wearing her token, the young Lord Commander of the Kingsguard defeated all challengers, fighting in a black fury."

"King Viserys was most wroth as well; a joyous celebration had become the occasion of grief and recrimination. It was said that Queen Alicent did not share his displeasure, however; soon after, she asked that Ser Criston Cole be made her personal protector. The coolness between the king’s wife and the king’s daughter was plain for all to see; even envoys from the Free Cities made note of it in letters sent back to Pentos, Braavos, and Old Volantis."

"The court was still rejoicing over the birth of the princess’s child when her stepmother, Queen Alicent, also went into labor, delivering Viserys his third son, Daeron…whose coloring, unlike that of Jace, testified to his dragon blood. By royal command, the infants Jacaerys Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen shared a wet nurse until weaned. It was Said that the king hoped to prevent any enmity between the two boys by raising them as milk brothers. If so, his hopes proved to be sadly forlorn."

"...King Viserys was delighted with him when the child was presented at court. These feelings were not shared by his queen. “Do keep trying,” Queen Alicent told Ser Laenor, according to Mushroom, “soon or late, you may get one who looks like you.” And the rivalry between the greens and blacks grew deeper, finally reaching the point where the queen and the princess could scarce suffer each other’s presence. Thereafter Queen Alicent kept to the Red Keep, whilst the princess spent her days on Dragonstone..."

"According to Mushroom, this only served to deepen her resentment of her stepmother, Queen Alicent, who remained slender and graceful at half again her age. The sins of the fathers are oft visited on the sons, wise men have said; and so it is for the sins of mothers as well. The enmity between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra was passed on to their sons, and the queen’s three boys, the Princes Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, grew to be bitter rivals of their Velaryon nephews, resentful of them for having stolen what they regarded as their birthright: the Iron Throne itself."

"His father and mother would never allow him to go near Vhagar, Aemond knew, much less try to ride her. So he made certain they did not know..."

"...these courtesies did not appease their vengeful mothers. Queen Alicent demanded that one of Lucerys Velaryon’s eyes should be put out, for the eye he had cost Aemond. Princess Rhaenyra would have none of that, but insisted that Prince Aemond should be questioned “sharply”..."

"His Grace further commanded his wife and daughter to kiss and exchange vows of love and affection. But their false smiles and empty words deceived no one but the king."

"King Viserys further decreed that Queen Alicent and her sons would return with him to court, whilst Princess Rhaenyra confined herself to Dragonstone with her sons."

"...bringing the princess and her sons back to King’s Landing, where more conflict with the queen and her own brood would have been inevitable."

"In King’s Landing, however, Queen Alicent grew most wroth when she learned the babe had been named Aegon, taking that for a slight against her own son Aegon…which, according to The Testimony of Mushroom, it most certainly was."

"The princess and the queen were both commanded to attend, with all their children. In a show of amity, each woman wore the other’s color and many declarations of love were made, to the king’s great pleasure. Prince Daemon raised a cup to Ser Otto Hightower and thanked him for his leal service as Hand. Ser Otto in turn spoke of the prince’s courage, whilst Alicent’s children and Rhaenyra’s greeted one another with kisses and broke bread together at table. Or so the court chronicles record."

"Queen Alicent, however, insisted that the princess and her maester had mutilated His Grace unnecessarily. Had they not “meddled,” she claimed, Grand Maester Mellos would surely have saved the king’s fingers as well as his life. She urged the appointment of one Maester Alfador, presently in service at the Hightower. Viserys, beset from both sides, chose neither, reminding both the princess and the queen that the choice was not his to make."

The Dying of the Dragons—The Blacks and the Greens

"The servant ran to inform Queen Alicent, whose apartments were on the floor below the king’s. Septon Eustace, writing on these events some years later, points out that the manservant delivered his dire tidings directly to the queen, and her alone, without raising a general alarum. Eustace does not believe this was wholly fortuitous; the king’s death had been anticipated for some time, he argues, and Queen Alicent and her party, the so-called greens, had taken care to instruct all of Viserys’s guards and servants in what to do when the day came. (The dwarf Mushroom suggests a more sinister scenario, whereby Queen Alicent hurried King Viserys on his way with a pinch of poison in his hippocras. It must be noted that Mushroom was not in King’s Landing the night the king died, but rather on Dragonstone, in service with Princess Rhaenyra.) Queen Alicent went at once to the king’s bedchamber, accompanied by Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Once they had confirmed that Viserys was dead, Her Grace ordered his room sealed and placed under guard. The serving man who had found the king’s body was taken into custody, to make certain he did not spread the tale. Ser Criston returned to White Sword Tower and sent his brothers of the Kingsguard to summon the members of the king’s small council. It was the hour of the owl."

"The council convened in the queen’s apartments within Maegor’s Holdfast."

"Gathering in the queen’s chambers as the body of her lord husband grew cold above were Queen Alicent herself..."

"“Mayhaps Her Grace the queen would care to write the message, so as to soften these sad tidings with some words of condolence?”"

"“King,” insisted Queen Alicent. “The Iron Throne by rights must pass to His Grace’s eldest trueborn son.”"

"“My own head will be the first cut off, I do not doubt, but your queen, my daughter, will soon follow.” Queen Alicent echoed him. “Nor will they spare my children,” she declared. “Aegon and his brothers are the king’s trueborn sons, with a better claim to the throne than her brood of bastards. Daemon will find some pretext to put them all to death. Even Helaena and her little ones. One of these Strongs put out Aemond’s eye, never forget. He was a boy, aye, but the boy is the father to the man, and bastards are monstrous by nature.”"

"“Mayhaps the whore will die in childbirth,” Queen Alicent is reported to have said (according to Mushroom)."

"And so each of the conspirators slashed their palms and clasped hands with one another, swearing brotherhood. Queen Alicent alone amongst them was excused from the oath, on account of her womanhood. Dawn was breaking over the city before Queen Alicent dispatched the Kingsguard to bring her sons Aegon and Aemond to the council. (Prince Daeron, the youngest and gentlest of her children, was in Oldtown, serving as Lord Hightower’s squire.)"

"Ravens flew, but not to Dragonstone. They went instead to Oldtown, to Casterly Rock, to Riverrun, to Highgarden, and to many other lords and knights whom Queen Alicent had cause to think might be sympathetic to her son."

"“Then we must see that [Borros Baratheon] leads [the lesser storm lords] to our king,” Queen Alicent declared. Whereupon she sent for her second son."

"...Queen Alicent knew they could delay no longer. Prince Aegon had grown weary of secrecy. “Am I a king or no?” he demanded of his mother. “If I am king, then crown me.”"

"His mother, Queen Alicent, beloved of the smallfolk, placed her own crown upon the head of her daughter, Helaena, Aegon’s wife and sister. After kissing her cheeks, the mother knelt before the daughter, bowed her head, and said, “My Queen.”"

"...Queen Alicent had ordered Viserys’s crown locked away..."

"The princess shrieked curses all through her labor, calling down the wrath of the gods upon her half-brothers and their mother, the queen, and detailing the torments she would inflict upon them before she would let them die."

"[Rhaenyra's] first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels."

"But when the two queens—his mother, Queen Alicent, and his wife, Queen Helaena— spoke in favor of Orwyle’s proposal, the truculent king gave way reluctantly. So Grand Maester Orwyle was dispatched across Blackwater Bay under a peace banner..."

The Dying of the Dragons—A Son for a Son

"Queen Alicent went pale when she heard what [Aemond] had done, crying, “Mother have mercy on us all.”"

"Unbeknownst to King Aegon, the Hand, or the Queen Dowager, [Daemon] had allies at court as well, even on the green council…"

"Instead they slipped into [Otto's] daughter’s chambers, one floor below. Queen Alicent had taken up residence there after the death of King Viserys, when her son Aegon moved into Maegor’s Holdfast with his own queen. Once inside, Cheese bound and gagged the Dowager Queen whilst Blood strangled her bedmaid. Then they settled down to wait, for they knew it was the custom of Queen Helaena to bring her children to see their grandmother every evening before bed."

"As they entered the apartments, Helaena was holding his little hand and calling out her mother’s name."

"Queen Alicent had commanded Larys Clubfoot to learn [Blood's] true name, so that she might bathe in the blood of his wife and children, but our sources do not say if this occurred."

"The king had no recourse but to take the boy from [Helaena] and give him over to their mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, to raise as if he were her own."

The Dying of the Dragons—The Red Dragon and the Gold

"Though his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, spoke up in Ser Otto’s defense, His Grace turned a deaf ear to her pleading."

"...thousands left King’s Landing afterward, until the Dowager Queen Alicent ordered the city gates closed and barred."

"None was allowed to disturb [Aegon II's] rest, save his mother the Queen Dowager and his Hand, Ser Criston Cole."

"The Queen Dowager favored caution as well, urging her son to wait until his brother the king and his dragon, Sunfyre the Golden, were healed, so they might join the attack."

"...it fell to his mother, the Queen Dowager, to see to the city’s defenses. Queen Alicent rose to the challenge, closing the gates of castle and city, sending the gold cloaks to the walls, and dispatching riders on swift horses to find Prince Aemond and fetch him back. As well, she commanded Grand Maester Orwyle to send ravens to “all our leal lords,” summoning them to the defense of their true king."

"Queen Alicent’s riders got no farther than the gates, where more gold cloaks took them into custody. Unbeknownst to Her Grace, the seven captains commanding the gates, chosen for their loyalty to King Aegon, had been imprisoned or murdered the moment Caraxes appeared in the sky above the Red Keep..."

"Upon seeing that resistance was hopeless, the Dowager Queen Alicent emerged from Maegor’s Holdfast with her father, Ser Otto Hightower..."

"...Queen Alicent attempted to treat with her stepdaughter. “Let us together summon a great council, as the Old King did in days of old,” said the Dowager Queen, “and lay the matter of succession before the lords of the realm.” But Queen Rhaenyra rejected the proposal with scorn. “Do you mistake me for Mushroom?” she asked. “We both know how this council would rule.” Then she bade her stepmother choose: yield or burn. Bowing her head in defeat, Queen Alicent surrendered the keys to the castle and ordered her knights and men-at-arms to lay down their swords. “The city is yours, Princess,” she is reported to have said, “but you will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.”"

"Not even the Dowager Queen seemed to know where [Aegon II, Jaehaera, Maelor, Willis Fell, Rickard Thorne] had gone..."

The Dying of the Dragons—Rhaenyra Triumphant

"Queen Alicent was fettered at wrist and ankle with golden chains, though her stepdaughter spared her life “for the sake of our father, who loved you once.” Her own father was less fortunate."

"The Sea Snake proposed to let the Faith take charge of Dowager Queen Alicent and Queen Helaena, so that they might spend the remainder of their lives in prayer and contemplation."

"Words of these plans soon reached the ears of the Dowager Queen, filling her with terror. Fearing for her sons, Queen Alicent went to the Iron Throne upon her knees, to plead for peace. This time the Queen in Chains put forth the notion that the realm might be divided; Rhaenyra would keep King’s Landing and the crownlands, the North, the Vale of Arryn, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the isles. To Aegon II would go the stormlands, the westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Rhaenyra rejected her stepmother’s proposal with scorn. “Your sons might have had places of honor at my court if they had kept faith,” Her Grace declared, “but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sweet sons is on their hands.” “Bastard blood, shed at war,” Alicent replied. “My son’s sons were innocent boys, cruelly murdered. How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?” The Dowager Queen’s words only fanned the fire of Rhaenyra’s wroth. “I will hear no more lies,” she warned. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.” Or so the tale is told by Septon Eustace. Munkun says the same in his True Telling. Here again Mushroom differs. The dwarf would have us believe that Rhaenyra ordered her stepmother’s tongue torn out at once, rather than merely threatening this. It was only a word from Lady Misery that stayed her hand, the fool insists; the White Worm proposed another, crueler punishment. King Aegon’s wife and mother were taken in chains to a certain brothel, and there sold to any man who wished to have his pleasure of them. The price was high; a golden dragon for Queen Alicent, three dragons for Queen Helaena, who was younger and more beautiful. Yet Mushroom says there were many in the city who thought that cheap for carnal knowledge of a queen. “Let them remain there until they are with child,” Lady Misery is purported to have said. “They speak of bastards so freely, let them each have one for their very own.”"

"...word of battle and betrayal at Tumbleton had reached King’s Landing. It is said the Dowager Queen Alicent laughed when she heard. “All they have sowed, now shall they reap,” she promised."

The Dying of the Dragons—Rhaenyra Overthrown

"If Rhaenyra were intent on murder, surely it would have been the Dowager Queen Alicent flung down onto the spikes."

"When Dowager Queen Alicent was informed of her daughter’s passing, she rent her garments and pronounced a dire curse upon her rival."

"Both were on hand the next day to bear witness as Ser Perkin’s gangling squire Trystane mounted the Iron Throne. So too was the Queen Dowager, Alicent of House Hightower."

The Dying of the Dragons—The Short, Sad Reign of Aegon II

"And so the Clubfoot was dispatched across the river under a flag of truce, accompanied by Grand Maester Orwyle and the Dowager Queen Alicent."

"There Queen Alicent received the glad news that her grandaughter Jaehaera, the only surviving child of her son Aegon and daughter Helaena, had been delivered safely to Storm’s End by Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard. The Dowager Queen wept tears of joy. Betrayals and betrothals followed, until an accord was reached between Lord Borros, Lord Larys, and Queen Alicent, with Grand Maester Orwyle as witness."

"Queen Alicent agreed that her son King Aegon would make Lady Cassandra, Lord Borros’s eldest daughter, his new queen."

"“[Corlys Velaryon] is traitor thrice over,” Queen Alicent said. “Rhaenyra could never have taken King’s Landing but for him. His Grace my son will not have forgotten. I want him dead.”"

"...the golden dragon banner of King Aegon II raised in their stead. Queen Alicent herself emerged from the Red Keep to bid [Borros Baratheon] welcome, with Ser Perkin the Flea beside her."

"Queen Alicent proclaimed a curfew, making it unlawful to be on the city streets after dark."

"Behind the walls of the Red Keep, the Dowager Queen Alicent and Lord Larys Strong had offered the Sea Snake his freedom, a full pardon for his treasons, and a place on the king’s small council if he would bend his knee to Aegon II as his king and deliver them the swords and sails of Driftmark."

"Queen Alicent was outraged by Lord Velaryon’s “arrogance,” Munkun tells us, especially his demand that Queen Rhaenyra’s Aegon be named as heir to her own Aegon. She had suffered the loss of two of her three sons and her only daughter during the Dance, and could not bear the thought that any of her rival’s sons should live. Angrily, Her Grace reminded Lord Corlys that she had twice proposed terms of peace to Rhaenyra, only to have her overtures rejected with scorn. It fell to Lord Larys the Clubfoot to pour oil on the troubled waters, calming the queen with a quiet reminder of all they had discussed in Lord Baratheon’s tent, and persuading her to consent to the Sea Snake’s proposals. The next day Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, knelt before Queen Alicent as she sat upon the lower steps of the Iron Throne, as proxy for her son, and there pledged the king his loyalty and that of his house. Before the eyes of gods and men, the Queen Dowager granted him and his a royal pardon, and restored him to his old place on the small council, as admiral and master of ships."

"Urged on by his mother, the Queen Dowager Alicent, Aegon II was determined to exact vengeance upon those who had betrayed and deposed him."

"If the rebels could flaunt a dragon and the loyalists could not, Queen Alicent pointed out, smallfolk might see their foes as more legitimate."

"Queen Alicent had reluctantly agreed to the betrothal of her granddaughter to Rhaenyra’s son, but she had done so without the king’s consent. Aegon II had other ideas."

"When Queen Alicent demured, wondering aloud how Lord Corlys could possibly be won back after all that had been said that day, Lord Strong replied, “That task you may leave to me, Your Grace. His lordship will listen to me, I daresay.”"

"His mother entertained no such hope. “You fed [Aegon III's] mother to your dragon,” she reminded her son. “The boy saw it all.” The king turned to her desperately. “What would you have me do?” “You have hostages,” the Queen Dowager replied. “Cut off one of the boy’s ears and send it to Lord Tully. Warn them he will lose another part for every mile they advance.”"

"Queen Alicent was arrested on the serpentine steps as she made her way back to her chambers. Her captors wore the seahorse of House Velaryon upon their doublets, and though they slew the two men guarding her, they did no harm to the Dowager Queen herself, nor to her ladies. The Queen in Chains was chained again and taken to the dungeons, there to await the pleasure of the new king. By then the last of her sons was already dead."

Aftermath—The Hour of the Wolf

"Within the Red Keep, the Lads found the dead king’s body laid out upon a bier beneath the Iron Throne, with his mother, Queen Alicent, weeping beside it."

"The realm’s new rulers found themselves divided on the question of what to do with the Dowager Queen Alicent, but elsewise all seemed in accord, and good fellowship reigned…for the best part of a fortnight."

"...men placed wagers on how long the Clubfoot, the Sea Snake, the Flea, and the Dowager Queen would keep their heads."

"The men who had seized the Queen Dowager upon the serpentine steps had worn the seahorse badge of House Velaryon..."

"Queen Alicent’s captors had slain her guards and were thus condemned to death..."

Under the Regents—The Hooded Hand

"And the more observant made note of another absence. The Dowager Queen was nowhere to be seen, though as Jaehaera’s grandmother, Alicent Hightower ought to have been present."

"A more immediate problem was posed by the Dowager Queen, who refused to reconcile herself to the new king. The murder of the last of her sons had turned Alicent’s heart into a stone. None of the regents wished to see her put to death, some from compassion, others for fear that such an execution might rekindle the flames of war. Yet she could not be allowed to take part in the life of the court as before. She was too apt to rain down curses on the king, or snatch a dagger from some unwary guardsman. Alicent could not even be trusted in the company of the little queen; when last allowed to share a meal with Her Grace, she had told Jaehaera to cut her husband’s throat whilst he was sleeping, which set the child to screaming. Ser Tyland felt he had no choice but to confine the Queen Dowager to her own apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast; a gentle imprisonment, but imprisonment nonetheless."

"One death may have been a mercy. The Dowager Queen Alicent of House Hightower, second wife of King Viserys I and mother to his sons, Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, and his daughter Helaena, died on the same night as Lord Westerling, after confessing her sins to her septa. She had outlived all of her children and spent the last year of her life confined to her apartments, with no company but her septa, the serving girls who brought her food, and the guards outside her door. Books were given her, and needles and thread, but her guards said Alicent spent more time weeping than reading or sewing. One day she ripped all her clothing into pieces. By the end of the year she had taken to talking to herself, and had come to have a deep aversion to the color green. In her last days the Queen Dowager seemed to become more lucid. “I want to see my sons again,” she told her septa, “and Helaena, my sweet girl, oh…and King Jaehaerys. I will read to him, as I did when I was little. He used to say I had a lovely voice.” (Strangely, in her final hours Queen Alicent spoke often of the Old King, but never of her husband, King Viserys.) The Stranger came for her on a rainy night, at the hour of the wolf."

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ghelgheli · 1 year ago

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The epoch of hysteria between 1656 and 1658 found its catalyst in the spontaneous, detailed testimony of someone who I solely re-member here with her chosen name, la Estanpa. Once a linda niña (pretty girl), the now seventy-year-old mestiza found herself apprehended by court magistrates for suspected sodomy in 1656. After initially denying the accusations, an elderly and fatigued Estanpa relented, admitting to having dressed ‘like a woman’ since she was seven and committed the nefarious sin for ‘more than forty years’. Encapsulated within her testimony and larger trial are glimmers of an underground trans feminine world in seventeenth-century Mexico City, of which Estanpa served as a pillar. Coinciding with Catholic feast days, Estanpa and her friends organised parties at changing secret locations, ranging from the secluded countryside to individuals’ homes in the neighbourhoods of San Juan de la Penitencia or San Pablo. Facilitated by trans feminine hostesses, these lively parties consisted of illicit dancing, singing, drinking chocolate and of course inevitable quarrelling over guapos (what they affectionately called the men who loved them), with whom they would eventually retire into rooms for sex. For elders like Estanpa, these parties were also an opportunity to recall ‘the deeds and the conquests of their far-away youth, their lost beauty, and old-time pleasures’.In each other’s company, this cohort referred to one another as niñas (girls), each taking on feminine names following the same convention as ‘la Estanpa’, a title said to have originated from a ‘very graceful lady’. What is certain is that the trans feminine figure held a distinct and explicitly threatening place in the Spanish colonial imaginary. Within underground Mexican subculture, these individuals shared myriad cultural signifiers – in naming practices, celebration of holidays and their habitation in the same neighbourhoods and sometimes homes – that suggest they also established deep-rooted community networks. Perhaps most importantly, despite coordinated and unrelenting legal suppression, trans feminine people would continue to exist and resist across colonial New Spain.

Jamey Jesperson, Trans Misogyny in the Colonial Archive: Re-membering Trans Feminine Life and Death in New Spain, 1604–1821 [doi]

#reading #gender

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novaursa · 13 days ago

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Between Pride and Fire (matters of the realm)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: royals

- Next part: lion's den

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

From The Testimony of Mushroom, corroborated by Grand Maester Mellos in The Histories of the Dragon’s Heirs

The aftermath of the ill-fated wedding of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon left scars that stretched far beyond the stone walls of the Red Keep. What was meant to be a celebration of unity between House Targaryen and Velaryon descended into a night of blood and horror, and the ripples of that chaos were felt throughout the realm. Though the Septon’s final words bound Rhaenyra and Laenor in marriage, no feast nor dance could wash away the stain of Ser Criston Cole’s brutal slaying of Ser Joffrey Lonmouth.

The following morning brought a hush over King’s Landing. Gone were the sounds of trumpets and revelry, replaced instead by whispered rumors that passed like fire through dry grass. Lords muttered behind closed doors, and the smallfolk spun tales of what had occurred within the Red Keep’s great hall. Some claimed it was jealousy that drove Criston Cole into such madness. Others whispered of darker schemes—of secrets unveiled and grudges laid bare. What all could agree on, however, was that nothing would ever be the same again.

Amidst the wreckage of this chaos, Lord Jason Lannister and his Targaryen wife, Princess Y/N, emerged as figures of enviable stability. Where the royal family seemed fractured and fragile, the golden lions of the West stood tall and untouchable, their crimson cloaks as vivid as blood amongst the rubble.

In truth, it is said that Jason Lannister handled the scandalous events of the wedding with the same smug aplomb that defined him. Grand Maester Mellos noted in his letters that Jason “laughed when others wept, as if the bloodshed were no more troubling than spilled wine.” Mushroom, however, provides a far more colorful description, claiming that Jason whispered to his wife as they departed the chaos of the great hall: “This was a wedding for the histories, my dragon—though I do think our lion slaying made for better sport.”

The princess, by contrast, was said to have been troubled. Mushroom claims she remained quiet and pale throughout the night, tending to her twins, Leona and Loren, in the privacy of their chambers while Jason drank deeply and regaled his kin with tales of the absurdity he had witnessed. “My lady soothed babes while her lion roared,” Mushroom writes, “and so it is with all marriages—a woman tends to what matters while a man tends to his pride.”

Yet while others looked upon the aftermath with despair, the Lannisters only seemed to shine brighter. In the days following the wedding, it was Jason and Y/N who took to the streets of King’s Landing to present themselves—her silver hair and his golden crown of curls appearing like twin beams of light amidst the gloom. The smallfolk cheered for them as though they were the ones newly wed, and they cooed over the twins, Leona and Loren, as if the babes themselves were proof that unity could still exist in the realm.

“The king’s first grandchildren,” Jason boasted loudly in the marketplace, clutching a goblet of wine as he stood before the people. Mushroom claims that Y/N chastised her husband for flaunting the twins so openly, fearing what enemies such displays might invite. “They are children, Jason, not trophies,” she is said to have told him. Yet Jason only grinned and replied, “All Lannisters are trophies, wife. Even the cubs.”

It was in this way that Lord Jason and Princess Y/N presented an image of strength when others faltered. While King Viserys withdrew further into his chambers—his health seeming to wane with each passing day—and Queen Alicent surrounded herself with her father’s allies, the Lannisters stood as a spectacle of gold and crimson, untarnished by scandal.

Mushroom, of course, cannot resist adding his usual crudeness to their story. He claims that Jason’s cheer during the day was matched only by his ardor at night. “The Rock’s lion roared as loudly in bed as he did in the streets,” Mushroom writes salaciously, “and if the princess protested, no soul ever heard it. One might think that bloodshed stirred the man’s appetites, for it is said that Jason and his dragon wife scarce left their chambers save to parade the babes like kings at a tourney.”

Whether or not such claims hold any truth is impossible to say, for Mushroom’s accounts are ever prone to exaggeration. Grand Maester Mellos writes only that the princess “remained attentive to her children and dutiful to her husband, keeping her composure where many others faltered.” Yet even he could not deny the sharp contrast between the turmoil within the Red Keep and the Lannisters’ public display of unity.

It is worth noting, too, that the princess did not forget her sister. Rhaenyra, secluded with Laenor in the wake of the tragedy, is said to have received a quiet visit from Y/N in the days following the wedding. No records remain of their conversation, but Mushroom insists he overheard whispers through the keyhole, where Y/N reassured Rhaenyra that “the world may tear at you, but you will endure.”

Jason, meanwhile, paid little mind to such solemn affairs. Mushroom claims that when questioned about the wedding’s bloodshed, Jason merely laughed and said, “The realm would be dull without a bit of chaos. A Lannister thrives in it.”

And so it was that while King Viserys aged before the eyes of the court, and while Rhaenyra and Laenor retreated into their uneasy marriage, Lord Jason Lannister and Princess Y/N stood like a beacon amidst the gathering storm. Mushroom, ever the cynic, described it best: “When the world shakes and dragons roar, the lions stand tall—but make no mistake, my lords, even lions cannot see when the ground is crumbling beneath their paws.”

For now, though, the realm looked upon Jason and Y/N as a shining example—a marriage of fire and gold that burned brighter in the shadows cast by others’ failings. The twins, Leona and Loren, were called “the hope of the Rock” by the smallfolk of the Westerlands, and wherever the Lannisters walked, the world watched.

Yet even as their star rose, the events of Rhaenyra’s wedding left a scar upon the realm—a scar that would fester in the years to come. And while Jason laughed and Y/N stood strong, the first cracks in the foundation had already begun to form.

King Viserys sat slouched in a cushioned chair at the head of a large table, his crown tilted slightly askew as though it weighed far too much. The king looked every bit as weary as he had in the days following Rhaenyra's wedding, though his smile remained warm and genuine as he listened to Laenor Velaryon recount some jest or tale of his youth.

Jason Lannister reclined comfortably in his chair, legs stretched out, a goblet of wine lazily balanced in one hand. He had been summoned to join the king this morning, alongside Ser Laenor, for reasons that were as yet unclear. Jason, of course, never missed an opportunity to enjoy royal company—or to make his presence felt.

Leaning back, Jason smirked at Laenor as the young Velaryon finished his story, his laughter ringing easily through the otherwise quiet chamber. “So let me see if I’ve heard this correctly,” Jason said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You dove headfirst into the harbor after your brother dared you… and were fished out naked before half the ships of Driftmark?”

Laenor grinned, his silver hair catching the sunlight as he shrugged. “What can I say, Lord Jason? I was young and bold, and the water seemed warm enough at the time.”

Viserys barked a laugh, clapping his hand against the armrest of his chair, though the effort seemed to take more energy than it once might have. “Ah, youth,” he said fondly, shaking his head. “If only we could live those days again.”

Jason chuckled softly, raising his goblet toward Laenor. “You’ve spirit, Velaryon. That much, I can respect.”

Across the room, Otto Hightower stood like a shadow, his hands clasped neatly at his waist, though his sharp eyes never stopped watching. His presence was like a cold draft in the otherwise warm chamber, lingering silently but impossible to ignore. His gaze flitted toward Jason every now and again—side glances sharp as a dagger—as though measuring every word that fell from the Lord of Casterly Rock’s mouth.

Jason, for his part, paid him no mind. Or rather, he pretended not to notice.

After a lull in conversation, Otto stepped forward slightly, clearing his throat with deliberate softness. “Your Grace,” he said, though his eyes lingered on Jason, “the matters of the realm wait for no man—even those of noble station.”

Viserys waved a hand, though it lacked its usual vigor. “What matters, Otto? Let us have peace in this room for once. There are no councils here today.”

Otto smiled faintly, though it did not reach his eyes. “Of course, Your Grace.” He turned his gaze fully to Jason now, his tone clipped and polite. “Lord Jason, it is a pleasure to see you still in our halls. Though I must admit… it has been nearly a week since the wedding festivities came to an end. I imagine your people in the Westerlands must miss you greatly by now.”

Jason did not so much as blink, though his smirk sharpened like a blade’s edge as he tilted his goblet, swirling the wine idly. “How kind of you to concern yourself with my duties, Lord Hand,” he said, his tone almost lazy. “But my bannermen are capable. I trust my family is managing affairs in my absence without issue.”

Otto’s smile remained fixed, though his fingers tightened slightly where they rested at his waist. “And yet,” he continued, voice smooth as silk, “I would not wish to keep the Lord of Casterly Rock from the lands he serves so dutifully. Surely your family will be eager to return to the Westerlands soon?”

Jason glanced at Otto from the corner of his eye, the glint of amusement never leaving his face. “In time,” he replied smoothly, sipping his wine. “The king has graciously offered us his hospitality, and it would be rude to leave too soon, don’t you think?”

Viserys, oblivious to the subtle tension in the air, let out a faint chuckle. “Jason is right, Otto. Let them stay a while longer. It’s not every day I have the pleasure of my grandchildren’s company.”

Jason smiled broadly at that, clearly pleased to hear Viserys mention the twins. “Aye, Your Grace. It warms my heart to know the king takes such joy in their presence. Leona and Loren have grown fond of their grandsire already.”

Otto’s expression flickered ever so slightly at the mention of the twins. “Yes, no doubt,” he murmured, though his tone was laced with something unreadable.

Laenor, who had remained quiet throughout this exchange, cleared his throat with a small grin. “Lord Jason, I suspect you’ll find it hard to leave the capital if King Viserys has his way. The man seems to adore your children almost as much as you do.”

Jason turned toward Laenor, his easy grin returning as he raised his goblet. “Who could blame him? The twins are the pride of the West.” He turned back to Otto with a faintly pointed look. “You might even say they shine brighter than gold.”

The jab was subtle, but Otto caught it. His expression remained neutral, though his gaze lingered on Jason for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Gold fades, my lord,” Otto replied softly. “But the realm endures.”

Jason laughed, though there was little warmth in it. “Wise words, Lord Hand. I’ll be sure to remember them.”

Viserys, sensing none of the tension now thickening in the room, exhaled heavily and leaned back into his chair. “Enough of this talk. Otto, there will be time for matters of duty later. Let us enjoy what peace we can.”

Otto inclined his head, though he cast one final glance at Jason before stepping back into the shadows. Jason, ever unbothered, leaned closer to you as the king settled into a half-doze, murmuring softly near your ear.

“Do you see how he watches me, wife? Like a cat watching a mouse that refuses to scurry.”

You offered him a sidelong look, keeping your voice low. “And what does that make you, my lord?”

Jason grinned, his confidence unshaken. “The mouse who knows the cat can’t catch him.”

You shook your head faintly, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Perhaps you should not push him so.”

Jason shrugged, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating air of ease. “Otto Hightower cannot push me from King’s Landing any sooner than I wish to leave it. Besides,” he added, casting a glance toward the king, “I’ll take my leave when it suits me—and when the king tires of spoiling my children.”

“Let us hope that day comes quietly,” you murmured, though even you could sense that the quiet days were already beginning to dwindle.

Jason only smirked, lifting his goblet to his lips once more, as though the game he played was his alone to win.

The city of King's Landing hummed with life beneath the early afternoon sun, its sprawling streets teeming with vendors hawking their wares, children darting between carts, and common folk bustling about their daily routines. The smells of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh bread mingled in the air with less savory scents—a testament to the chaotic beauty of the capital. Today, however, the market had something far grander to behold.

Jason Lannister strode through the heart of the city like a king on progress, flanked by his retinue. His cloak swirled behind him with every step, and his pride shone brighter than any coin in the city. At his side walked you, composed and regal. The twins, Leona and Loren, were nestled securely in your arms and the arms of a trusted wet nurse, swaddled in soft crimson silks embroidered with golden lions and dragons.

A royal escort preceded you, knights of the City Watch with their gleaming golden cloaks clearing a path through the crowd while banners of House Targaryen and House Lannister fluttered proudly overhead. Behind you, Jason’s Lannister men and retainers marched in formation, their polished armor catching the sun and dazzling the gawking crowd. What began as an ordinary market day had now become a spectacle—and Jason, ever the lion, relished it.

“Lord Jason Lannister! Princess Y/N!” came the cries from vendors and citizens alike as you passed. A ripple of excitement spread through the market as more people pushed forward, eager for a glimpse of the king’s first grandchildren.

Jason, of course, was all smiles, nodding graciously to the crowd and pausing now and then to lift his hand in greeting. “Good folk of King’s Landing!” he called at one point, his voice carrying like a man born to be heard. “The pride of the West greets you! A fine day, is it not?”

You shot him a look, though amusement tugged at your lips. “Must you parade us so boldly?” you murmured, adjusting the swaddled babe in your arms. Leona, bright-eyed even in her infancy, squirmed softly against you.

“Of course,” Jason replied smoothly, glancing sidelong at you with a grin. “How else will they know that Lannisters walk among them? Besides,” he added, gesturing toward the crowd, “they should see the king’s first grandchildren—let them remember this day.”

“And when they curse us for blocking their stalls?” you teased lightly, though you could not deny the awe on the faces of the smallfolk as they caught sight of the twins. Women gasped and cooed, children shrieked in delight, and men whispered to one another as they craned their necks for a better view.

“If they curse us, it’ll be through tears of joy,” Jason replied with a wink.

The market sprawled open before you, the crowd parting wherever the gold-cloaked guards marched. Jason paused at a particularly loud stall, where a vendor was shouting about the finest Dornish silk. The merchant, an older man with a grizzled beard, nearly dropped his bolts of fabric when Jason stopped before him.

“Silk from Dorne, you say?” Jason asked with mock scrutiny, his grin lazy. “And what makes it finer than the silks worn by my lady wife?”

The merchant blinked rapidly, his mouth hanging open before he stammered, “I-It’s the finest, m’lord—truly! Soft as the morning mist and strong as dragon’s wings!”

Jason glanced back at you with a smug grin. “Shall we compare, wife?” he teased, though his voice carried enough weight to send the merchant into a sputtering fit.

You rolled your eyes, shifting Leona in your arms as the wet nurse beside you held Loren securely. “Lord Jason, if you mean to torment every vendor in the market, we’ll be here till sundown.”

“Perhaps I’m a generous man, parading my coin,” Jason replied with a wink, though he tossed the merchant a gold dragon for his trouble before strolling on, shoulders back and chin high.

The procession wound its way through stalls of fruit, fish, and fine jewelry, with Jason greeting strangers like long-lost friends and showing no signs of humility. Children gawked as the twins passed, their small faces pressed to the edges of the crowd. A small girl, no older than six, tugged at her mother’s skirts and pointed.

“Is it true?” she whispered loudly. “Are they dragons?”

Jason heard and turned, crouching low enough to address the girl directly, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Dragons and lions both, little one,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “Fire and gold, brought together.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she clutched her mother’s hand tightly. “They’re magic,” she breathed.

Jason straightened, glancing toward you with a faint smirk. “Did you hear that, wife? Magic. I knew it.”

“Enough of your games, Jason,” you murmured, though you could not suppress the faint smile on your lips. The twins were beginning to fuss now, little Loren letting out a high-pitched wail that cut through the air. The wet nurse bobbed him gently, but Jason was undeterred.

“Ah, the boy has lungs,” Jason said proudly, as though Loren’s cries were a testament to Lannister strength. “A roar, like his father.”

“And if you don’t let them rest soon,” you replied pointedly, “they’ll roar loud enough to scatter this entire market.”

Jason gave you a good-natured grin before turning to his men. “We’ll head back to the keep,” he announced, waving a hand lazily. “But not before they know they’ve seen the future of the realm.”

As the procession wound its way back toward the gates of the Red Keep, the streets of King’s Landing seemed to buzz with renewed life. Jason Lannister’s “spectacle,” as you had called it, had done its job. The people stared in awe, whispered about the silver-haired babes who would grow to inherit power, and cheered as you passed.

Jason, of course, was entirely unbothered by the extravagance of it all. He slowed his steps as you reached the shadow of the keep, casting a look at you, smug and satisfied. “There,” he said softly, gesturing toward the lingering crowd still watching your departure. “The first of many days when our children will be remembered.”

You shook your head faintly, though your voice held none of the fire your words implied. “You’ll make them into legend before they can even walk.”

Jason laughed softly, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of silver hair behind your ear. “Why not? Let them shine, wife. They are Lannisters and Targaryens both—and worth every cheer.”

As the gates closed behind you and the streets faded into distant hums of noise, you sighed softly, looking down at Leona as she stirred in your arms. “Just try not to make a habit of turning every outing into a parade.”

Jason smirked, his hand brushing yours as you walked. “No promises.”

The sun hung low in the sky, bathing the Red Keep’s sprawling courtyards in its light as the day waned. In the quieter corner of the gardens, two figures stood near a marble bench beneath the shade of an old elm. Jason Lannister, ever confident, leaned lazily against the tree’s trunk, a small goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. His younger twin, Tyland Lannister, stood rigid as ever, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his sharp green eyes scanning the courtyard with watchful intent.

The soft rustle of leaves filled the silence, punctuated only by the distant calls of servants tending the grounds and the faint hum of the city beyond the walls. For once, Jason seemed content to remain quiet, taking a slow sip from his cup as Tyland studied him with a frown.

“You’re too comfortable here,” Tyland said finally, his voice low but firm, cutting through the late afternoon stillness.

Jason glanced at him sidelong, lifting a brow. “And why shouldn’t I be? The king himself welcomed us. The court admires us, my children are the first of Viserys’s grandchildren—tell me, brother, where is the harm in that?”

Tyland exhaled softly through his nose, as though he’d expected Jason’s reply. “Because not everyone admires us, Jason. Some see your pride as a threat, and you do little to dissuade them.”

Jason smirked, pushing himself off the tree trunk to stand straight. “The Hightowers, you mean,” he said, his voice edged with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve come all this way to warn me of Otto Hightower. The man’s shadow might loom over the king, but I’m hardly frightened of it.”

“You should be,” Tyland shot back sharply, his tone laced with frustration. He stepped closer, his boots crunching faintly over the gravel. “Otto is not blind to your games, Jason. Nor is Alicent. You parade your wife and children through the city as if you were already king’s heir. You act as though you have nothing to lose, and that arrogance will make you enemies.”

Jason tilted his head slightly, studying his brother with a flicker of curiosity. “And since when have you been so cautious, Tyland? It’s unlike you to sound so… measured.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, though he kept his composure. “I am cautious because someone in this family needs to be. I’ve seen the way Otto Hightower watches you—and your wife. The man is no fool. He knows the king favors the princess, but that favor extends to you now, too, by marriage and blood. The twins, Jason.” Tyland’s voice dropped lower, as though he feared the words might carry. “They are Targaryen by their mother, but to the Hightowers, they are lions sitting too close to the throne.”

Jason let out a short, dismissive laugh, though the sound held little mirth. “Lions are always close to thrones, brother. That is where we belong.”

“Not in King’s Landing,” Tyland snapped, his patience fraying. “Not here, not now. The Hightowers are careful, deliberate, and they will see every golden thread in this keep as a noose around their necks.”

Jason’s smirk faded just slightly, though he masked it with another sip of wine. “You worry too much, Tyland. Otto can scheme all he likes, but Viserys is no fool. The man loves his daughter, and by extension, he loves me and our family. Us. Do you truly think the Hightowers can undo that with mere whispers?”

Tyland’s expression hardened, his sharp features shadowed by the waning light. “Whispers are all it takes when the right ears hear them. Alicent and her brood will not sit idle while you charm the court into loving you. Mark me, brother—when the queen smiles at you, it is not kindness. It is a measuring look.”

Jason fell silent at that, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied Tyland. The truth of the words sank in, though he would never admit it aloud. “And what would you have me do?” Jason asked finally, his voice softer now, though his pride still lingered. “Pack my family off to Casterly Rock with our tails between our legs? Run, so Otto Hightower can preen in victory?”

“I would have you be smart, Jason,” Tyland replied firmly. “This is not Casterly Rock. Here, lions are not kings—they are guests. Tread carefully. Do not give the Hightowers reason to fear you more than they already do.”

Jason glanced away briefly, his gaze sweeping across the quiet garden as he weighed his brother’s words. He loathed the idea of playing meek, of hiding the strength he so openly wore, but he could not deny the truth in Tyland’s warning. The Red Keep was no place for complacency, not with so many eyes watching.

Finally, Jason turned back to Tyland with a faint sigh, though his smirk returned—smaller this time, quieter. “Fine. I’ll play the part of a humble lord if it will ease your mind. I’ll even refrain from parading my children through the streets like trophies.”

Tyland arched a brow, unimpressed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jason chuckled softly, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he passed him, his voice light despite the lingering tension. “Come now, Tyland. Where’s your faith in me?”

“I have faith,” Tyland replied dryly, watching him go. “Just not in your restraint.”

As Jason strolled back toward the keep, his confident stride unbroken, Tyland lingered beneath the elm tree, his expression clouded with thought. He had spoken his warning, but whether Jason would heed it—or whether it was already too late—remained to be seen. The game was changing in the Red Keep, and as ever, the lions of the West walked a fine line between power and peril.

The faint sounds of the Red Keep—servants bustling in distant halls, the distant clang of swords from the training yard—faded as Jason entered in your shared chambers, shutting the heavy door behind him with a muted thud.

You sat curled on the chaise near the hearth, a book resting lightly in your lap, though you didn’t appear to be reading it. The soft glow of the fire illuminated your silver hair and the delicate lines of your face, though there was an unmistakable weariness to your features—a weariness that Jason caught immediately.

“Brooding again, wife?” Jason’s voice broke the quiet, his tone light as ever, though he studied you carefully as he stepped deeper into the room. He shrugged off his crimson cloak, letting it pool on the bench near the door before he approached you.

You looked up at him, arching an eyebrow with faint amusement. “I think brooding is your word for thinking, Jason.”

“Perhaps,” Jason admitted, dropping heavily into the armchair across from you with a dramatic sigh. “But I find thinking far less productive than brooding. Brooding invites company. Thinking only invites headaches.”

You smirked faintly, though you said nothing as you marked your page and set the book aside. Jason stretched out his long legs, his boots scuffing against the edge of the hearth. For a long moment, the two of you sat in a companionable silence, the fire crackling softly between you.

At last, Jason spoke again, his tone quieter this time. “And how did you spend your afternoon, my dragon?”

You shifted slightly, smoothing your skirts as you regarded him. “With Rhaenyra,” you said simply. “She needed company, I think. This place weighs on her.”

Jason hummed faintly, his expression unreadable. “I imagine it does,” he said after a moment. “There’s no peace here—not for her, and certainly not for us.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching the edge in his voice. “What did Tyland say to you?”

Jason’s gaze flicked to yours, though his smirk returned almost immediately. “What makes you think he said anything?”

“Because I know you,” you replied, your voice calm but certain. “And Tyland always looks like he’s swallowed a lemon when he’s giving you advice.”

Jason laughed softly at that, leaning his head back against the chair as his smirk widened. “You know me too well, wife. Tyland, ever the solemn twin, has warned me of Otto Hightower’s lingering stares. Apparently, we are a threat.”

You frowned, your brow creasing slightly. “A threat?”

Jason waved a hand dismissively, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t let it trouble you. The Hand has seen a golden lion where there is only a loyal son-in-law and devoted husband.”

You gave him a pointed look, though you didn’t press him further. “You should listen to Tyland, Jason. The Hightowers are dangerous, and Otto plays his games well.”

Jason let out a mock groan, as though exhausted by the topic already. “Enough of the Hightowers. I’ve no interest in talking about dour old men when I have my lovely wife before me.” He pushed himself up from the chair, crossing the room with that familiar easy grace.

You watched him warily as he approached, his green eyes glinting with mischief, though you couldn’t entirely suppress the smile threatening to form. “What are you doing?”

Jason crouched before you, resting his hands lightly on your knees, his expression deceptively innocent. “Admiring you, of course. Can a man not look upon his wife and marvel at his good fortune?”

You arched an eyebrow, though you felt the heat rise faintly in your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you married me,” Jason quipped smoothly, his grin widening. His hands slid slowly up your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as he leaned closer. “Are you regretting it now?”

You shot him a look, though your voice held no real bite. “Not yet. But you’re testing me.”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm as he brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Testing you? No, my dragon. I’m simply reminding you of how much you adore me.”

You scoffed lightly, though your breath hitched as his hand trailed further, fingers curling just slightly around your waist. “Always an arrogant ass,” you murmured, though your voice softened.

Jason’s smirk turned roguish as he leaned in, his mouth hovering just above yours. “And yet, you can’t resist me,” he whispered. “Admit it.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Jason closed the space between you, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that stole whatever argument you might have made. He kissed you slowly, deliberately, as though savoring every second. His hands found your waist, tugging you closer until you were pulled against him, your book and thoughts forgotten entirely.

When he pulled back, just slightly, he grinned down at you, his face far too pleased with itself. “See? You’ve no defense against me.”

You exhaled, your heart pounding despite yourself. “You are being ridiculous, Jason.”

“Ridiculous and charming,” he corrected, leaning in to brush his lips against your jawline, his voice soft and teasing. “The perfect combination.”

You shivered slightly as his lips trailed along your neck, his hands sliding up to tangle in the silk of your gown. “And too arrogant for your own good,” you repeated, though the words came out breathless.

“And yet here you are,” Jason murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “Married to me, alone with me, and very soon, in bed with me.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as you allowed yourself to lean into his touch. “You shameless man.”

“I am. Completely,” Jason agreed, pulling you to your feet with one fluid motion. His hands lingered at your waist as he turned you, his breath warm against your ear. “And if I recall, you love that about me.”

Before you could argue, Jason spun you toward the bed, his hands finding the ties at the back of your gown. He tugged gently, loosening the silk as he pressed another kiss to your shoulder. “Let me spoil you tonight, wife,” he whispered. “Let me remind you that we are far from those shadows and games.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him over your shoulder, your expression softening as you finally let out a sigh. “Fine, my lord. But only if you promise me you’ll behave tomorrow.”

Jason laughed quietly, his grin wicked as he leaned in, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. “No promises, my fierce dragon.”

As Jason’s deft fingers worked the ties of your gown, the silk slid from your shoulders in a whisper, pooling in a soft heap at your feet. The cool air of the chamber kissed your bare skin, raising a shiver along your spine, though it was quickly replaced by the heat of Jason’s hands. He traced slow, deliberate lines down your back, his touch reverent and maddening all at once.

“You’ve missed this,” Jason murmured against your neck, his breath hot as his lips brushed just beneath your ear. His hands found your waist, pulling you back flush against him, and you could feel the strength of his body pressed against yours. “Don’t deny it.”

You turned in his arms, your bare skin catching the glow of the firelight as you faced him. “And if I said I hadn’t missed it?” you teased, your voice soft but edged with challenge.

Jason’s green eyes gleamed with that infuriating confidence as his hands slid lower, curling possessively over your hips. “Then I’d call you a liar,” he replied, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Because I’ve missed you, my dragon. More than I can bear.”

The admission, so soft and unexpected, sent warmth blooming in your chest. Jason Lannister, smug and untouchable to the world, stood before you with his walls lowered—for you, and you alone.

You pulled him closer, your fingers working at the fastenings of his doublet with practiced ease. “Then perhaps you should spend less time parading through markets and more time here, with me.”

Jason laughed softly against your lips, though there was a hunger beneath it now, his hands growing bolder as he lifted you slightly. “The markets are nothing compared to this,” he murmured, his voice roughened by desire. “Compared to you.”

With a final tug, his tunic fell away, revealing the expanse of his chest. The firelight played over the golden skin, highlighting the lines of muscle and the faint scars earned from years of training and pride. You ran your hands over his skin, savoring the warmth and the way his breath hitched under your touch.

“You’re staring,” Jason teased, though his voice was hoarse, his gaze dark with longing.

You smirked faintly, your fingers trailing down his abdomen. “Perhaps I missed you too.”

Jason’s hands slid over your thighs, gripping just above your knees as he lowered himself, pressing kisses to the delicate curve of your hip. “Say it,” he murmured between each kiss, his voice a low rumble. “Say you missed me.”

Your breath caught as he nipped softly at the sensitive skin just below your ribs. “Jason��”

“Say it,” he repeated, his green eyes flickering up to meet yours, his lips still trailing fire along your skin.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers tangling in his curls as you gave in. “I missed you.”

The words seemed to light something in him. Jason surged upward, his lips claiming yours with sudden, ferocious need. He lifted you easily into his arms, carrying you the short distance to the bed and laying you down against the soft furs with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his movements.

He knelt above you for a moment, taking you in—your silver hair spilling across the pillows, the firelight turning your skin brilliant, your chest rising and falling as you waited for him. His gaze softened slightly, the usual arrogance replaced by something deeper, something almost tender.

“You are a sight,” Jason whispered, his voice thick with reverence. “The gods themselves would weep to see you.”

You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Then come here, my lion. Before I lose my patience.”

Jason grinned, leaning down until his body hovered just above yours. “Impatient, are we? I’ve hardly begun, wife.”

His lips found yours again, slow and teasing at first, before he deepened the kiss, his hands wandering across your body with unhurried possession. He kissed down your neck, your collarbone, until his mouth found your breast, his tongue flicking softly over the sensitive skin. Your back arched beneath him as you gasped his name, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Jason growled softly against your skin, his voice thick with satisfaction. “There’s my fierce dragon.”

His lips traveled lower, kissing and nipping at every inch of you until you were writhing beneath him, your breaths coming in shallow pants. When you could take no more, you pulled him up by his hair, claiming his lips in a fierce kiss before rolling him onto his back with surprising strength.

Jason let out a startled laugh as you straddled him, his hands instinctively finding your hips. “Oh, you’ve wanted this for a while, haven’t you?” he teased breathlessly, though his voice broke slightly as you sank onto him, his fingers tightening against your skin.

Your breath caught, your body shivering as you adjusted to him. “Quiet, Jason,” you murmured, leaning forward until your lips brushed his ear. “Or I’ll make you beg.”

Jason groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding up to grip your waist as you began to move. “Then beg I will,” he gasped, his voice raw. “If it means you’ll never stop.”

The world around you faded as you moved together, the rhythm of your bodies unashamed and wild. Jason’s hands roamed your body, worshipping you as though he might never touch you again. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, a litany of reverence and longing that filled the space between each gasp and moan.

When he sat up, wrapping his arms tightly around you, your bodies pressed flush together, his forehead rested against yours as he whispered fiercely, “I love you, Y/N. By the gods, I love you.”

The confession sent you spiraling closer to the edge, your hands tangling in his hair as you gasped against his lips, “I love you too, Jason. Always.”

With a final surge, you both shattered together, your cries mingling as the world fell away, leaving only the two of you in the aftermath of your shared storm.

Jason collapsed back against the furs, pulling you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around you as though he would never let you go. His breath came ragged, his curls damp with sweat, but his grin—soft and content—remained unshakable.

“Now tell me,” he murmured, brushing a strand of silver hair from your face. “Wasn’t that better than brooding?”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his chest, your voice a sleepy murmur. “It always is.”

Jason hummed contentedly, pulling the furs up around you both as he settled against the pillows. “Good. Because I intend to keep you here for a long, long while, my dragon.”

And as you lay together in the flickering firelight, your bodies tangled and hearts still racing, you allowed yourself to believe—if only for tonight—that the shadows of the Red Keep would never reach you. Not here, not in Jason’s arms.

The great chamber, once a place of solemnity and power, now buzzed faintly with anxiety as lords and retainers gathered in pockets of conversation. Banners of House Targaryen hung heavy from the rafters, their dragons coiling in silent vigilance, while the Iron Throne loomed in the center, cold and sharp as ever.

At the far end of the room, Jason Lannister stood in the center of a small circle of crimson-cloaked retainers from House Lannister. Their polished armor shining in the morning light, each lion sigil stark against the deep red of their cloaks. Jason, of course, stood at the center of it all, utterly at ease. He leaned casually on one hip, his smirk firmly in place as he nodded in faux politeness to whatever Lord Jasper Wylde was droning on about.

“—and with the Crown’s coffers dwindling,” Wylde concluded dourly, “prudence must be taken, my lord. These expenditures cannot continue unchecked.”

Jason tilted his head, a hint of boredom flickering in his green eyes. “Ah, but where would the joy of the realm go, Wylde, if the king stopped spending? No feasts, no tourneys—what a miserable place Westeros would become.” He waved a hand lazily, as though swatting at a fly. “We’re all the poorer for it.”

“Some more than others,” muttered Wylde, though Jason had already stopped listening, his attention shifting as the doors to the chamber groaned open.

Prince Daemon Targaryen swept into the room with all the casual arrogance of a man who had long stopped caring for pleasantries. His presence immediately drew whispers from the assembled lords, their gazes flickering warily toward the Rogue Prince. Clad in black leather, his silver hair falling loose over his shoulders, Daemon strode forward like a shadow cut from firelight. Behind him, the doors slammed shut with a thunderous echo.

Jason’s smile widened faintly as he spotted Daemon heading in his direction, the prince’s gaze sharp and unmistakably amused. The murmurs around them quieted as Daemon stopped just short of Jason’s circle, his dark violet eyes glinting with something that might have been humor.

“Well,” Daemon drawled, his voice a silken purr that carried through the chamber, “if it isn’t the lion of Casterly Rock, still lingering in a dragon’s court.”

Jason turned smoothly, inclining his head in a show of mock respect. “Prince Daemon,” he greeted, his voice light but edged with wit. “To what do I owe the honor of your company? Surely you didn’t come all this way to admire my cloak.”

Daemon smirked faintly, folding his arms across his chest. “I came because the whispers of your presence refuse to die down, Lord Jason. Some might wonder if you’re here to take root in King’s Landing.”

Jason chuckled, unbothered. “And why shouldn’t I? The king himself has extended his hospitality, and my wife and children are most welcome here. Is it so strange that I enjoy the company of my royal kin?”

“Strange? No.” Daemon tilted his head, a sardonic smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Amusing? Very.”

Behind Jason, his brother Tyland shifted uncomfortably, though he kept silent. Jason, ever unflappable, only grinned. “I’m glad I amuse you, Prince Daemon. The court could use more laughter.”

“Laughter,” Daemon repeated, his tone laced with mockery. “Otto Hightower must be beside himself with joy to have you here.”

At the mention of the Hand, Jason’s grin sharpened. “I believe the Hand is a man of great patience, Prince Daemon. Surely my lingering presence does not trouble him. I am, after all, only a devoted husband and proud father of the king’s grandchildren.”

Daemon let out a soft, dark chuckle, his violet eyes narrowing slightly. “Careful, lion. The Hightowers are not known for their humor. I would hate to see Otto lose his temper.”

Jason shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If he does, I’ll offer him a Lannister coin to soothe his nerves. A man like Otto values coin more than laughter, wouldn’t you agree?”

The corner of Daemon’s mouth twitched as though he were holding back a laugh. “You’ve a dangerous tongue, Lord Jason. Perhaps I’ve misjudged you—I thought the lions roared only when provoked.”

Jason inclined his head slightly, his voice dropping just enough that only Daemon could hear. “Only when it suits us, my prince.”

The tension between them stayed for a moment, though it was not born of hostility. Daemon’s sharp gaze lingered on Jason, as though weighing him, before the Rogue Prince let out a soft snort of amusement. “You’ll be trouble yet,” he said, though there was something almost approving in his tone. “I’ll enjoy watching Otto squirm over you.”

“You’ll have front-row seats, I’m sure,” Jason replied smoothly, the two men sharing a knowing look.

Before Daemon could respond, a sharp voice broke through the growing quiet.

“Prince Daemon. Lord Jason.”

Both men turned to find Otto Hightower approaching with all the grace of a vulture circling its prey. His expression was carefully neutral, though his sharp eyes flickered with thinly veiled annoyance as they settled on Jason.

“My lord,” Otto said, his tone clipped, “I wonder how it is you find so much time to linger in our halls. Surely the Westerlands require your attention?”

Jason smiled—pleasant and unbothered. “Ah, Lord Hand, I was just telling Prince Daemon how generous the king has been in extending his hospitality to my family. It would be most ungrateful of me to leave too soon.”

Otto’s jaw tightened slightly, though his composure remained intact. “Generosity is a virtue, my lord, but it is easily taken advantage of.”

Jason’s smile didn’t falter, though his green eyes glittered with something sharper. “I assure you, Lord Otto, I take only what is offered. Nothing more.”

Daemon, watching the exchange like a cat watching two dogs squabble, leaned closer to Jason. “Careful, Lannister,” he murmured just loud enough for Otto to hear. “The Hand might mistake your charm for ambition.”

Otto’s gaze flickered toward Daemon, his expression icy. “Prince Daemon, your concern for the realm is, as always, commendable.”

Jason let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying the exchange. “I’m flattered by your interest in my affairs, Lord Otto, but I assure you—I have no ambition beyond enjoying the company of my wife and children.”

“Of course,” Otto replied coldly. “May it remain so.”

With a final glance between Jason and Daemon, the Hand turned on his heel and strode back toward the throne, leaving the two men in his wake.

Jason watched him go, his smirk firmly in place. “Charming, isn’t he?”

Daemon huffed a quiet laugh, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’ll give him a fit before this is done.”

“Let him fret,” Jason replied smoothly, straightening his crimson cloak. “It does him good to remember the lions are watching.”

Daemon tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m beginning to think I misjudged you, Lannister.”

“Good,” Jason replied, grinning as he turned toward his retainers. “Let them all keep guessing.”

And as the chamber’s murmur swelled once more, Jason Lannister stood tall amidst the dragons and shadows, a lion who would not be cowed—much to the dismay of those who watched.

A warm breeze fluttered the silken curtains, carrying with it the faint hum of the city beyond the walls. Inside, the quiet of the room was broken only by the soft coos of the twins and the rustle of the nursemaid’s skirts as she moved about with quiet efficiency.

You sat near the center of the room in a cushioned chair, a babe cradled in each arm. Leona’s tiny fingers were wrapped around the edge of your gown as she blinked up at you with curious eyes. Beside you, Loren dozed with a furrowed brow, his small chest rising and falling steadily as the morning’s warmth lulled him to sleep.

Rhaenyra stood just inside the doorway, her presence as silent as the shadows she brought with her. Her gown, simple yet elegant, pooled lightly at her feet, the faintest glimmer of pearls lining the bodice. She watched you with a carefully neutral expression, her violet gaze lingering first on the twins and then on you as you murmured softly to Leona.

“You must stop grabbing at my gown,” you said quietly to the little girl, though your voice held no true chastisement. “One day, you’ll have gowns of your own, stitched with dragons and lions both. But for now, you must be patient, little one.”

Leona gurgled in response, her tiny grip tightening stubbornly, as though determined to prove she already possessed a lion’s pride. You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers over her soft hair as Loren let out a small sigh in his sleep.

Rhaenyra’s voice broke the silence, soft and tentative. “You’re very good with them.”

Your head lifted, surprised to find her standing there. Her tone was not unkind, but there was a strange hesitation to her words—as though she were unsure of herself.

“They’re babes,” you replied gently, though your gaze held hers for a moment longer than necessary. “They demand little more than patience.”

Rhaenyra stepped further into the room, her hands clasped loosely before her as she approached. “Patience is not something I possess in abundance.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “I recall.”

The words hung between you like a bridge half-built, both of you waiting to see whether the other would step forward to cross it. Rhaenyra finally moved to sit in the chair opposite you, her gaze flickering briefly to Loren before returning to you.

“They have your hair,” she observed, her voice quieter now. “Leona, especially.”

“And Jason’s stubbornness,” you added, glancing down at the girl still gripping your gown with surprising tenacity. “I’m afraid they’ve inherited the worst of both of us.”

Rhaenyra’s lips quirked faintly, though her expression soon softened as her gaze lingered on Loren’s sleeping form. “They are beautiful,” she said after a moment. “The first dragons born to the realm since… well, since us.”

There was a note of something unreadable in her voice—nostalgia, perhaps, or longing. You looked up, studying her carefully. “You sound as though that troubles you.”

Rhaenyra shook her head slightly, though her gaze didn’t meet yours. “It does not trouble me. It only… makes me think.” She paused, the hesitation returning to her voice. “Of what people will say. What they will expect.”

You shifted slightly in your chair, adjusting Loren’s position as you replied. “What people say has never stopped you before, sister.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes met yours then, sharp and searching. “Perhaps it should have.”

The words surprised you, though you masked it quickly. “You don’t mean that.”

Rhaenyra exhaled softly, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I don’t know what I mean anymore.” She paused before adding, almost reluctantly, “You’ve always been better at this than I.”

“At what?” you asked gently.

“At… being what they want,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone tinged with something that sounded like envy. “A wife. A mother. A princess who doesn’t stray too far from her place.” Her eyes lifted to meet yours again, and the truth of her words lay bare. “They look at you and see everything they wish I could be.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Leona’s quiet babbling and the soft sound of the nursemaid tending to the blankets nearby. You held Rhaenyra’s gaze, searching for the right words.

“I am not what they wish me to be,” you said finally, your voice steady but quiet. “Nor have I ever been. Do you think they truly love me for who I am, Rhaenyra? The people love what they see—a perfect marriage, perfect babes, a union of that everybody supports. But it’s all illusion.” You paused, brushing your thumb over Loren’s tiny hand. “You know as well as I do that illusions are not so easily kept.”

Rhaenyra looked away, her jaw tightening as she absorbed your words. “You make it look so simple.”

“It is not simple,” you said softly. “It never has been. But I chose this path, as you chose yours.”

“And mine feels heavier,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice faint.

You regarded her carefully, sensing the cracks beneath her carefully maintained facade. “Your path was never meant to be light, Rhaenyra. You will be queen someday, and queens carry the weight of the realm on their shoulders.”

“And what if I stumble?” she whispered, almost to herself. “What if I fall?”

“Then you will rise again,” you replied firmly, your gaze unyielding. “You are a Targaryen, sister. It is what we do.”

Rhaenyra looked at you then, truly looked at you, and for the first time in days, something softened between you. The distance that had lingered—unspoken but present—seemed to ease ever so slightly. She nodded once, her lips pressing into a faint, almost reluctant smile.

“You would make a fine queen,” she said, though her tone held no bitterness this time.

“And you will be a better one,” you replied, offering her a small, genuine smile.

Rhaenyra seemed to consider your words for a moment before she leaned forward slightly, her gaze drifting to Leona, who was now sucking on her tiny fist. “May I hold her?”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Of course.”

Carefully, you handed Leona to Rhaenyra, who cradled the babe with surprising gentleness. The little girl blinked up at her aunt, cooing softly as Rhaenyra traced a finger along her delicate cheek.

“She’s fierce,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice quiet but fond. “I can see it in her eyes.”

“Just like you,” you replied softly, watching the two of them with something that felt like hope.

Rhaenyra glanced up, her smile small but real this time. “Perhaps.”

And for the first time in what felt like too long, the silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was comforting. The cracks between sisters were not yet healed, but they were mending. One soft moment at a time.

From The Testimony of Mushroom, corroborated in part by Grand Maester Mellos and court records, as recorded in The Histories of the Dragon’s Heirs

Three moons after the ill-fated wedding of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the golden lions of the West departed King’s Landing. Lord Jason Lannister, his wife, Princess Y/N, and their twin babes, Leona and Loren, took leave of the Red Keep amidst great fanfare, accompanied by a grand retinue of Lannister knights, bannermen, and retainers. Their banners, adorned with roaring lions, snapped in the breeze as they made their way through the capital, a sight as impressive as it was final.

It is said that the mood within the Red Keep on that morning was somber, weighed down by the unspoken truths no one dared name aloud. King Viserys I, whose health had begun to falter visibly in those days, stood at the gates of the keep with his remaining strength, watching his daughter’s family prepare for their journey westward. Mushroom, ever a creature of dramatic embellishment, claims that tears streamed openly down the king’s cheeks as he embraced his grandchildren for the last time.

"The king wept like a man broken," Mushroom writes, "his great hands trembling as he cradled the babes—one silver-haired dragon, the other emerald-eyed as a lion’s cub. He kissed both upon their brows and clutched at his daughter’s hands as though he meant to anchor her to King’s Landing forever. ‘You must write to me,’ the king pleaded, his voice weak. ‘Tell me when the child comes.’”

For it was true, according to Grand Maester Mellos’s accounts, that Princess Y/N was once again with child—an unexpected but not unwelcome revelation that had caused much murmuring within the court. Mushroom, in his usual crude candor, claims that Jason Lannister was adamant that “no child of his would first draw breath beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne.” Whether this was a remark made in jest or in earnest cannot be determined, but Jason’s swift preparations for their departure following the announcement left many to speculate.

It was not only the king who was affected by the Lannisters’ leave-taking. Princess Rhaenyra, whose relationship with her sister had been marked by coolness since the events of her wedding, was said to have watched the procession in stony silence from her chambers high above the courtyard. Mushroom, who ever claims to be where he should not, reports that Rhaenyra said nothing as the last Lannister banner disappeared from view, but her handmaidens noted the tension in her shoulders and the faint crease of her brow. “Perhaps,” Mushroom muses, “she regretted letting her sister go—for once gone, the princess of lions and dragons would be far beyond the reach of her whispers.”

The Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, watched the departure with far less sentimentality. The Hand had grown increasingly wary of Lord Jason’s presence in King’s Landing, seeing in him a lion too bold and too loved by the king. His swift departure—though ostensibly amicable—was seen by many as a quiet victory for Otto, who had long worked to reclaim control of the court’s increasingly volatile politics.

As for Jason himself, Grand Maester Mellos writes that the Lord of Casterly Rock wore a face of supreme satisfaction as he escorted his family through the gates of the Red Keep. The man’s pride had not dimmed in the slightest since his arrival moons earlier, and he departed King’s Landing as he had entered it—with confidence, grandeur, and an unshakable air of triumph.

Mushroom, however, paints a different picture of Jason Lannister’s parting. “The lion was no fool,” he writes. “He knew the game in the Red Keep had changed, and he would not allow his wife or babes to be pieces upon the board. His laughter may have echoed through the halls, but I saw him that morning, whispering in his lady’s ear as she held their son. There was steel beneath his smiles, and a man who wears his pride so boldly knows when to retreat.”

What cannot be denied is the impression the Lannisters left behind. The smallfolk of King’s Landing gathered to watch their departure, crowding the streets and calling out blessings for the twins, whose silver hair had become the subject of many songs and stories. Women tossed flowers into the path of their carriages, while men waved banners and shouted cheers for “the lions and dragons of the West.”

It is said that the departure left an emptiness in the Red Keep that even King Viserys’s courtiers could not ignore. The king himself withdrew to his chambers more often in the days that followed, his health waning as his spirits seemed to diminish without the presence of his grandchildren. Mushroom claims that he heard the king sigh heavily during a council meeting weeks later, muttering, “The Rock is far, and my halls are silent.”

In the moons to come, the absence of Lord Jason and his family would be felt keenly as tensions in King’s Landing deepened. The king’s failing health, the ever-growing influence of the Hightowers, and the lingering shadows of the past all threatened to boil over. And yet, from the Westerlands, news would arrive that Princess Y/N Lannister—beloved daughter of King Viserys and proud lady of Casterly Rock—had given birth to a third child. Mushroom, always fond of theatrics, claims that Jason Lannister toasted the babe’s arrival with a goblet in hand, declaring:

"Born of fire, the West’s future grows brighter still."

What cannot be denied is this: while the Red Keep festered with whispers and schemes, the lions of the West had returned to their den—strong, unshaken, and with the future firmly in their grasp.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #house targaryen #house lannister #between pride and fire #hotd jason #jason lannister #jason x reader #jason x you #jason x y/n

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

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Writing Reference: Symbolism of Food

We need food to live, so it comes as no surprise that we have accorded many ingredients with "magical powers".

Indeed, some of the things we eat every day carry both constituent elements and meanings which go far beyond mere nutrition.

Below is a list of some foods, real and mythical, which have become symbols in themselves.

AMBROSIA

For the Greeks, ambrosia was the food of the Gods.

Given that it conferred immortality, the deities on Mount Olympus guarded it jealously.

As well as ensuring eternal life, ambrosia could be used as an ointment that could heal any wound.

However, for a mortal, eating ambrosia was a big mistake.

Example: The story of Tantalus. He was invited to eat with the Gods, and so, presuming that he was accepted as one of them, he ate ambrosia. In the tradition of all good dinner party guests, he decided to return the favor and invited the Gods round to his place. Deciding somewhat sycophantically that they should feast upon all the good things that they had given him, he served up the flesh of his own children, and was banished to Hades.

CHOCOLATE

Long before the Western discovery of the Americas, the natives of Brazil, Mexico, the West Indies, and South America used the seeds of the chocolate tree to make a stimulating drink. These bean-like seeds were cacahuatl, or cocoa.

Primarily symbolic of love, chocolate is a sensual food with aphrodisiac properties that are due, in part, to association.

However, its melting point is the same temperature as blood, a very satisfying sensation.

The botanical name of the plant gives a clue as to its sacred status. Theobroma cacao means “food of the Gods,” from the Greek “Theo,” meaning God and “Broma,” meaning food.

The beans were so highly valued that the Mayans used them as currency.

Possibly the world’s first chocoholic, their ruler Montezuma was completely addicted to the beans.

He drank them infused in cold water with no seasoning. He served this sacred drink in goblets of beaten gold, and at the coronation of Montezuma II in 1502 a concoction of chocolate and psilocybin mushrooms was served to the guests. This must have been a heady mixture.

Cortés cultivated the plant primarily because of its reputation as an aphrodisiac; this secret was divulged by one of the nineteen young women given to him by Montezuma as a tribute. Perhaps the 2000 chocolate trees that he consequently planted were testimony to the efficacy of the beans in keeping the ladies satisfied.

By 1550, chocolate factories were operating in Lisbon, Genoa, Marseilles, and other European cities. The recipes became more and more refined.

Catherine de Medici slowed down the progress of chocolate for a while because it was so good that she wanted it all to herself.

However, although the Church tried to ban many of the foodstuffs that had been discovered in the New World, especially those that were considered as stimulants, their advice was largely ignored and it is possible that this disapproval increased the popularity of this illicit substance.

Neither Catherine nor all the forces of the Church could stop the world becoming chocolate coated.

Today, the form of chocolate has changed so much that Montezuma would probably find it unrecognizable, both in taste and form. However, it is still unrivalled as a token and symbol of love.

HONEY

Legislation decrees that all packaged food carry a “best before” date, but this seems to be particularly unnecessary in the case of honey, since jars of the stuff found in the tombs of Egyptian kings of several thousand years ago has proved to be perfectly edible even now.

It could well be because honey is so long lasting, and because it is used as a preservative, that it is a symbol of immortality and is used in funerary rites.

The bees that make the honey have their place in the realms of magical creatures accorded with supernatural powers, but more of that in the Fauna section.

The Promised Land is said to “flow with milk and honey” as being the very best that the Gods can offer.

The sweetness of honey is believed to confer gifts of learning and poetry.

We’ll never know if the story that Pythagoras existed on honey alone is true, but the fact that the rumor exists is in accord with his God-like status.

As well as being edible and fermentable, honey has healing and antiseptic qualities, and a dollop of honey smeared onto a wound will soon draw out any impurities and speed the healing process.

Honey is said to be an aphrodisiac and to encourage fertility and virility, wealth and abundance, and is a symbol of the Sun, partly because of the flowers from which it is made but also because of its color.

MEAD

Like honey, mead also carries the gift of immortality.

The Celts believed it was the favored drink of the Gods in the Otherworld.

It is a sacred drink in Africa, too, where it is believed that drinking the stuff will make you more knowledgeable.

It is very simple to make—it’s simply honey mixed with water and allowed to ferment—and this process of fermentation is akin to a magical process in itself, which is akin to transmutation in alchemy.

MILK

Given that milk is the first food, it’s not surprising that it is associated with many stories of the Creation, and is a symbol of divinity.

Amrita, or soma, the absolute nectar of life for Hindus and the equivalent of ambrosia, was created as a cosmic sea of milk was churned.

The curds that were created by this epic stirring formed the Earth, the Universe, and the stars.

Along with honey, there is an abundance of milk in the Promised Land, and Indian myths tell of a magical milk tree in Heaven.

Because of its color and its association with the feminine, milk is a symbol of the Moon.

The main food source for milk for us human beings (once we’re weaned) is the cow.

The cow is sacred in India because during times of famine it made far more sense to keep the animal alive for its milk rather than slaughter and eat it purely for its meat, so all parts of the cow are accorded sacred status and are ruled over by one or other of the Gods or Goddesses.

In the hidden symbolic language of alchemy, the Philosopher’s Stone is sometimes called the Virgin’s Milk.

NECTAR

Nectar is often referred to as ambrosia, but has secrets of its own to tell.

Flowers create it, and its scent attracts the bees, which then transform the nectar into honey.

Seemingly insignificant, nectar is nevertheless a very magical ingredient, created from flowers, sunshine, and bees working together in a collective consciousness known as the “hive mind” in an environment which itself is constructed from one of the key shapes in sacred geometry, the hexagon.

SOMA

Like the Greek Olympians, the Indian deities had a type of food, like ambrosia, that ensured their immortality.

This was soma, or amrita. Whereas dire consequences befell any mortal that dared to partake of ambrosia, the Indian Gods were more generous with their soma, and any mortal that ate it was immediately given immortality and access to Heaven.

The ancient Indian Vedic scriptures, the Ramayana, tell the story of Rama, an epic hero, the perfect man:

Rama was born after his father was visited by an angel.

This angel brought with him some magical food.

Eating this soma meant that Rama’s father was able to sire offspring that were the human incarnations of the God, Vishnu.

WINE

The symbolic meanings of wine are generally attached to the red variety; it seems that a nice dry white or a sweet rosé carries no hidden mystery.

The red color means that wine is often linked to blood, particularly since the wine is the “blood” of the grape.

Because it looks like blood, wine is often used in rituals where blood would otherwise be called for, and because ceremonial wine is often drunk from a shared chalice, it is seen, like bread, as a unifying principle.

Wine is male, and bread is female.

As a partner to bread in the ritual of the Eucharist, the consecrated wine is transformed into the blood of the Christ, a reminder of both sacrifice and immortal life, and it’s this transformative power that accords wine with much of its mystique.

When the water is turned into wine in the story of the Marriage at Cana, what is really being shown here is the transformation of the mundane into the magical, the Earthly into the Heavenly.

It is this magical process of fermentation at work that explains why wine is associated with Bacchus/Dionysus, and the intoxicating power of wine is symbolic of divine possession.

The phrase, “In vino veritas” links wine to the truth and is a reminder that those intoxicated by perhaps a little too much of that nice claret will be more likely to speak the truth than most, which can be good or bad, depending on the circumstances.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

#writing reference #symbols #food #writeblr #spilled ink #dark academia #light academia #studyblr #literature #mythology #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #poetry #poets on tumblr #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing inspo #writing ideas #writing resources

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portraitsofsaints · 4 months ago

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Saint Genesius of Rome

3rd century

Feast Day August 25

Patronage: actors, comedians, dancers, musicians

Saint Genesius of Rome’s life story comes from Christian tradition and is affirmed in “The Acts of the Martyrs.” Genesius wrote and acted in a play mocking Christianity to please the emperor Diocletian. He rehearsed for the role by studying Christianity. During the play, God’s grace overcame him and he had an instantaneous conversion while reciting the act of faith. (the Apostles Creed) So instead of mocking the faith, he gave testimony affirming it. Diocletian was enraged and sent Genesius to be tortured and then beheaded.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)

#Saint Genesius of Rome #Actor saint #dancer patron #musician saint #catholic art

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sgiandubh · 4 months ago

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Ferragosto

Mussolini turned this day into a pagan, working class Festivus of discounted train tickets, allowing many Italians to see, touch and experience the seaside for the first time in their lives. A study in effective populism, inspired by his all-devouring obsession for the Empire and especially for Augustus, the cunning and austere first Roman emperor.

But for the crushing majority of people, the Ferragosto remained what it always was - the Feast of the Assumption, celebrating what many consider to be a motherly, permanent presence in their daily and spiritual lives.

The Great Intercessor. She understands everything, forgives everything and brings immediate solace. Mary's lesson is one of Supreme Empathy, allowing for a personal dialogue. Many people, all over the world, can bear testimony to this. Count me among these people.

Some of the kindest people in this community celebrate their name day today. @mariaae and @pamalissou come to mind and I am sure I either am ignorant or forgetful of some more - happy name day to each and every one of you!

youtube

#psa #medieval #Spain #Alfonso X The Wise #middle ages #13th century #Youtube

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thevelaryons · 19 days ago

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There are many different accounts in Fire and Blood raising questions about the paternal status of Laenor “father of five” Velaryon.

WITH MARILDA:

And Seasmoke, who had once borne Laenor Velaryon, took onto his back a boy of ten-and-five known as Addam of Hull, whose origins remain a matter of dispute amongst historians to this day.

They had his look, it was true, and Ser Laenor had been known to visit the shipyard in Hull from time to time. Nonetheless, many on Dragonstone and Driftmark were skeptical of Marilda’s claim, for Laenor Velaryon’s disinterest in women was well remembered.

It should not surprise us, therefore, that Grand Maester Munkun and Septon Eustace both dutifully assert Ser Laenor’s parentage…but Mushroom, as ever, dissents. In his Testimony, the fool puts forth the notion that “the little mice” had been sired not by the Sea Snake’s son, but by the Sea Snake himself. Lord Corlys did not share Ser Laenor’s erotic predispositions, he points out, and the Hull shipyards were like unto a second home to him, whereas his son visited them less frequently.

In this instance, it must be said, the tale told by the fool seems more likely than the versions offered by septon and maester. Many and more at Queen Rhaenyra’s court must surely have suspected the same. If so, they held their tongues.

Ser Willis Fell declared mournfully, “and now she has tied herself to Lord Corlys’s upjumped bastard. A snake for a sire, a mouse for a mother��is this to be our prince consort?”

WITH RHAENYRA:

Ser Laenor returned to Driftmark thereafter, leaving many to wonder if his marriage had ever been consummated. The princess remained at court, surrounded by her friends and admirers. Ser Criston Cole was not amongst them, having gone over entirely to the queen’s party, the greens, but the massive and redoubtable Breakbones (or Brokenbones, as Mushroom had it) filled his place, becoming the foremost of the blacks, ever at Rhaenyra’s side at feast and ball and hunt. Her husband raised no objections. Ser Laenor preferred the comforts of High Tide, where he soon found a new favorite in a household knight named Ser Qarl Correy.

Thereafter, though he joined his wife for important court events where his presence was expected, Ser Laenor spent most of his days apart from the princess. Septon Eustace says they shared a bed no more than a dozen times. Mushroom concurs, but adds that Qarl Correy oft shared that bed as well; it aroused the princess to watch the men disporting with one another, he tells us, and from time to time the two would include her in their pleasures. Yet Mushroom contradicts himself, for elsewhere in his Testimony he claims that the princess would leave her husband with his lover on such nights, and seek her own solace in the arms of Harwin Strong.

Whatever the truth of these tales, it was soon announced that the princess was with child. Born in the waning days of 114 AC, the boy was a large, strapping lad, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a pug nose. (Ser Laenor had the aquiline nose, silver-white hair, and purple eyes that bespoke his Valyrian blood.) Laenor’s wish to name the child Joffrey was overruled by his father, Lord Corlys. Instead the child was given a traditional Velaryon name: Jacaerys (friends and brothers would call him Jace).

Meanwhile, back in Westeros, Princess Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son late in the year 115 AC. The child was named Lucerys (Luke for short). Septon Eustace tells us that both Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin were at Rhaenyra’s bedside for his birth. Like his brother, Jace, Luke had brown eyes and a healthy head of brown hair, rather than the silver-gilt hair of Targaryen princelings.

In 117 AC, on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra bore yet another son. Ser Laenor was at last permitted to name a child after his fallen friend, Ser Joffrey Lonmouth. Joffrey Velaryon was as big and red-faced and healthy as his brothers, but like them he had brown eyes, brown hair, and features that some at court called “common.” The whispering began again. Amongst the greens, it was an article of faith that the father of Rhaenyra’s sons was not her husband, Laenor, but her champion, Harwin Strong. Mushroom says as much in his Testimony and Grand Maester Mellos hints at it, whilst Septon Eustace raises the rumors only to dismiss them.

When pressed by the king, Prince Aemond said it was his brother Aegon who had told him they were Strongs, and Prince Aegon said only, “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Lord Corlys also had half a dozen nephews, however, and the eldest of them, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him…on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong.

Thus perished Joffrey Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, the last of Queen Rhaenyra’s sons by Laenor Velaryon…or the last of her bastards by Ser Harwin Strong, depending on which truth one chooses to believe.

BONUS INTERVIEW BY GRRM:

“Rhaenyra’s relationship with Harwin Strong…she had three children by him, but we never see them get together for the first time or kiss. We never have a scene where they first slept together. We don’t know exactly what has happened and how he felt about that and how Laenor felt about him. There’s a whole story there. There’s at least a novella and maybe a novel, but we simply did not have the time to tell it. And it did not fit the format of my history book. But it’s a story and I would love to do that.”

The author’s statement here does confirm that in both book and show canon, Laenor is not the father of Rhaenyra’s sons. The true identity of the father of Marilda’s sons does still remain ambiguous in the book.

#asoiaf #house of the dragon #laenor velaryon #marilda of hull #addam velaryon #addam of hull #alyn velaryon #alyn of hull #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #joffrey velaryon #corlys velaryon #harwin strong #meta #it would be actually funny if corlys beat the cheating allegations

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xmo-rmon · 10 months ago

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The way that mormons talk drives me absolutely fucking mad. Every word is a delicate lacy curtain draped over a huge pile of shit. Carefully chosen to make sure their ugliest beliefs and intentions are hidden behind gentle and flowery language that circles itself for so long, anyone who is not paying attention might lose their point entirely.

What's stuck in my head right now is how their website says "brigham young said things that would be considered racist today", because there is so much refusal to take responsibility baked into those words.

1 - It is a deliberate decision to mention that he said things and not that he did things, which is far more important. If he just spouted hatred to the congregation, that would be bad enough. But he also murdered so many people. He literally sent out the mormon militia - a fucked up concept in itself - to, in his own words, exterminate the Timpanogos tribe. He sold their women and children into slavery after making them watch the heads of their men rot. But there's not enough flowers in the world to make that look cute, so the mormons just conveniently don't mention it.

2 - This does not in any way indicate that the general stance of the church is that brigham young was wrong to say these things. There is so much barely concealed meaning to unpack. It's not that it would be racist today, it is that it would be considered racist today. We're not going to actually own up to our second president's horrific racism, we're just going to acknowledge that you think it's racist. We will conveniently avoid directly saying our feelings about it, because people would stop thinking we were cute if they knew we literally have to agree with everything every prophet has said and done or the concept of the "one true church" falls apart.

3 - The term "racist" wasn't coined til around the 1920's I think, so it's a helpful technicality to go "it wouldn't have been called racist back then because there was no word for it". But amazingly, things exist before we find succinct words for them - what would inspire us to come up with those words at all? The things that defined racism came long before the word. And that definition, prejudice and hatred and harm toward other races, is something he openly and proudly practiced. Are you going to say that we can't retroactively call anything a spear if it was made before we called it what we do today? The past does not become meaningless when the words for that meaning changes.

"brigham young said things that would be considered racist today" is the most cowardly limp-dicked empty imitation of an acknowledgement. It's just saying "we know that you wouldn't like what he said". Great! We know that too! We also know how you feel about it so you might as well find a spine and admit it!

#exmo #exmormon #apostake #apostate #feast and testimony #feeling rabid this morning

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accio-victuuri · 5 months ago

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xiao zhan - sina tv weibo update

Walking down the streets and alleys, encountering Xiao Zhan’s plaza is like encountering an unexpected surprise. Fans have unlocked new check-in poses one after another with endless creativity, and each photo is full of stories and warmth. This is not only a visual feast, but also a testimony to the deep emotions between Xiao Zhan and his fans.

#xiao zhan

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 24 days ago

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The Golden Calf

1 When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered themselves together to Aaron and said to him, “Up, make us gods who shall go before us. As for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” 2 So Aaron said to them, “Take off the rings of gold that are in the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.” 3 So all the people took off the rings of gold that were in their ears and brought them to Aaron. 4 And he received the gold from their hand and fashioned it with a graving tool and made a golden calf. And they said, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!” 5 When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it. And Aaron made a proclamation and said, “Tomorrow shall be a feast to the Lord.” 6 And they rose up early the next day and offered burnt offerings and brought peace offerings. And the people sat down to eat and drink and rose up to play.

7 And the Lord said to Moses, “Go down, for your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves. 8 They have turned aside quickly out of the way that I commanded them. They have made for themselves a golden calf and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!’” 9 And the Lord said to Moses, “I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff-necked people. 10 Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them, in order that I may make a great nation of you.”

11 But Moses implored the Lord his God and said, “O Lord, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you have brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? 12 Why should the Egyptians say, ‘With evil intent did he bring them out, to kill them in the mountains and to consume them from the face of the earth’? Turn from your burning anger and relent from this disaster against your people. 13 Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, to whom you swore by your own self, and said to them, ‘I will multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your offspring, and they shall inherit it forever.’” 14 And the Lord relented from the disaster that he had spoken of bringing on his people.

15 Then Moses turned and went down from the mountain with the two tablets of the testimony in his hand, tablets that were written on both sides; on the front and on the back they were written. 16 The tablets were the work of God, and the writing was the writing of God, engraved on the tablets. 17 When Joshua heard the noise of the people as they shouted, he said to Moses, “There is a noise of war in the camp.” 18 But he said, “It is not the sound of shouting for victory, or the sound of the cry of defeat, but the sound of singing that I hear.” 19 And as soon as he came near the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, Moses' anger burned hot, and he threw the tablets out of his hands and broke them at the foot of the mountain. 20 He took the calf that they had made and burned it with fire and ground it to powder and scattered it on the water and made the people of Israel drink it.

21 And Moses said to Aaron, “What did this people do to you that you have brought such a great sin upon them?” 22 And Aaron said, “Let not the anger of my lord burn hot. You know the people, that they are set on evil. 23 For they said to me, ‘Make us gods who shall go before us. As for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.’ 24 So I said to them, ‘Let any who have gold take it off.’ So they gave it to me, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf.”

25 And when Moses saw that the people had broken loose (for Aaron had let them break loose, to the derision of their enemies), 26 then Moses stood in the gate of the camp and said, “Who is on the Lord's side? Come to me.” And all the sons of Levi gathered around him. 27 And he said to them, “Thus says the Lord God of Israel, ‘Put your sword on your side each of you, and go to and fro from gate to gate throughout the camp, and each of you kill his brother and his companion and his neighbor.’” 28 And the sons of Levi did according to the word of Moses. And that day about three thousand men of the people fell. 29 And Moses said, “Today you have been ordained for the service of the Lord, each one at the cost of his son and of his brother, so that he might bestow a blessing upon you this day.”

30 The next day Moses said to the people, “You have sinned a great sin. And now I will go up to the Lord; perhaps I can make atonement for your sin.” 31 So Moses returned to the Lord and said, “Alas, this people has sinned a great sin. They have made for themselves gods of gold. 32 But now, if you will forgive their sin—but if not, please blot me out of your book that you have written.” 33 But the Lord said to Moses, “Whoever has sinned against me, I will blot out of my book. 34 But now go, lead the people to the place about which I have spoken to you; behold, my angel shall go before you. Nevertheless, in the day when I visit, I will visit their sin upon them.”

35 Then the Lord sent a plague on the people, because they made the calf, the one that Aaron made. — Exodus 32 | English Standard Version (ESV) The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Cross References: Genesis 6:11; Genesis 12:7; Genesis 12:17; Genesis 24:22; Genesis 35:4; Exodus 14:11; Exodus 20:3-4; Exodus 20:23; Exodus 31:18; Exodus 33:3; Exodus 33:13; Exodus 34:1; Numbers 14:12-13; Numbers 14:15; Numbers 16:21; Numbers 25:2; Deuteronomy 7:25; Deuteronomy 9:8; Deuteronomy 9:16-17; Deuteronomy 9:26; 1 Samuel 15:11; 2 Samuel 24:16; 1 Kings 15:13; 2 Chronicles 34:4; Nehemiah 9:18; Psalm 99:8; Luke 10:20; Acts 7:40; Acts 7:40-41; Acts 7:51; Romans 2:5-6; Romans 9:3; 1 Corinthians 10:7; 2 Corinthians 3:3; 2 Corinthians 3:7; Hebrews 6:13; Revelation 3:5

What should we learn from the golden calf incident in Exodus 32?

Key Passages in Exodus 32

1. The people in the absence of Moses, caused Aaron to make a calf 7. God informs Moses, who intercedes for Israel, and prevails 15. Moses comes down with the tablets 19. He breaks them 20. He destroys the calf 22. Aaron's excuse for himself 25. Moses causes the idolaters to be slain 30. He prays for the people

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kikikihermommy · 5 months ago

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lamb to the slaughter

iii: a martyr’s soapbox

Timeline: [1980s] F13-III Content: 18+, possessive, canon typical events / violence, Jason isn’t an idiot, religion references Type: jason voorhees x f!reader | pc: pinterest | x-posted to ao3

cw/ body horror, blood, abuse

“I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk to me, Ralph.”

Were the first and final words you uttered to the unpleasant man.

Your chest heaved under the statement, rattling your frame down to its core. A feverish sweat brewed down your chest, eyes yearning for the relief a small civilization embraced you in.

But Ralph just offered you a crooked grin. Once again, you never questioned his odd displacement of where the forest kissed the town, but you always pondered it—

it was as if he were awaiting your return.

The man was a martyr, and Jason a ruthless fallen angel among beings. Mercy is for the weak and doubtful, which Ralph was not shown, sacrificed for both a blasphemous tongue and curiosity.

God had told Ralph to warn the masses, and so did the alcohol. The bottle must have had a stronger grip than the duty to serve his God and people.

Somewhere within a short timeframe, you had inherited Ralph’s testimony of good faith. You saw it with your own eyes after all.

It was now your duty to warn the campers, but their visit would become permanent, merging as one with the lands that Jason both roamed and inhabited.

The bodies piled up so high, you needed wings to stay above it.

—wings you would never be granted, both forfeited and traded for the similar chains that Jason wore. You had already bit his bait, awaiting to be pulled down and reduced to the same fiery depths he was promised on Friday the 13th.

It was clear Jason Voorhees had been quite busy at work the past couple days— his burlap sack and poor farmers getup had been retired, only to be swapped in favor of a hockey mask, trousers, and a green button-up.

The beast in question was turned away from you, tending to an especially difficult victim, limbs and body being hacked up beyond identification, reduced to meat and a gorey mess.

In the best case scenario, the boy would be identified by the remnants of blood-spilled fabric covering his torso, but would ultimately result in dental records.

Squelching and crunching filled the room upon every triumphal machete strike, exerting his seemingly endless energy with satisfaction— it was an easy day's work anyway.

Your face resembled that of a famine induced foal; both sickly and pale. The once beautiful cabin with cherry oak floors, now converted into a sick representation of hell, nearly mocking you in your savior efforts.

The strong smell of iron and corpses stung your nostrils, paying homage to your eyes that bounced around his newly decorated room.

It wasn’t often Jason was taken by surprise, his senses were comparable to a hungry hawk feasting on rodents, being granted gluttonous amounts for his effort and skill.

Similar to the sound of a mouse, your shoes creaked against the hardwood as your weight shifted from foot to foot.

And that’s all it took for the brute to stop hacking up the unfortunate body.

In one coordinated motion he rose and turned towards you, nearly doubling in size.

—You?

The one he had spared dare return?

Jason’s daunting steps sang against the bloody floor, both carefully and causally stepping over the decomposing bodies that separated his path from you. The machete he now wielded glistened towards you, leaking a sinful red.

You awaited your judgment as he stood before you, a fit of rage or your impending death brewing within the one eye that confined you— A part of you almost preferred the hacking machete to fill the void of the soulless room.

Yet he just stared,

Your little doe eyes would soon morph into the same vessel that portrayed his short childhood— scared, helpless, and pathetic.

A stray dog would often visit his childhood home, and linger for dinner scraps the young boy so kindly shared.

Like Jason, the stray was a deformed runt. It’s shaggy gray hair matted with clumps of mud and foliage.

Despite the fleas and stench, the boy loved him.

Deformities always came with isolation and ridicule, Mommy kept him safe and tucked away from the evils of society.

Jason had assumed the same rules applied to his new best friend, and that all Mommy’s hid away their special children.

While Pamela didn’t mind the new companion, Elias found it infuriating.

First clinging to his mother like a parasite, now this inmasculine bullshit?! Elias took it upon himself to set his son straight— it was for his own damn good.

With one weathered hand on the back of Jason’s collar, the other gestured towards the mutt.

Kill!

Often barking in two word sentences, Elias figured it was all the little monster could understand.

Kill, son!

That had been the first time he had referred to Jason as an equal— nonetheless his own son, instead of the usual ‘thing’, ‘it’, or ‘monster’.

Despite his fathers newfound praise, Jason crumbled under the previous commandment, fleeing the scene in a sea of tears. Like Jason’s victims, there was no escape. Mommy wasn’t here to protect him nor his new friend.

Elias’ husky cackle carried through the acres as little Jason sobbed. He withstood any comfort and merely granted his son a shovel.

The tears you cried would resemble his own, an abnormally large hand, hot with adrenaline and fiery passion would wipe them away.

Jason’s unusual gesture would leave a smear of crimson on your cheek, uniting violence and woe.

His machete blade staggered from your neck, leaving a small flesh wound and Jason scornful. A storm began brewing within, his muscles tensing and contracting as the memory forcefully resurfaced.

The sorrow behind the mask was ill fitted, his jaw clenching and pulsing. A new fight was on the horizon line, an inner war to desperately regain the monotone engine that automatically drove Jason.

It was uncharacteristic—

Nearly taboo for the psychopath.

Your coughing from the attack would stir him back to reality, to finish you off once for all.

From the bloodbath you laid, your reaction would unknowingly determine your life.

The fear and dignity you wore washed away with colossal reapproaching steps.

“That’s enough now, Jason,”

#friday the 13th #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #slashers #slashers x reader #slashers x you

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gothhabiba · 1 year ago

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More fun with Lazy Researcher Telephone leading to the circulation of completely false information:

A 1764 court document (re-discovered by Gwendolin Mildo Hall) is currently believed to be the oldest reference to gumbo (as in the okra-and-meat stew, not okra itself). Shane K. Bernard said in 2011 that Hall had mentioned the document in a lecture, but she presumably didn't give detailed information, since he ended up e-mailing her to get the actual citation.

She pointed him to the Louisiana Historical Center, who sent him a copy of the document in question, which he posted a small snippet from. You don't have to contact the LHC to get the full document--it's been digitised (look towards the bottom right of page 4/21 for the reference to "un gombeau"), along with other documents pertaining to the same court case.

That lecture wasn't the only place where Hall had elaborated. Earlier, in 2005, Hall had published Slavery and African Ethnicities in the Americas: Restoring the Links, which contains a passage talking about Comba / Julia, the woman whose testimony contains the reference to "gombeau" (Bernard didn't mention this book). She describes what led to the 1764 court proceedings--fugitive slave Louis dit Foy "had organized a cooperative network among slaves, runaways, thieves, seamstresses, and street vendors" and the group 'stole' food for their social gatherings. Hall says of two women who were members of this group:

Comba and Louison, both Mandingo women in their fifties, were vendors selling cakes and other goods along the streets of New Orleans. They maintained an active social life, organized feasts where they ate and drank very well, cooked gumbo filé and rice, roasted turkeys and chickens, barbecued pigs and fish, smoked tobacco and drank rum. (Slavery and African Ethnicities, University of North Carolina Press, 2005, p. 99)

Hall cites as the source of her information "Records of the Superior Council of Louisiana, May 6 and May 10, 1768, contract between Evan Jones of Pensacola and Durand Brothers; declaration by Captain Peter Hill. Records of the Superior Council of Louisiana, 1768.05.10.02, Louisiana Historical Center, New Orleans" (FN 36, p. 187).

It is unclear from Hall's text whether "gumbo filé" is specifically named or described in these court documents (if it is, I have not yet found it--and it also seems strange that Hall wouldn't have pointed Bernard to that location), or what other reason Hall might have for asserting this. It may just be an assumption of her's. As written, it sounds like the "gombeau" mentioned isn't even sure to be modern "gumbo" (as Bernard points out, a dish of stewed okra with butter was called "gumbo" at this time and later). Hall's research interests do not centre around food.

From this point, someone must have found Bernard's reference to this court document, and also found the paraphrasing of the case proceedings in Hall's book. They must have mentioned the court document without quoting or citing it; and they must have quoted the passage from Hall that I quoted above, also without citing it, and made it seem as though the Hall passage was in the court document. Whoever this unforgiveable bumbling can be traced back to, whether him or someone else, Lolis Eric Elie at least recreated it. In 2005, he wrote in a letter to the New York Times:

The first known printed reference to gumbo was made in reference to food eaten not by French immigrants, but by African maroons who had escaped slavery in Louisiana. This passage, from a 1764 court document, was uncovered by Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, author of "Africans in Colonial Louisiana": "Comba and Louison, both Mandingo women in their 50's [sic], were vendors selling cakes and other goods along the streets of New Orleans. They maintained an active social life, organized feasts where they ate and drank very well, cooked gumbo filé and rice, roasted turkeys and chickens, barbecued pigs and fish, smoked tobacco and drank rum."

And then someone must have read that letter and believed Elie that that paragraph of Hall's was in the 1764 court document (it doesn't exactly sound like the kind of language I would expect to have been written as a summary of court proceedings in 1764, but I suppose they didn't think to check...)

So now, as a result of all of this jumbling of assumptions with evidence, and unwillingness to track down actual primary sources (even when someone has already digitised and quoted and translated them for you!), you have people confidently asserting that "gumbo filé" was specifically mentioned for the first time in 1764.

For example, Jonathan Olivier, writing for The Bitter Southerner in 2021, writes:

Looking back further at the historical record, there is more evidence of distinctions between types of gumbo. The first recorded mention of gumbo is from a 1764 court document involving escaped enslaved Africans, found by historian Gwendolyn Midlo Hall [...]. “Comba and Louison, both Mandingo women in their 50s [sic], were vendors selling cakes and other goods along the streets of New Orleans. They maintained an active social life, organized feasts where they ate and drank very well, cooked gumbo filé and rice, roasted turkeys and chickens, barbecued pigs and fish, smoked tobacco and drank rum.” The entire term “gumbo filé” is mentioned, a deliberate effort to highlight a soup thickened with powdered sassafras, not okra.

Yes, Olivier, the term "gumbo filé" was mentioned... by Gwendolin Hall in 2005, not by Comba in 1764! What a mess! What an absolute disgrace of a mess. Lmao.

#gumbo research saga #long post /#food research #citation

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novaursa · 12 days ago

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Between Pride and Fire (lion's den)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: matters of the realm

- Next part: driftmark

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

From The Testimony of Mushroom, court records, and letters of Grand Maester Mellos, as recorded in The Histories of the Dragon’s Heirs

In the ten years following their departure from King’s Landing, Jason Lannister and his wife, Princess Y/N, built a legacy that would echo through both the Westerlands and the realm at large. At Casterly Rock, the union of fire and gold flourished, growing stronger with each passing year as their brood expanded and their power solidified.

It was during these years that Princess Y/N gave birth to no fewer than five additional children, including another set of twins—a feat that, according to Mushroom, left Lord Jason “strutting like a lion fresh from the hunt.” By the year 124 AC, the children of Jason and Y/N numbered seven:

1. Leona Lannister (eldest daughter, twin to Loren)

2. Loren Lannister (eldest son, twin to Leona)

3. Aemma Lannister (second daughter, named for her grandmother)

4. Tyland Lannister, the younger (second son, named for Jason’s younger twin)

5. Daena Lannister (third daughter, fiery in temperament)

6. Rhaegel and Rhaelle Lannister (youngest twins, born 124 AC).

The birth of the youngest twins had been celebrated with a feast so grand that lords from all corners of the Westerlands were said to have traveled to Casterly Rock to offer their blessings. Jason, ever the proud lord, made certain his banners stretched as far as the eye could see, proclaiming that the lions of the West had never been stronger. Mushroom, ever crude, claims that Jason took great joy in whispering to his guests that “the Rock itself might burst with all the lions I’ve fathered.”

The Dragons of the Twins

Of all Jason’s children, none drew more attention in Westeros than his eldest twins, Leona and Loren Lannister, who made history when they became the first Lannisters ever to bond with dragons. It is said that Princess Y/N’s dragon, Morrath, laid a clutch of three eggs within the depths of Casterly Rock’s cavernous mines during the year 114 AC. From this clutch hatched two dragons of exceptional beauty and strength, a testament to their mother’s line.

Leona’s dragon, Vaelora, was a breathtaking creature, her scales a shimmering white streaked with ribbons of crimson, like blood on snow. Known for her speed and grace in the skies, Vaelora quickly became a symbol of Lannister pride and Targaryen power.

Loren’s dragon, Morghan, hatched darker than pitch, his scales as black as coal and his eyes a gleaming amber gold. Morghan, larger and more temperamental than his sister’s mount, was said to have inherited Morrath’s ferocity, a fact that delighted Jason to no end.

When word spread of the twins bonding with their dragons—an event that took place on Leona and Loren’s eighth nameday—it caused a stir across the realm. House Lannister, never known for dragonfire, now boasted about the first Lannister dragonriders in history.

Mushroom writes with gleeful exaggeration: “Lord Jason paraded his children before his bannermen as though they had shat gold and fire. ‘A Lannister on dragonback,’ he roared, ‘is worth ten lions on foot!’ And to the jesters who questioned whether lions and dragons belonged together, Jason would laugh and say, ‘Where else would the king’s blood find its flame?’”

The dragons Vaelora and Morghan became sources of immense pride for Jason, and their presence at Casterly Rock only increased the house’s renown. Jason reportedly joked that “a Lannister never rides alone—fire follows wherever we go.”

The Naming of Aemma

In 115 AC, Princess Y/N bore her third child, a girl with hair as golden as the Westerlands’ hills and eyes touched faintly with lilac. When Jason learned that his wife wished to name the babe Aemma, after her late mother, he was said to have agreed without hesitation, claiming it was a name “fit for a lioness.”

When word reached King Viserys I in King’s Landing, it is said that the king, by now a shadow of the man he had once been, wept openly. Grand Maester Mellos writes: “His Grace, frail and gray, held the missive tightly in his hands and whispered his late queen’s name over and over, as though saying it aloud might bring her back. He called for wine and toasted his daughter’s kindness, proclaiming, ‘The West remembers Aemma, though the realm forgets.’”

Mushroom, of course, offers his usual vulgar take: “The king cried, the queen scowled, and the princess smirked, for what better way to sharpen a knife than to name it after the wound?”

The Whispers in King’s Landing

As House Lannister thrived in the Westerlands, the halls of the Red Keep grew restless. The king’s health continued to fail, and in his weakness, the court fractured into factions: one loyal to Princess Rhaenyra and her claim to the Iron Throne, and another rallying behind Queen Alicent and her sons.

During this time, whispers began to spread regarding the parentage of Rhaenyra’s two eldest sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon. Though publicly claimed by Ser Laenor, the boys were dark-haired and brown-eyed, with none of the silver-blonde beauty that marked their Velaryon or Targaryen bloodlines.

Mushroom, always eager to fan the flames, claims that Jason Lannister was greatly amused by these whispers. “When the rumors reached the Rock, Lord Jason laughed so hard he nearly spilled his wine. ‘My brood comes out golden and silver,’ he jested, ‘while the Realm’s Delight gives the king brown sparrows. Perhaps Viserys should send her to the Rock to learn how bloodlines mix properly.’”

Though the comment was never spoken beyond closed doors, it was typical of Jason’s wit and pride. His children—blessed with Targaryen silver hair and Lannister golden curls—were regarded as a perfect blend of their parents’ blood, a stark contrast to the growing scandal surrounding Rhaenyra’s sons.

The Legacy of Jason and Y/N

By the year 124 AC, the Lannister brood stood as a symbol of both unity and strength. Jason’s pride in his family knew no bounds, and his laughter rang through the halls of Casterly Rock with unabated confidence. The sight of his eldest twins atop dragons—Leona astride the graceful Vaelora, and Loren commanding the fearsome Morghan—cemented his belief that House Lannister was destined for greatness.

“We are lions touched by fire,” he was known to say. “And the realm will remember that.”

Yet for all his pride and prosperity, dark clouds loomed on the horizon. The king’s health continued to wane, and whispers of succession grew louder with each passing day. The Hightowers, the Velaryons, and the Targaryens all watched one another with wary eyes, and dragons stirred in the skies once more.

At Casterly Rock, far from the machinations of the Red Keep, Jason Lannister raised his brood with laughter and ambition, confident that the storm would never touch the lions of the West.

116 AC

The great windows were flung open, letting the sea breeze roll in from the cliffs, carrying with it the faint tang of salt and the distant cries of gulls. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the Rock, servants bustled and worked, but here in the family chamber, the noise of the world outside faded into peaceful domesticity.

Jason Lannister reclined lazily on a cushioned bench, a cup of wine resting precariously in his hand as he watched his two eldest children wreak havoc upon the room. Leona and Loren, at the ripe age of two, had already perfected their roles as little lions of the Rock—beautiful, wild, and impossible to ignore.

Leona, with her curls of silver, was perched atop Jason’s chest like a conqueror claiming her spoils. Her tiny hands tugged at the edges of his crimson tunic, her pale violet eyes bright with mischief as she squealed, “Up, Papa! Higher!”

Loren, meanwhile, was sprawled beside Jason, clutching a wooden lion toy in one chubby hand. He watched his sister’s antics with a scowl so fierce it was almost comical, his curls wild from an afternoon of play. “You’re squishin’ him, Leona,” Loren announced in his small, serious voice, poking her in the arm. “Papa’s mine.”

Jason grinned broadly, utterly unfazed by the small feet currently digging into his ribs. “Your sister is right, Loren—she is conquering me,” he teased, his voice deep and playful. “If you want your father back, you’ll need to fight her for it.”

Loren furrowed his brows at that, clearly affronted. He pushed himself up onto his pudgy knees and toddled over, gripping Jason’s sleeve with an indignant tug. “Leona, off! Papa said so!”

Leona let out a peal of giggles, deliberately collapsing further onto Jason, who laughed so hard his wine threatened to spill. “Gods, I’ve raised two little beasts,” he declared loudly, half to the room, half to himself. “Fierce and spoiled already—your mother will have my head for this.”

“You spoiled yourself, Papa,” Loren retorted, the serious tone in his small voice making Jason bark out another laugh.

From across the room, an old voice broke through the chaos. “Spoiled is an understatement.”

Jason craned his head to look, his grin unfading as one of his great-aunts—Lady Genna, a woman as sharp as a needle and twice as critical—stood in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly around a cane she hardly needed. Beside her lounged Martyn, Jason’s younger cousin, his arms crossed with that same easy Lannister smirk that all men of the Rock seemed to possess.

“Aunt Genna,” Jason greeted cheerfully, even as Leona slid off his chest and onto the floor in a flurry of giggles. “Come to scold me again, have you?”

Lady Genna sniffed sharply, her gaze flickering over the chaos with a mixture of disdain and amusement. “I’ve lived long enough to see lions turn into kittens,” she remarked, her sharp eyes narrowing at Loren, who had plopped himself beside Jason and was now gnawing on the wooden lion’s ear. “Those two are the worst of it. You’ll ruin them at this rate.”

Martyn laughed softly from his place near the window. “Oh, leave him be, Aunt Genna,” he drawled, his tone laced with amusement. “Jason’s finally found a match in two toddlers—let him bask in his defeat.”

Jason shot Martyn a mock glare, though his smirk remained firmly in place. “Defeated? I’ll have you know, Martyn, I am winning the game of fatherhood. Look at them—perfect little children.” He scooped Loren up into his arms, tossing the boy playfully into the air. Loren squealed, the sound torn between joy and protest. “Are you not happy, my lad? Tell your cousin Martyn how much you adore your father.”

“Papa’s best!” Loren crowed as Jason caught him, his small fists grabbing fistfuls of his father’s tunic. “Better than Martyn.”

Martyn clutched his chest with feigned offense. “Better than me? I’m wounded.”

Leona, determined not to be outdone, stomped her little foot and pointed a chubby finger at Martyn. “Papa is best! You’re not!”

Jason let out a triumphant laugh, spinning Loren once before setting him back down with a gentle thud. “There you have it, Martyn—straight from their mouths. Bested by a man with wine and three children to his name.”

Lady Genna shook her head, though even she could not fully suppress the twitch of her lips. “Hmph. All jest until they’re tearing down the Rock to get their way,” she muttered. “You’ll regret it, Jason Lannister.”

“I regret nothing, Aunt,” Jason replied smoothly, settling back onto the bench as Loren crawled into his lap. “A happy childhood makes for fierce, loyal children. That is how I’ll raise them.” He glanced down at Leona, who had toddled over to sit at his feet, her curls falling into her eyes. “Isn’t that right, my darling girl?”

Leona looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes and nodded, her tiny hands grasping his boot. “I’m fierce, Papa.”

Jason grinned broadly, ruffling her hair. “Of course you are.”

Martyn, still grinning, wandered closer and crouched beside Leona, eyeing her with exaggerated seriousness. “And what about you, little lioness? What will you conquer next? The kitchens? The stables?”

Leona tilted her head, clearly considering the question. “Dragons,” she announced proudly, puffing out her small chest.

Jason let out a booming laugh, startling Loren in his lap. “That’s my girl! A conqueror of dragons already.”

Martyn chuckled, shaking his head. “Dragons and lions in one house. Seven save us.”

Before Jason could reply, the door opened softly once more, and you stepped in, cradling little Aemma in your arms. The girl blinked sleepily as you approached, her gold hair glowing faintly in the light.

“Is it always this loud in here?” you asked wryly, though there was fondness in your voice as you surveyed the chaos.

Jason’s eyes lit up at the sight of you, his grin softening just slightly. “My lady wife,” he said, lifting Loren up again and pressing a kiss to his hair. “We’re building empires here—dragons, lions, and laughter.”

“Empires built on mischief,” you replied, though your smile betrayed you as you crossed the room and knelt beside Leona. She immediately reached up for you, her little face bright with excitement.

“Mama, I’m fierce!” she announced proudly.

You arched a brow, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Are you now?”

Jason, still holding Loren, shot you a smug look. “Told you—fierce and loyal. My finest achievements.”

You shook your head, though your gaze lingered on your husband and children, warmth spreading through your chest. Casterly Rock, once a gilded and empty place, now overflowed with life, laughter, and love.

Lady Genna, observing the scene with her usual sharpness, sniffed one last time. “You’ll spoil them all rotten,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Jason, ever unbothered, leaned back into the cushions and smirked. “Then spoiled they shall be, Aunt Genna. They are Lannisters, after all—what else would you expect?”

And with that, the solar filled again with the sounds of laughter, the joyful chaos of a family that knew no shame in love, pride, or indulgence. For Jason Lannister, in that moment, there was no Iron Throne, no dragons or politics—only his golden brood and the home they had built together, high atop the Rock.

The banners of House Lannister hung proudly from every tower of Casterly Rock, snapping in the brisk sea breeze as the sun rose high in the sky. The courtyard, usually a place of orderly bustle, was alive with noise and color—servants scurried to and fro with great platters of food, and musicians tuned their instruments to fill the halls with music befitting the grandeur of the day. The air itself buzzed with excitement as banners of crimson and black—dragons and lions united—were strung across the walls, draped in celebration of a historic moment.

For today was no ordinary day.

It was the eighth nameday of Leona and Loren Lannister, the eldest children of Jason Lannister and Princess Y/N, and as of dawn that morning, the first Lannister dragonriders in history. Word had already spread through the Westerlands—no, through all of Westeros—of the extraordinary event that had unfolded deep within the dragonhold of Casterly Rock.

It was said that when Leona first laid hands on Vaelora, the white-and-crimson dragon born of Morrath’s clutch, the creature had let out a cry so pure and piercing it shook the caverns. Her twin, Loren, fared no less impressively when Morghan, black as shadow and fierce as fire, lowered his great head to him, as though in quiet recognition of a bond that had long awaited fulfillment.

Jason Lannister had, upon hearing of his children’s triumph, declared the day worthy of the grandest feast the Rock had ever seen.

The great hall of Casterly Rock was resplendent in a manner that only Jason Lannister could dream up. Massive chandeliers of gilded iron hung from the vaulted ceilings, their hundreds of candles casting warm light across the room. The long tables were draped in cloths of crimson and gold, spilling with roasted boar, venison, buttered trout, and spiced fruits piled high in silver bowls. Great flagons of wine from both the Arbor and Dorne had been placed at every setting, their jeweled stoppers catching the flicker of the candlelight.

At the center of it all was the high table, where Jason and you sat, flanked by your children. Leona and Loren, glowing with pride and excitement, sat at their father’s sides like royalty reborn. Both wore attire befitting dragonriders—Leona in a crimson velvet gown edged in black, her silver curls held back with a delicate circlet that glittered like fire; Loren in a doublet of jet black with embroidered dragons in threads of red and gold, his expression that of a boy already dreaming of flights to come.

To your other side sat Aemma, now six, her hair spilling in perfect waves as she admired her siblings with wide-eyed wonder. She clutched the hand of little Tyland, whose fiery spirit could not be dimmed even at four, as he swung his feet back and forth beneath his seat. Daena, not yet a year old, slept soundly in her nursemaid’s arms in a quiet corner of the room.

Jason, as ever, was in his element. He stood with a goblet of wine in hand, his green eyes glinting with pride as he addressed the room. “My lords and ladies,” he called, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “Today, we celebrate not just the eighth nameday of my eldest children, but the fulfillment of a legacy worthy of both lion and dragon!”

A cheer erupted from the crowd—lords of the Westerlands, knights of Casterly Rock, and bannermen alike, all raising their cups in salute. Jason’s grin widened, and he gestured grandly to Leona and Loren. “Behold the first Lannister dragonriders! My daughter Leona, bonded to Vaelora, and my son Loren, bonded to Morghan. Dragons born of fire and lions of the west—what better proof that House Lannister’s strength knows no bounds?”

Another roar of approval shook the hall, though you, sitting beside him, gave Jason a wry look and muttered, “Do you always need to yell so loudly?”

Jason leaned toward you with a grin, his voice low and teasing. “Of course. How else will they know who the lord of the Rock is?”

Before you could reply, Leona tugged at Jason’s sleeve, her voice eager. “Papa, can I tell them about Vaelora? Can I?”

Jason laughed warmly, kneeling beside her so his face was level with hers. “Go on, my fierce little dragon. Tell them.”

Leona’s face lit up, and she pushed herself to stand on her chair—ignoring your soft, “Careful, Leona!”—as she beamed out at the gathered crowd. “Vaelora is beautiful,” she declared, her voice bright and clear. “She’s faster than any bird, and her scales shine like snow, but red like fire.”

A ripple of laughter swept through the hall at her earnest proclamation, though the warmth in their eyes could not be denied.

“And what of you, Loren?” Jason prompted, looking to his son with an expectant grin. “Tell them of Morghan.”

Loren, who had grown to be quieter and more solemn than his twin, straightened in his chair. “Morghan is strong,” he said firmly. “He’s black as night, but his fire burns hotter than any flame.”

The room erupted into cheers again, the lords pounding their fists on the table in approval. Martyn Lannister called out with a laugh, “Seven save us, Jason—your children may have dragons, but they’ve inherited your flair for words!”

Jason barked a laugh, raising his goblet to his cousin. “Let no man say the lions of the Rock lack wit, Martyn!”

As the feast wore on, the hall filled with music and laughter. Minstrels played lively tunes as lords and ladies drank their fill, toasting Jason, you, and the twins until the Rock itself seemed to vibrate with the revelry.

You watched as Jason leaned close to Loren, whispering something that made the boy smile faintly—a rare sight, as Loren often carried himself with a seriousness beyond his years, as befit of Lannister heir. Then Jason turned to Leona, ruffling her curls as she babbled excitedly about her plans to fly Vaelora over the sea.

“Watch what you say to them,” you murmured softly to Jason when he finally settled back into his chair beside you, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll have them flying before they can tie their boots.”

Jason grinned, raising his goblet once more as he glanced at you. “What’s the harm in that, my love? Let them soar. The world will learn soon enough that Lannisters ride higher than anyone.”

You shook your head, though your gaze softened as it lingered on your children. Leona’s laughter rang bright as she chattered with Martyn, while Loren sat quietly, already looking as though he were lost in thoughts of his dragon. Aemma clung to Tyland’s hand, mimicking her siblings’ grand gestures as she played with the bones of her roasted fish.

Jason turned back to the crowd, lifting his voice once more. “To my children!” he declared, raising his cup high. “To the first Lannister dragonriders, who shall carry our House into legend!”

The roar that followed could have matched the dragons themselves. Goblets clanged together, banners waved in salute, and the musicians struck up a triumphant tune that echoed off the stone walls.

As the celebration carried on late into the night, you found Jason watching you quietly, his pride still lingering like a glow beneath his easy grin. “You see?” he murmured, leaning close so his voice could be heard above the noise. “This is only the beginning. Our house will be remembered for this day—for our children, for their dragons.”

“And for your feasts,” you added dryly, though your voice was warm.

Jason laughed softly, brushing his knuckles against your hand as he leaned back. “That, too.”

124 AC

Deep in the chambers of the Lord and Lady of the Rock, the sounds of labor echoed faintly through the heavy wooden doors. The cries of pain, followed by murmurs of encouragement from the midwives, carried with them a sense of inevitability. This was a moment that had come before—twice over in fact—but it was no less monumental for it.

Jason Lannister paced the solar like a restless lion, hands clasped behind his back as he shot glances toward the door that separated him from you. A table of half-finished wine and uneaten food sat forgotten as Jason muttered quietly to himself, stealing occasional looks at the empty hallway as though expecting answers.

“Gods be good,” he said under his breath for what felt like the hundredth time.

Martyn, lounging in a chair nearby with a cup of wine in hand, raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You’ve faced battlefields, Jason, yet childbirth still reduces you to pacing and prayers. You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

Jason shot him a glare that could have peeled paint. “It’s not a battlefield, Martyn—it’s far worse.” He ran a hand through his golden curls, exhaling sharply. “The woman does the hardest work, and I’m here as useless as a tamed lion.”

Martyn smirked, leaning back. “And when she’s done, you’ll strut about with a goblet in one hand and the babes in the other, ready to boast as if you birthed them yourself.”

Jason paused long enough to throw a cushion at him, which Martyn dodged deftly, laughing softly as the Lord of Casterly Rock resumed his pacing.

Hours passed before the midwives’ cries softened, replaced by the unmistakable sound of a baby’s wail—piercing and new, followed quickly by a second. The sound was both jarring and beautiful, cutting through the thick tension like a blade.

Jason stopped in his tracks, his green eyes snapping to the door as though daring it to stay closed a moment longer. Martyn set his wine down, his easy grin replaced by quiet curiosity. Finally, the heavy door creaked open, and one of the midwives emerged, red-cheeked and smiling.

“Twins, my lord,” she said warmly, inclining her head. “A boy and a girl. Strong and healthy.”

Jason let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders sinking with relief. “And their mother?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“She rests well, my lord,” the midwife reassured him. “Tired, as expected, but she is strong.”

Jason nodded, already moving past her into the chamber. The room was warm, the faint light of a hearth flickering against the stone walls. You lay propped against the pillows, your hair damp with sweat, though your face was soft with exhaustion and contentment. In your arms, one of the babes lay swaddled in soft linens—pink-cheeked and dozing soundly.

Jason’s steps slowed as he approached, his expression softening at the sight. “You’ve outdone yourself, my love,” he said quietly, kneeling beside the bed as his gaze flickered between you and the babe. “Twins again.”

You let out a faint laugh, though it was closer to a sigh. “I’ll leave the boasting to you, Jason.” Your tired eyes gleamed with warmth as you looked at him. “We’ve named them Rhaegel and Rhaelle. I hope you approve.”

Jason smiled broadly at that, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple. “Perfect,” he murmured against your skin before pulling back to look at you fondly. “Now rest, my dragon. I’ll bring them to their siblings—they’ve been asking for hours.”

It was a rare sight to see the Lannister children all gathered in one room, but this was no ordinary day. The nursery had been transformed into a place of eager anticipation, the eldest of the brood watching the door with expectant faces. Leona and Loren, now ten, sat cross-legged on the floor, whispering excitedly about their “new brother and sister.”

Aemma perched primly on a cushioned bench, her hair falling in perfect waves, though her face was filled with impatient curiosity. Beside her, Tyland—already a smaller image of his father—clutched a wooden sword tightly in his hand, as though he expected a dragon to follow the babes into the room.

Little Daena swung her legs from her spot on the rug, playing with a stuffed lion while humming quietly to herself.

When Jason finally entered, holding a small bundle in each arm, the room fell silent. The children’s eyes widened as they took in the sight—two tiny babes, wrapped snugly in soft linen, their features small and delicate. Jason, ever the proud father, beamed as he approached the center of the room.

“Behold,” he announced with all the grandeur of a king introducing his heirs. “Your new brother, Rhaegel, and your new sister, Rhaelle.”

Leona was the first to scramble to her feet, her curls bouncing as she rushed forward. “Papa, let me see!” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement.

Jason crouched low, carefully tilting one of the babes toward her. “This is Rhaelle, my little lioness,” he said softly. “Be gentle.”

Leona’s face lit up as she peered at her sister. “She’s so small,” she murmured, her voice hushed with awe. “Does she cry?”

Jason laughed quietly. “Not yet. Let’s hope it stays that way.” He turned slightly so Loren, who had approached silently, could see the other babe. “And this is Rhaegel—strong as a lion already, I’m sure.”

Loren studied the boy carefully, his brow furrowing slightly. “He looks… quiet,” he said matter-of-factly.

Jason smirked. “Give him time. You were never quiet as a babe. You were louder than your sister for a time.”

The other children soon crowded around, each taking turns to peer at the twins. Aemma clapped her hands in delight, her voice bright. “They’re perfect, Papa! Can I hold Rhaelle?”

“Not yet, sweetling,” Jason said gently, though he pressed a kiss to her head. “But soon. You’ll be the best sister to her, I’ve no doubt.”

Tyland, clutching his toy sword, pointed at Rhaegel with a determined look. “Will he be strong, Papa? Like me?”

Jason chuckled, shifting the babe slightly as he ruffled Tyland’s hair. “Stronger still, lad. He’ll be chasing you through the halls in no time.”

Even Daena toddled over, blinking up at her father with wide eyes. “They’re small, Papa,” she announced, her tone far too serious for a toddler. “I’ll teach them to play.”

Jason grinned. “I’m sure you will, little lion.”

As the children settled back into their places, Jason handed the babes off to the nursemaid and sank into a nearby chair, watching his brood with a mixture of pride and exhaustion. Leona and Loren had already begun debating who the twins would favor—“Rhaelle looks like Mama!” “No, Rhaegel will look like Papa!”—while Aemma had taken it upon herself to inform Tyland that he must “be good” to the babies or face her wrath.

Jason turned his gaze to you as you entered the room, wrapped in a warm robe and leaning on a maid for support. You looked tired, but radiant, and when your eyes met Jason’s, he smiled softly.

“Look at them,” he said quietly, gesturing to the children as they chattered. “Our lions. Our dragons.”

You moved to sit beside him, brushing a hand along his arm as you surveyed the scene. “Lions and dragons,” you murmured, a faint smile on your lips. “And they’re ours.”

Jason leaned back, his eyes soft as he regarded you. “Aye,” he said, his voice low and warm. “And there’s nothing in this world I’d trade for it.”

In the halls of Casterly Rock, surrounded by laughter and the faces of his children, Jason Lannister felt like the richest man alive.

The chamber was quiet but for the distant crash of waves against the cliffs and the faint hum of servants bustling in the halls. You sat comfortably in a cushioned chair near the hearth, rocking little Rhaelle softly in your arms while her twin, Rhaegel, dozed soundly in his cradle nearby.

Jason sat at the long table across from you, sprawled with casual confidence, a goblet of wine in one hand and an opened raven’s message in the other. His green eyes filled with mirth as he read aloud the words that had arrived from King’s Landing earlier that morning.

“‘To the most noble House Lannister, it pleases us to announce the birth of our son, Joffrey Velaryon, to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor Velaryon,’” Jason drawled, his voice filled with mock formality. He glanced up at you with a sly smirk, one golden brow raised. “Another son for your sister, my love. I would wager this one will set whispers wagging through the capital just as loudly as the last.”

Your expression flattened immediately as you shot him a sharp look. “Jason,” you said curtly, the warning clear in your voice.

He shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “What? It’s true. I’d bet half the gold in our vaults that every lord and lady from the Red Keep to Flea Bottom is muttering about those boys and their dark hair.” He swirled his wine lazily, his grin widening. “Rhaenyra and her Velaryon husband are fruitful, I’ll give them that—though perhaps a bit too Strong for some tastes.”

You inhaled sharply, the muscles in your jaw tightening. “You’ll not speak of such things, Jason. Not in my presence.”

Jason chuckled, though he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Peace, my dragon. I only jest.” His smile softened slightly as he caught your gaze. “Besides, you know where my loyalty lies. I’m sure your sister has her reasons for keeping quiet, just as the court has theirs for keeping their tongues.”

You looked down at Rhaelle, her small face serene as she slept in your arms. “It is not loyalty I doubt,” you replied softly, brushing a finger along your daughter’s cheek. “But words—words have power, Jason. Whispers become swords.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, studying you with a curious gaze. “You worry for her.”

You glanced up at him, your expression carefully schooled. “Of course I do. Rhaenyra is my sister—my blood. She stands alone in that court, surrounded by whispers, with only her children and Laenor to hold her up.”

Jason tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a small smile. “And here I thought you’d grown quite fond of your little half-siblings in the capital. Surely Aegon and Aemond keep her company—Helaena, too, if she’s anything like you.”

You exhaled softly, ignoring the teasing edge in his voice. “They are children, Jason—innocent in all of this. They cannot mend the cracks forming in the Red Keep, no matter how pure their intentions.”

Jason tapped a finger idly against the rim of his goblet, his smile fading slightly as he regarded you. “And what do you propose we do about it? Sit here in the Rock and hope the cracks don’t spread this far?”

“I propose,” you said firmly, your voice steady and clear, “that we visit King’s Landing.”

Jason blinked at you, caught off guard. “Visit?”

“Yes,” you replied, sitting straighter as Rhaelle stirred softly in your arms. “It has been too long since I’ve seen my father and sister. My children have cousins they have yet to meet, and I…” You hesitated briefly, choosing your words carefully. “I would see them all with my own eyes again—Rhaenyra, her children, my father, and even Alicent and hers.”

Jason regarded you quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You suppose you wish to see Alicent and her brood as well?” he asked, his voice tinged with dry amusement.

You sighed, narrowing your gaze. “They are my father’s children too, Jason. Whether I like it or not.”

“Hmm.” Jason’s smile returned slowly, though there was a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’ve always been the more sentimental one of the two sisters, haven’t you?”

You ignored his remark, though you gave him a pointed look. “Well? Will you agree to travel with me and the children?”

Jason drained the last of his wine, setting the goblet down with a soft clink. “I have no reason to refuse,” he replied, his tone light but serious enough. “A visit to King’s Landing might do us all some good—remind the court of the Lannisters’ presence, and let Viserys see his grandchildren. Gods know he loves them dearly.”

“And perhaps it will ease the whispers,” you added softly.

Jason let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Whispers do not fade so easily, my love, but you are right—we can remind them of who we are.” He stood, crossing the room to where you sat. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand brushing Rhaelle’s tiny head. “I’ll have the preparations made. The Rock will miss us while we’re gone, but I imagine King’s Landing will shine all the brighter for our return.”

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Try not to let your pride outshine the capital once more, Jason.”

Jason grinned roguishly, his green eyes gleaming. “Impossible, wife. But I’ll try.”

The next morning, the halls of Casterly Rock were alive with purpose. Servants hurried to pack trunks of clothing, gifts, and supplies, while Jason’s retainers prepared their finest armor and banners for the journey ahead. The children buzzed with excitement, their voices carrying down the stone corridors as they chattered about their first real visit to the capital.

Leona, ever the bold one, asked Jason pointedly if they would “fly Vaelora and Morghan to King’s Landing,” while Loren stood quietly behind her, already lost in thought about what dragons he might see in the Dragonpit.

Aemma tugged at your skirts, her eyes wide. “Mama, will we see Princess Helaena? You said she is little older than me.”

“Yes, sweetling,” you replied warmly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. “You’ll meet her soon enough.”

“And the king?” Aemma pressed. “Will he be happy to see us?”

You smiled softly, though the weight of your thoughts lingered. “I think he will be very happy indeed.”

As Jason passed you, a bundle of maps tucked under one arm, he smirked over his shoulder. “Let us hope the Red Keep is ready for the lions and their dragons, wife. I imagine the court hasn’t seen a show like this since our last visit.”

You watched him fondly, exhaling softly as the preparations continued around you. A journey to King’s Landing would mean facing the whispers and the growing fractures of the court—but it would also mean family. Your sister, your father, and even the half-siblings you had yet to know well.

The Rock, for now, would be silent in your absence. But the halls of the Red Keep would soon echo with the sounds of lions.

From the accounts of The Testimony of Mushroom, supplemented by the writings of Grand Maester Mellos and other observers present in King’s Landing

The arrival of House Lannister in King’s Landing in the Year 124 AC was an event unlike any seen since the days of Aegon the Conqueror, or so the smallfolk whispered. Grand displays were not unfamiliar to the capital—royal weddings, tourneys, and coronations had graced the city with their splendor—but none carried the weight of bloodlines so boldly as Lord Jason Lannister and his wife, the Targaryen princess.

For weeks leading up to their arrival, the streets of King’s Landing hummed with anticipation. Rumors had spread as far as the docks that the Lord of Casterly Rock would return, not merely with his family, but with dragons in their train. The smallfolk, desperate for any distraction from the worsening rumors of the king’s health and strife within the court, poured into the streets as the procession approached the gates.

It began with fire in the skies.

Princess Y/N, seated astride Morrath, her monstrous black dragon streaked with amber markings, was the first to descend from the clouds. The beast’s wings stretched wide as sails, his tawny eyes glinting in the sun like bronze. Clad in armor fashioned in the Golden Gallery of Casterly Rock, Morrath was a sight to behold—polished black scale-plates protecting his chest and limbs, trimmed with gilded edges that caught the light and shimmered like living fire. A great crest of gold encircled his neck, where a roaring lion intertwined with a snarling dragon—a symbol of unity between the houses of Lannister and Targaryen.

The princess herself was no less striking. Dressed in a gown of crimson and black that billowed like dragonfire in the wind, her silver hair gleamed beneath a circlet of gold shaped like a pair of wings. She cut a regal figure, seated atop Morrath’s armored back as they soared over the gates of the city. Mushroom claims that her presence alone was enough to bring the crowd to its knees, and perhaps for once the fool spoke the truth.

Behind her, in perfect formation, flew the twins: Lady Leona Lannister atop Vaelora, her white-and-red dragon, and Lord Loren Lannister upon Morghan, his black beast with scales darker than night. Both dragons, though young, wore their own adornments—crafted by Lannister goldsmiths at the order of their father. Vaelora’s armor gleamed pearlescent white with delicate red trim, while Morghan’s was matte black edged with thin threads of gold. From afar, they appeared as mythical creatures of song and story, gilded and terrible, soaring above the city as the smallfolk screamed in awe and fear alike.

Leona and Loren, only ten years of age, sat tall and proud atop their dragons, clad in cloaks of crimson lined with gold embroidery. Mushroom remarks with some bitterness that the twins were “spoiled beyond reason by their father, yet commanded their dragons as if born to it—a sight that made the Hightowers pale and the smallfolk rejoice.”

As the three dragons banked toward the Dragonpit, their mighty wings stirring dust and debris across the city, Jason Lannister entered King’s Landing at the head of his grand procession.

Riding atop a great destrier clad in barding of red and gold, Jason Lannister led his retinue with all the grandeur of a king. He wore a cloak of deep crimson that trailed behind him, clasped at the throat with a roaring lion wrought in gold. His armor, a marvel of Westerosi craftsmanship, was polished to a mirror’s gleam and trimmed with rich filigree—a testament to both his wealth and his pride. His face bore a grin of satisfaction that might have been mistaken for arrogance by less generous minds.

Following close behind were the carriages that carried the remainder of the Lannister brood. Lady Aemma, her hair spilling in soft curls, waved to the crowds from the window of her carriage, her face as serene as the princesses of old. Beside her sat young Tyland, who peered out with his father’s green eyes, his expression one of fascination. Little Daena, ever full of energy, leaned halfway out of the window, her laughter ringing through the streets like bells. Two nursemaids held the babes, Rhaegel and Rhaelle, who dozed peacefully in the arms of their caretakers, oblivious to the splendor around them.

The retinue stretched behind them for what seemed like miles—knights of the Westerlands clad in crimson cloaks, banners of House Lannister flying proudly in the wind, and wagons brimming with gifts: barrels of wine, silks from Lannisport, and chests overflowing with coin.

The streets erupted into cheers as the procession passed, the smallfolk shouting blessings to the Lord of the Rock and his dragon-riding children.

“Hail Jason the Golden!”

“The lions and dragons have returned!”

“Bless the princess! Bless the children!”

Coins—Lannister gold—were tossed from wagons to the crowd, and smallfolk scrambled to catch them, as it has became a tradition associated with Lannister visits. Mushroom claims that Jason’s men laughed openly as they watched the chaos, though whether this was out of cruelty or mere amusement is left unsaid.

The return of House Lannister to the capital did not merely mark the arrival of one of Westeros’s richest families; it was a reminder of power. Jason Lannister brought with him once again not just wealth, but a show of strength that could not be ignored. The sight of the twins, Leona and Loren, astride their dragons—dragons born of Morrath’s blood—sent ripples of unease through the ranks of the court.

Grand Maester Mellos recorded in his writings that the spectacle “stirred the halls of the Red Keep to whispers and wary glances.” For the Hightowers, who watched the Lannisters’ arrival from their place beside the queen, it was as though the shadow of the dragons had darkened their very table.

Mushroom, ever eager to spin tales laced with mockery, wrote that Lord Jason Lannister’s grin widened as he dismounted at the gates of the Red Keep. “I daresay the king might weep anew to see his grandchildren in such glory,” he is said to have declared, his voice carrying through the courtyard.

If King Viserys wept, as some would later claim, it was not for grief but for joy. The king emerged from the Red Keep to welcome his daughter and son-in-law with open arms. When he saw the twins, still clad in their dragon-rider finery, he pulled them close, whispering words that only they could hear.

For a brief moment, amidst the tumult of arrival, the Red Keep seemed brighter. But beneath the surface, whispers stirred, and some wondered how long the peace between dragon and lion could last.

For House Lannister had returned—not meekly, but with dragons in their train and the pride of the Rock on full display.

The arrival of the Lannister procession into the courtyard of the Red Keep was nothing short of grand. The sound of hooves clattering against stone echoed through the great space as Jason Lannister led his family with all the pomp and pride of a lord who knew his worth. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, gilded armor gleaming beneath the midday sun. Flanking him were you and your eldest children, Leona and Loren, who rode alongside you on their fine palfreys after descending from the Dragonpit with their dragons safely secured.

The procession stretched behind—banners rippling in the breeze, knights of the Westerlands astride their warhorses, and carriages heavy with your younger children and nursemaids. The smallfolk lining the walls cheered themselves hoarse, their voices carrying above the rhythmic thud of hooves and the clatter of wagons.

And there, at the steps of the Red Keep, stood the king and his family—waiting.

King Viserys was dressed in his finest black and red robes, though the weight of years had worn him thin. His face, though smiling, bore deep lines of age and illness, and his crown seemed heavier atop his thinning silver hair. Queen Alicent stood to his side, regal and poised in a deep green gown trimmed with silver embroidery. Beside her were her children—Prince Aegon, tall and handsome at thirteen, though his face was clouded with boredom; Prince Aemond, slight but sharp-eyed as ever; and Princess Helaena, holding a small bouquet of summer flowers, her expression distant and serene.

Rhaenyra stood a step apart, her white gown shimmering like moonlight, her long silver hair framing her face. Laenor Velaryon was beside her, their sons—Jace and Luke—clinging close to their father, their dark curls tousled by the wind. At the back of the group stood a nursemaid holding Rhaenyra’s youngest son, baby Joffrey, swaddled in soft blue silks, his tiny face peeking from the folds.

The moment Jason dismounted, the king’s voice rang out, warm and booming despite his obvious frailty. “Jason! My daughter! You bring the Rock with you, I see!”

Jason grinned, bowing low before Viserys. “Your Grace, the Rock would not be whole without your blessing. We bring gold, fire, and the first of your dragon-riding grandchildren to the capital. It is good to see you.”

The king’s face lit up further as his gaze shifted to you. You slid from your horse with practiced grace, your crimson and black gown sweeping the stones as you approached. “Father,” you said softly, inclining your head with a smile.

“Ah, my girl,” Viserys murmured, stepping forward to take your hands. His grip, though weakened, was steady. “It has been far too long. Look at you—ever the pride of House Targaryen.”

Before you could respond, the king turned his attention to Leona and Loren, who had just dismounted under the watchful eyes of a Lannister knight. “And here they are,” Viserys said, his voice thick with emotion. “My lions. My dragons.”

Leona, bold as ever, smiled proudly as she approached him. “We flew here, grandsire,” she declared, her eyes bright beneath the sunlight. “Vaelora was perfect. She hardly tired at all.”

Loren nodded beside her. “Morghan too, Your Grace. We flew low so the city could see.”

Viserys’s smile softened as he knelt—slowly, with visible effort—and pulled both children into a gentle embrace. “You have made me proud beyond words,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only they could hear. “Do not forget the power you carry, but do not let it harden your hearts. Be brave, my sweet ones. Be kind.”

The twins nodded solemnly, holding tightly to him, though Leona shot a quick glance over her shoulder to you, her eyes shining.

Meanwhile, Jason had approached Queen Alicent, bowing with exaggerated grace that earned a faint smirk from Aegon. “Your Grace,” Jason said smoothly, his tone carrying that Lannister charm that could unnerve as easily as it could entertain. “The capital grows lovelier every year under your watch.”

“Lord Jason,” Alicent replied coolly, offering a smile as faint as her nod. “It is… good to see you.”

“And you as well,” Jason said, glancing briefly toward the queen’s children. “My, how the royal family grows. Prince Aegon, you’ve shot up like a sapling since last we saw you.”

Aegon’s lips twitched into a smirk. “And you grow louder, Lord Jason.”

Jason barked out a laugh, clearly pleased. “Well said, lad.”

While Jason exchanged pleasantries with Alicent, you approached Rhaenyra, who stood with Jace and Luke clutching at her skirts. Your sister’s expression softened when she saw you, though a hint of something unreadable flickered in her eyes.

“Rhaenyra,” you said warmly, reaching for her hands. “You look well.”

“And you look radiant as ever,” Rhaenyra replied, squeezing your hands gently. Her gaze flicked toward the twins, who had joined their younger siblings by now. “Your brood has grown, sister.”

“And yours,” you said, glancing at baby Joffrey with a soft smile. “May I?”

Rhaenyra nodded, and the nursemaid stepped forward to allow you a closer look. Joffrey’s small face peeked from his swaddling, and you couldn’t help but think of your own babes at home. “A strong name for a strong boy,” you said quietly.

Rhaenyra smiled faintly, though her gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Strong, indeed,” she murmured.

Before you could reply, the sound of footsteps and a delighted exclamation drew your attention back to the king.

“Aemma!” Viserys’s voice rang with a joy that startled everyone present. Your daughter had just emerged from the carriage, her golden hair gleaming as she ran forward with a bright, beaming smile. Viserys knelt once more—despite Alicent’s faint protest—and pulled her into his arms, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“My sweet Aemma,” he whispered, holding her tightly. “Oh, how you’ve grown. You’re the image of your namesake.”

Aemma giggled, wrapping her small arms around her grandsire. “Mama says I’m the fastest runner at Casterly Rock.”

“I do not doubt it, child,” Viserys replied, brushing a tear away as he kissed her forehead.

One by one, the other children spilled from the carriages—Tyland, who clung to your skirts shyly; little Daena, who bounded forward with no sense of decorum; and finally, the nursemaids holding Rhaegel and Rhaelle.

The sight of the babes seemed to steal what little breath Viserys had left. He stepped forward unsteadily, Alicent moving to support him, but he waved her off. “Let me see them,” he rasped.

The nursemaids carefully approached, lowering the twins so the king could gaze at them. “Rhaegel and Rhaelle,” you said softly, moving to stand beside him. “Your youngest grandchildren.”

Viserys looked at you then, his red-rimmed eyes shining with something between joy and sorrow. “Your mother would have wept to see them,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “And your father… your father could not be prouder.”

Jason joined you, placing a steady hand on your back. “They are a gift to the realm, Your Grace,” he said warmly, his pride unmistakable.

The king smiled faintly, though his gaze lingered on the children. “A gift indeed,” he murmured.

For a brief moment, all the whispers and tensions of the capital faded. The courtyard of the Red Keep, filled with laughter, tears, and the cries of babes, seemed almost untouched by the strife that lingered beyond its walls.

But as the king embraced his family, his health waning, the shadow of what was to come still loomed—silent, yet inescapable.

The gardens of the Red Keep were awash with the soft hum of life. Sunlight filtered through the canopies of well-tended trees, casting bright dappled light across the sprawling greens and flowerbeds. The scent of roses, lilies, and fresh grass mingled in the warm breeze, and for once, the tension that often lingered within the castle walls seemed to have ebbed away. Laughter carried across the air—children’s laughter, as well as the occasional deeper notes of conversation—and for a moment, the royal family seemed just that: a family.

You sat beneath a large elm tree beside Rhaenyra, your gowns pooled around you like pools of crimson and black. Rhaenyra wore pale silver, the soft fabric catching the light, her silver-gold hair unbound and cascading down her back. Between you, a tray of fresh fruits and sweetmeats sat largely untouched, though Rhaenyra idly plucked a fig as she listened to your quiet remarks.

Just beyond, Queen Alicent reclined beneath another tree, though her shoulders seemed less stiff in this rare moment of calm. The Queen’s attention lingered on her baby Joffrey, nestled safely in a nursemaid’s arms alongside your youngest twins, Rhaegel and Rhaelle, who babbled and wriggled as the women cooed softly at them.

“I’ve missed this,” Rhaenyra said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you as her violet eyes swept the garden. “It feels as though we are children again, before…” She trailed off, glancing at her father in the distance.

King Viserys was seated beneath a shaded pavilion, surrounded by Lord Lyonel Strong and Otto Hightower, who lingered a respectful distance behind him. The king, despite the frailty you had seen only days before, looked rejuvenated. His cheeks held a bit more color, his laughter carried faintly across the lawn, and his crown sat straighter on his head. Mushroom would later claim this miracle was due to the presence of his grandchildren, who “breathed new life into old bones,” though you supposed it might also have been the pride of seeing his children reunited.

“He looks well,” you remarked softly, following her gaze. “Better than I expected.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly, though a shadow passed across her face. “For now, yes. But we both know it will not last.”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Let him have this, sister. Let us have this.”

Rhaenyra looked at you for a moment, her expression unreadable, before her lips quirked into the faintest smile. “You’ve grown far wiser since leaving King’s Landing. Has that been Jason’s doing?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Hardly. My husband is wise when it suits him—and only then.”

Across the lawn, Jason Lannister stood beneath the shade of another tree, a glass of wine in his hand, surrounded by laughter. Young Daena had tugged insistently at his sleeve, standing on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. Jason crouched slightly to meet her, his emerald eyes twinkling mischievously as he listened.

“Please, Papa?” Daena pleaded, her curls bouncing as she fidgeted.

Jason glanced toward you briefly before looking back at his daughter. “Very well,” he murmured in mock seriousness, his voice pitched low so as not to carry. “But you mustn’t tell your mother. If she finds out, I’ll be in for a scolding worse than the one I gave that knight who fell asleep on duty.”

Daena gasped, giggling as she clapped her hands. “I won’t tell her, I swear!”

“Good girl,” Jason replied, tapping her nose lightly before sending her off. He straightened then, his attention turning to Laenor Velaryon, who stood nearby with his arms crossed, watching the children with a bemused expression.

“What trouble have you promised now, Lord Jason?” Laenor asked with a grin.

Jason smirked, swirling the wine in his glass. “Nothing a man of your reputation wouldn’t approve of, Laenor. A pony, perhaps. Or a sweet from the kitchens.”

Laenor chuckled, shaking his head. “You spoil them to no end.”

“That is my privilege as their father,” Jason replied lightly, his gaze shifting across the garden where the eldest children were gathered—Leona, Loren, Aegon, Aemond, Jace, and Luke.

The group of children stood together in a loose circle, though it was clear that Leona and Loren held the quiet attention of the others. Leona, clad in a crimson gown, her silver hair caught back with a lion-shaped pin, spoke animatedly to Jace and Luke, who listened with wide eyes.

“I swear it—Vaelora flew faster than any of the dragons in the Dragonpit,” Leona declared proudly. “She hardly tired at all. Father says she’s a credit to the Rock.”

Loren stood just slightly apart, one hand on the pommel of the practice sword he wore at his belt. Aemond regarded him curiously, his sharp gaze flicking from Loren’s posture to the silver lion clasp on his doublet. “And what of Morghan?” Aemond asked. “Your dragon is black, isn’t he?”

Loren nodded, quiet but confident. “Yes. Morghan is strong. He doesn’t need to show off.”

“That’s because Loren is a proper lord,” Aegon teased, though his grin was less biting than usual. “He doesn’t have to boast like his sister.”

Leona shot him a glare, though Jace quickly intervened. “It’s no small thing to bond with dragons,” he said firmly. “Leona and Loren are lucky.”

Aegon shrugged. “They’re Lannisters. Luck is in their blood.”

The children’s chatter blended together, their laughter echoing softly as Aemma dashed across the lawn to join Helaena. Nearby, younger Tyland had taken it upon himself to harass his uncle, Lord Tyland, tugging insistently at the man’s cloak.

“Uncle, why do you wear your hair like that?” the boy asked loudly, his green eyes bright with mischief.

Lord Tyland scowled, glancing at Jason with exasperation. “Because it suits me, boy.”

“It looks like a lion’s mane,” younger Tyland continued, unabashed. “Did you know Papa says you’re the lesser twin?”

At that, Jason barked out a laugh from where he stood, earning a sharp look from his brother. “Tyland,” Jason called, his voice carrying easily across the lawn. “Do try to be a better influence on my son.”

Tyland muttered something under his breath, though his nephew grinned triumphantly and darted off toward his siblings, leaving the lord behind to straighten his cloak with a muttered curse.

The afternoon passed in a rare ease, the sounds of children’s laughter and soft conversation blending with the rustle of leaves and distant chirp of crickets. Jason eventually made his way back to you, dropping unceremoniously onto the blanket beside you with a sigh.

“Your son is relentless,” he muttered, though his grin betrayed his fondness.

“He gets that from you,” you replied smoothly, leaning back against the tree trunk.

Jason raised his brows, clearly amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Rhaenyra glanced at him sidelong, smirking faintly. “You’ve grown far more smug since we last saw you, Jason.”

“Smug?” Jason echoed, placing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I am beloved, Princess. Ask anyone.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, though her lips quirked into a smile. “And you, sister—do you tolerate him still?”

You looked at Jason, who smirked at you like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “Barely,” you replied dryly, though the warmth in your voice was unmistakable.

Jason stretched out beside you, watching the children with a satisfied smile. “It’s a fine sight, isn’t it? Family. Dragons. A peaceful afternoon.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Rhaenyra murmured softly, though she, too, looked at the scene with a quiet fondness.

And for that brief afternoon, it seemed as though peace truly had come to the Red Keep—golden lions, black dragons, and green banners all resting under the same sun.

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