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fanficapologist · 5 months ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Three

“You cannot come to Dragonstone.”

Once Maera made her decision, Aemond attempted to dissuade her, his voice urgent and commanding. She, however, swiftly adjourned the meeting, cutting him off and allowing the councilmen to scurry away, their relief evident as they hastened from the room. Maera left shortly after, maintaining a resolute silence. Aemond followed her down the corridor, his shouts echoing through the imposing halls of Harrenhal, his frustration and desperation mounting with each step she took.

Reaching her chambers, Maera shut the door firmly behind her. The heavy wood made a decisive thud, but it did not deter the Prince. Moments later, Aemond stormed into her rooms, his anger palpable. He had not ventured into her private quarters since the night he returned from Rook's Rest, and his presence now was a stark intrusion into her sanctuary.

Determined to proceed with her plans, Maera rang the bell. Two servants quickly appeared, their eyes wide with curiosity and concern. One began to pack her belongings, moving swiftly around the room, while the other started to braid Maera’s hair at the dressing table.

“Did you hear me? I forbid it.” Aemond watched her in the reflection of the mirror, his fury momentarily giving way to helplessness as he saw the preparations unfold before him. Maera remained resolute, her eyes fixed on the mirror as her hair was braided, ignoring his attempts to sway her.

“So I should sit here like a sitting duck and wait for Daemon to- what was it he said again?” She asked sarcastically, feigning confusion as she tried to recall Prince Daemon’s old threat. “Ah, yes, carve the babe from my belly.”

The young maid continued to braid Maera’s long brown hair despite the tension in the room, skillfully intertwining the single silver streak that ran through the strands. Meanwhile, the other servant laid out Maera’s riding clothes: a set of black leather attire with gold trim and a loose skirt to accommodate her large bump. The outfit was completed with knee-high leather boots, meticulously polished and ready for the journey ahead.

Aemond clenched his fists, shaking his head at her comment. “You think you are not putting our child at risk by going there?”

“Better a quick death now than a lifetime of wondering when the Blacks will come for both of us,” Maera muttered angrily in response, her hands gripping the edge of the dressing table.

Aemond scoffed. “You are not thinking clearly.”

“I?!” Maera shouted, waiting for the maid to finish securing her hair with some gold string before standing from the dressing table. She moved swiftly to the wooden screen, her movements sharp with anger. “You receive a letter from your uncle mocking you and without hesitation run towards the end of his sword?” She questioned harshly, beginning to pull at the laces of her loosely fitted black gown. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. The maid assisted Maera in stepping into her skirts and then put on her boots, carefully lacing them up to ensure a secure fit.

“He is a seasoned warrior whose fought many great battles. Not just practice with Ser Criston in the fucking courtyard,” Maera called out from behind the screen, her voice echoing in the room as the maid helped her into her leather coat before lacing it up at the front.

“You lack faith in me,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and in a tone Maera could not help but find annoyingly pathetic.

“Damn right!” she screeched back, stepping out from behind the screen and stomping towards him, her forest green eyes blazing with fury. “You prove time and time again that my child and I are not your priority. That we are below duty and pride and whatever fucking make-believe prophecies you choose to indulge in.”

Aemond remained outwardly stoic, his expression carefully composed, yet Maera could see the simmering anger beneath the surface. His eye flickered with barely contained rage, a silent testament to the battle of wills between them.

Maera turned away from him, moving to her bed where the servant had laid out her weapons. She strapped her old sword to her belt, its familiar weight providing a slight comfort. But something felt amiss. She paused, her mind racing through her usual preparations. Then she remembered the dagger that was no longer with her. Her hand instinctively went to her belt, where her dagger had once sat. The memory of Alys attempting to kill her with it, and Ēbrion’s flame reducing it to molten metal, surged through her mind, stoking her anger further.

Aemond followed her, his footsteps heavy as he stopped just behind her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his tall, lean form. “I am doing this for you, Maera!” he exclaimed, which caused his wife to merely roll her eyes with a huff.

Unhappy with her reaction, Aemond grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. His fingers dug into her skin, his grip both commanding and desperate. For a moment, they stared at each other, their eyes locked in a silent, furious exchange. Then, one of his hands gently dropped to her gigantic stomach, rubbing it in a loving manner. “For our child, for our life together!”

The child within her kicked against his touch, as if recognizing its father, which irked Maera. She was trying to stay angry at him, to hold on to the fury that had been fueling her actions.

As she felt her resolve softening with the movement of her child, Maera placed her hands on Aemond’s chest and shoved him back with all her strength. There was a flash of hurt in his eye as he stumbled backwards, but it was quickly replaced by frustration. Maera’s heart ached, but she knew she had to stand firm.

“You’re doing this for yourself!” Maera snarled. She tore her gaze away from him, fixing on a point on the cold stone floor. She knew this path was fraught with danger, yet Aemond wished to tread it anyway, regardless of the consequences for anyone left behind. The thought weighed heavily on her, a blend of frustration and fear gnawing at her resolve. “What should happen to us if you die, hmm? Have you even considered that?”she asked meekly, nervously picking at the leather sleeve of her coat, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns along the trim, still avoiding her husband’s gaze.

“Mayhaps it would finally make you happy,” he replied, his voice lacking its usual sarcasm and instead carrying a note of sincerity. “For you to be rid of me and all the horror I have brought upon you. And your family.”

Aemond hesitantly stepped forward, closing the distance between them, but he did not touch her. He was close enough that Maera could feel his breath on her face, causing the fine hairs on her neck to stand on end. The proximity was both comforting and maddening, a stark reminder of the bond they shared and the rift that had formed between them. “I am truly so, so sorry. For everything.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, a tumultuous mix of love, loss and anger warring within her. She paused, her eyes searching his face, looking for any sign of the boy she had grown up with. But it seemed like he was gone, consumed by the man before her.

“Grow up, Aemond,” she hissed, her voice filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, before storming out of the room, her skirts swishing angrily around her legs as she marched down the corridors of Harrenhall.

The castle was a hive of activity, servants scurrying to and fro, preparing for the Prince and Princess’s imminent departure. The clatter of armor and the hurried whispers of the staff filled the air, adding to the chaos. She heard the familiar quickening footsteps of Aemond hurrying after her once again. She breathed out a bitter laugh; she could not believe he was still trying to dissuade her. Did he truly not know her? Or did he assume she would simply bend to his will?

“You will not stop me from going,” Maera called angrily over her shoulder, making her way down the stairs as quickly as she could manage, her heart racing as the child in her belly moved around, causing her stomach to do flips.

Aemond’s footsteps echoed behind her, growing louder with each step. “You could not even mount Ēbrion a few weeks ago. You expect to endure a flight to Dragonstone? When you are due to give birth in a matter of weeks?!”

“Or die trying,” she shot back, reaching the bottom of the stairs and continuing her determined march toward the outskirts of the castle walls, where Ēbrion would be awaiting her.

The Prince muttered something under his breath before catching up to her again. “We will be leaving Harrenhall vulnerable. This fortress gives us an advantage over the Riverlands. We cannot simply abandon it.”

Maera rolled her eyes, her disbelief clear at her husband’s idiotic plan of leaving her behind once again, after everything that happened to her. If he wanted to hold Harrenhall, he could do it his damned self and not gallivant off to have a sword fight with his uncle. “Then by all means, my Prince, stay.”

As they reached the courtyard doors, Maera felt her husband’s hand clamp down on her right upper arm, forcing her to stop in her tracks. She spun around to face him, her eyes blazing with fury. His grip was firm, his expression a mix of desperation and frustration. She sighed, staring up at him defiantly. “Cole will be here in a few days anyway; he will hold it for the Greens.”

Aemond nodded with a sigh, a strange silence descending over them, the bustling activity of the castle fading into the background. Maera looked up at her husband, her emotions a tumultuous storm inside her. She felt anger and frustration at his stubbornness, a deep-seated sadness at the potential loss, and an overwhelming love that she could not shake despite everything he had done.

“We both could be killed,” the one-eyed prince proclaimed as his hand still gripped at her arm. The realization hit her like a blow to the chest: this could be the last time they would be together. If Daemon killed Aemond, it would not only leave her and their child in a precarious position, but it would also shatter her heart.

Maera gulped nervously but refused to show fear. “I know.” Despite all his faults and the pain he had caused her, Aemond was still her husband, the father of her child. Her childhood friend. And she loved him. As much as she wanted to stop, she couldn’t. It was as if they were joined by an invisible string, one that bound her to him irrevocably.

When Aemond reached up and cupped her cheek with his gloved hand, Maera almost melted at the surprisingly gentle touch. “I do not wish to go to the Stranger knowing you hate me,” he murmured, a touch of fear in his voice.

She fought internally against the feeling, trying to remain resolute. But if this truly was the last time they would be together alive, what harm would there be in surrendering one last time?

Standing on her tiptoes, Maera captured his lips in a kiss. It began softly, tentatively, their lips brushing against each other like a whisper of longing. But almost instantly, the kiss deepened, transforming into a desperate, passionate embrace. Aemond's hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer with a fervor that spoke volumes of his need. Maera's hands, initially resting on his chest, moved up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down to her level. Their bodies pressed tightly together, the heat between them rising, creating an electric atmosphere.

Their lips moved in sync, a dance of raw emotion and desire. Maera's lips parted, and Aemond's tongue swept inside, exploring with an intensity that left her breathless. His taste was intoxicating, a blend of longing and regret, anger and love. Aemond's arm encircled her waist, drawing her even closer, his grip firm yet tender, while his other hand remained at the back of her head, fingers tightening in her hair as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.

There was an urgency to it, a frantic need to hold onto this moment, to each other. Their tongues danced together, teasing and tasting, and Maera could feel Aemond's heart pounding against her chest, matching the frantic beat of her own. The kiss was a paradox, a blend of rough passion and gentle affection, an acknowledgment of their shared pain and an outpouring of all the words they could never find a way to say.

Finally, Maera pulled away, her breath coming in shallow gasps. For a moment, there was pure love in her gaze as she looked up at Aemond, her eyes reflecting the same intense emotion she saw in his. They stood there, suspended in time, caught between the past and the uncertain future.

But then, reality came crashing back. The memory of all that had brought them to this point resurfaced, and Maera remembered the actions of her husband that had led to this turmoil. She knew that the moment of tenderness couldn't erase the pain and betrayal that lay between them. It was a fleeting reprieve, a bittersweet memory that would stay with her, but it wouldn't change the path they were on.

She composed herself, the warmth in her eyes replaced by a steely determination. She frowned at Aemond, the lines of her face setting in defiance and frustration. “Don’t fucking die then.”

The ancient stone walls of the fortress, weathered by centuries, were blanketed in a thick layer of moss, creating a patchwork of green against the gray. The nearby trees, their trunks similarly adorned with moss, stood tall and steadfast, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the ground with soft, shifting light.

The once scorched lavender field, a casualty of past dragonfire, was now a symbol of rebirth. Green sprouting flowers covered the expanse, a fresh carpet of life where charred remnants once lay. Among the verdant growth, hints of purple blooms began to appear, promising a fragrant, blossoming future.

In the scene of renewal, the two mighty dragons shared a rare moment of tranquility. Ēbrion and Vhagar sat together, their massive forms dominating the landscape as they feasted on the carcass of a large animal. Despite their fearsome reputation and the vast power each held, they appeared to share the meal beautifully, a surprising harmony for once.

Ēbrion's scales shimmered with a dark, almost iridescent blue, each one edged with black, giving him a sleek and imposing appearance. His eyes, a vibrant orange, glowed with a fierce intelligence, scanning the surroundings even as he tore into the flesh of their prey. Vhagar, the older and more experienced dragon, was a sight to behold with her faded green and bronze scales, a testament to countless battles fought and won. Her scales, though weathered, retained a majestic sheen, and her glowing yellow eyes blazed with a mix of wisdom and raw power.

As Maera and Aemond approached their dragons, the enormous beasts lifted their heads, their eyes locking onto their riders. A soft, almost tender call came from each dragon, a sound that resonated with recognition and affection. Vhagar was the first to rise, her massive frame unfurling with a creaking of ancient bones and muscles. Ēbrion followed suit, his movements fluid and powerful, mirroring the youthful strength in his sleek, dark scales.

Upon reaching Ēbrion, Maera extended her hand to stroke his nose. The dragon's scales felt warm and smooth under her fingertips, and he responded with a gentle trill, a sound that reverberated through the air. The moment of calm was brief; Ēbrion's keen senses detected Aemond’s intense gaze on his rider. With a protective growl, Ēbrion warned the Prince to keep his distance.

In response, Vhagar, ever protective of her own rider, bared her formidable teeth and emitted a low, threatening growl. The air crackled with tension as the two dragons sized each other up.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Calm. Aemond quickly stepped forward, reaching up to stroke Vhagar’s face in an attempt to calm her. His touch and soothing words gradually eased the dragon's agitation, her growl subsiding into a rumbling purr.

Maera glanced up at Ēbrion, taking in his immense size. Standing beside him, she felt dwarfed by his towering presence. Her eyes traced the long ascent to the saddle perched high on his back, and her heart began to race with nervous anticipation. The climb was daunting, a reminder of the sheer scale of the beast she commanded and the challenges that lay ahead.

Her husband seemed to sense her apprehension. “Do you want me to-”

“I can do it myself,” she hissed in reply.

Steeling herself, Maera took a deep breath as she walked to the side of her dragon and prepared for the climb, her resolve firm despite the flutter of anxiety in her chest. She knew that once she was atop Ēbrion, the world would fall away, leaving only the boundless sky and the powerful connection between dragon and rider. Yet, in this moment, the ground beneath her feet felt both a tether and a comfort, anchoring her before the flight into the unknown.

Maera gripped the rope of the ladder in her right hand, testing its weight. She cast one last glance towards Aemond, torn between telling him to mind his own business and asking him to stay, just in case she fell. His presence, despite everything, was both a comfort and a burden.

Bracing herself, she placed her right foot onto the ladder. Taking a deep breath, she then stepped on with her left foot. Pain shot up her left leg, radiating from the healing stab wound. The sharp, agonizing sensation made her pause, but she resolved not to be defeated. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed onto the ladder with her left arm, the wound there burning with pain as she pulled herself up.

Maera gasped, the sound escaping despite her efforts to suppress it. She focused on the rhythm of climbing, refusing to let the pain dominate her thoughts. Each step was a battle, her body begging her to stop, but she pushed on with sheer willpower.

The excruciating pain was relentless. Her flesh felt like it was tearing apart with every movement. The memory of her dagger being plunged into her by Alys replayed in her mind, vivid and haunting. Maera bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, silencing her pained groans as she climbed higher and higher.

Every pull, every step, was a test of her endurance. The burning agony in her thigh and arm seemed insurmountable, yet she refused to let it conquer her. With a mixture of determination and desperation, Maera continued her ascent, each inch closer to the saddle feeling like a hard-won victory.

Ēbrion chirped anxiously to his rider, his wings beating in frustration as if he could feel Maera's pain. His concern was palpable, but Maera pushed on, each step a testament to her resolve. After what felt like an eternity, she finally reached the saddle.

With a great effort, she threw her leg over, collapsing into the seat. Her face was flushed and clammy with exhaustion. She prayed that she hadn't torn open the wounds on her arm and leg during the climb. As she looked outwards towards the horizon, seeing the mountain range of the Riverlands, she found herself caring less about the pain and more about the journey ahead.

The child within her belly kicked out, a reminder of the life she carried. Maera cast her eyes downwards and saw Aemond staring up at her. Though the distance made it impossible to see his expression clearly, she could just make out the upturn of his mouth.

As Aemond walked towards Vhagar, Maera secured herself to the saddle with chains and ropes. Despite her pain and the weight of the situation, she felt a nervous excitement building within her. It had been so long since she had flown with Ēbrion, and the prospect of soaring through the skies again was exhilarating. Moments later, Aemond appeared on Vhagar’s saddle, concentrating as he secured himself. Maera couldn't help but marvel at him, finding it difficult to believe that he was once the boy who never had a dragon. Now, he commanded the mightiest of them all.

The husband and wife exchanged a silent look. There was almost a plea or an uncertainty in Aemond’s single violet eye, as if he were asking Maera if she was sure she wanted to do this. His gaze held a mixture of concern and resignation, a silent communication that only they understood.

Maera huffed, grabbing onto the front of her saddle, signalling she was ready to go. She heard the Prince’s commanding voice in High Valyrian. Vhagar let out a bellowing roar in response, turning around. The massive dragon broke out into a run, her powerful wings flapping before she leapt into the air, soaring upwards with a grace that belied her immense size.

“Dohaerās, Ēbrion,” Serve me, the Princess called down to the beast below her. “Sōvēs.” Fly.

Ēbrion obeyed, turning around and preparing to take flight. The sudden movements sent sharp pain up Maera’s arm and leg, but she kept her body tight to protect herself from the jolts. Her dragon broke into a run, his giant blue and black wings flapping powerfully before he leapt into the air, following Vhagar into the skies. As they ascended, the pain faded into the background, replaced by the exhilarating rush of flight. The wind whipped past Maera, and for a moment, all her worries and fears were left on the ground below.

Even though the flight took a few hours, Maera found it exhilarating to be back in the air once again. The sense of freedom and power that came with riding Ēbrion was unlike anything else. The world stretched out beneath them, a breathtaking tapestry of nature's wonders.

They soared over rugged mountain ranges, their peaks dusted with the last remnants of snow. Dense forests sprawled across the land, their canopies a rich, vibrant green. Below, rivers wound through lush valleys, their waters shimmering in the sunlight. Occasionally, Maera spotted small villages and farmlands, the tiny figures of people going about their lives oblivious to the dragons soaring overhead.

Despite the looming uncertainty and danger awaiting her at Dragonstone, Maera relished the flight. The wind in her hair, the rhythmic beat of Ēbrion’s wings, and the expansive view filled her with a profound sense of peace. It was as if she were reclaiming a part of herself that had been lost amidst the chaos and trauma of what she had been through at Harrenhall, and had what led her to go there in the first place.

Maera knew she could meet her end once they landed, and yet the ride itself felt like a triumph. If this was to be her last journey, she thought, there was no better way to face it than in the sky, on the back of her dragon. The experience was a beautiful prelude to whatever fate awaited her on the ground, a final taste of the freedom and power that defined her as a dragonrider. As a Targaryen. As her mother’s daughter.

The sky was covered in a thick layer of clouds, their dense formation making it difficult to see. The sunlight struggled to pierce through, casting a grayish hue over everything. Despite the obscured view, Maera could make out Vhagar’s gigantic shadow moving through the clouds ahead.

Ēbrion chirped and clicked, his sounds cutting through the murky air as he communicated with Vhagar. The older dragon responded with a deep, resonant growl, acknowledging the presence of her younger counterpart, as if guiding him through the difficult flight path.

After a while, the landscape beneath them began to change. The lush greenery and mountainous terrain gradually gave way to the vast, dark expanse of the sea. The ground disappeared entirely, leaving only the endless stretch of water below. The sea’s surface was a dark, churning mass, its waves capped with frothy white. The horizon seemed to merge with the clouds above, creating a seamless blend of gray and blue.

Vhagar let out a screech, her wings tilting sharply as she began her descent. Ēbrion roared in response, his deep voice echoing through the clouds before he dipped to follow the older dragon.

The sudden drop caused Maera to clench her jaw, the force of the descent sending sharp pain shooting through the stab wounds on her upper left arm and left thigh. She gritted her teeth, fighting through the pain. Glancing east, she saw the clouds wrapping around the coast of mainland Westeros, a swirling mist that looked surreal from this height. It was strange to see the mist from so high up, like an ethereal blanket covering the land.

Ēbrion’s roar drew her attention forward, and as the clouds parted, the beautiful island of Dragonstone came into view. The island was shaped by volcanic activity, its dark, craggy terrain a stark contrast to the lush green of the mainland. The castle of Dragonstone was built as a fortress, with carved dragon heads adorning its walls, their mouths agape in silent roars.

The dragons circled the castle, their massive forms casting shadows over the ancient, weathered stones of Dragonstone. Vhagar led the way, her wings cutting through the mist as she descended toward the western beach. Ēbrion followed closely, his powerful wings beating rhythmically as they spiraled down. Below, the beach was a stretch of black sand, the waves crashing furiously against the shore. A thick mist shrouded the landscape, making it difficult to see clearly. The sea roared as it met the dark sand, creating a cacophony of sound that echoed in the wind.

As they drew nearer to the ground, Maera heard another roar—deep and resonant, but unfamiliar. It didn’t belong to Ēbrion or Vhagar. Her heart skipped a beat as she peered through the mist, trying to discern the source of the sound. There, outlined against the rocks, she could see the shapes of two other dragons.

Her breath caught in her throat as the mist began to part, revealing the dragons in clearer detail. These were not the dragons she had expected. Neither Caraxes, the blood wyrm of Daemon, nor Syrax, the golden dragon of Rhaenyra, stood before her. Instead, one dragon was bronze, its scales gleaming dully in the diffused light, and the other was silver, its body shimmering like moonlight. By their sides stood two figures, cloaked and waiting. Maera’s heart pounded as she tried to make sense of this unexpected sight. The unknown dragons and their mysterious riders sent a shiver down her spine.

Vhagar landed first, her massive claws digging into the black sand. Ēbrion followed, his landing sending a spray of sand into the air. Maera winced as the impact jarred her injuries, but she held her position, her eyes fixed on the two dragons and their riders. The bronze dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, while the silver dragon responded with a softer, more melodic sound.

Maera dismounted Ēbrion slowly, every movement sending ripples of tenderness through her body. She winced as her feet found the ladder, her muscles protesting after the long ride. When she reached the bottom, Aemond was already there, his expression a mix of concern and determination.

Putting her pride aside, Maera allowed her husband to help her down the last few steps. His strong grip steadied her, and for a brief moment, she found solace in his touch. However, as she tried to step forward, an incredible pain shot up her left leg, causing her to hiss and stumble backward.

Aemond turned sharply, his eye locking onto hers. They exchanged a look—his filled with worry, hers with stubborn resolve. Silently, he offered his arm. Maera hesitated, not wanting to appear weak, especially in front of the strangers. But the pain was too much to bear alone. She took his arm, gripping it tightly as they moved forward.

Together, they walked slowly towards the waiting figures. As they approached, the strangers lowered their hoods. The first man had pale hair, strikingly reminiscent of a Targaryen, his features sharp and regal. The second man was a stark contrast, built like a Titan, tall and wide, exuding a formidable presence.

The dragons behind them, bronze and silver, watched with keen eyes as the two parties closed the distance. The wind carried the tension between them, blending with the roar of the waves and the occasional growl of the dragons. Maera tightened her grip on Aemond’s arm, her resolve hardening despite the pain. The real challenge was about to begin.

“My Prince, Princess. Welcome to Dragonstone,” the pale-haired man said, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Maera glanced at Aemond, whose hand had instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword. “Where is my uncle?” the one-eyed prince demanded as Maera watched his sharp eye scan the beach, seeking any sign of his uncle. His expression grew more rigid, his brow furrowing and his lips pressing into a thin line.

When he looked towards the dragons on the rocks, they hissed in response, their deep, resonant growls met by warning grumbles from Vhagar and Ēbrion. The air grew tense, charged with the potential for violence. Aemond let out a dark chuckle. “Do not tell me he was all talk in his letter.”

The two strangers exchanged sinister smiles. “The King Consort is not here, Prince Aemond,” the larger stranger stated, shaking his head. “In truth, we are surprised you came. We thought you were meant to be the intelligent one of your brothers.”

Maera saw Aemond growing more agitated, his grip on the sword hilt tightening , his knuckles white with the effort. She’d had enough of these riddles. “Where is Daemon?” she asked sharply.

The pale-haired stranger laughed, stepping closer. “They ventured to King’s Landing.” He stepped right in front of Aemond, looking him up and down in a goading manner. “It seems Rhaenyra thought it was time to claim her rightful seat.”

The Princess gasped, her mind racing. Her father was in danger. What of Thena? Did she manage to get Maelor and Jaehaera out? And Helaena…?

Her swirling thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sharp sound of metal being unsheathed. Aemond pushed her lightly but firmly out of harm’s way as he drew his sword. The pale-haired stranger did the same, and in an instant, the two clashed, their blades meeting with a resounding clang.

Maera stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest. She watched as Aemond, his face a mask of fierce determination and controlled fury, engaged his opponent with the precision and skill she knew so well. Each movement was calculated, a deadly dance of strength and strategy.

As the men clashed, Maera's gaze shifted to the other stranger, a massive man who seemed to be a descendant of a giant. He stood still, arms folded, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the duel unfold, showing no intention of intervening. His presence was intimidating, a silent threat looming over the beach.

Maera's green eyes flickered from the giant to the dragons and then to the imposing fortress of Dragonstone. There had to be more to this situation; these men must hold significant importance if Rhaenyra had entrusted them with the island's defense.

In the blink of an eye, Aemond then tripped the pale-haired stranger, sending him sprawling to the ground. The silver dragon, sensing its rider's distress, growled and slithered down from its perch, its eyes locked onto Aemond with predatory intent. Maera's heart pounded in her chest as she watched in horror. The silver dragon's approach was swift and menacing, its growls deep and resonant. It was prepared to strike, to protect its rider at any cost.

"Aemond, stop!" Maera's voice broke through the tension, a desperate cry that echoed across the beach. The Prince, oblivious to the immediate danger, pounced and raised his blade to stab the fallen stranger in the face. The silver dragon quickened its pace, a feral snarl rumbling from deep within its chest.

The scene unfolded in slow motion for Maera. She could see the desperation and determination in Aemond’s eye, but also the looming, monstrous threat of the dragon. Her breath caught in her throat, horror gripping her as she realized the imminent peril her husband was in.

Maera clutched the top of her head, her fingers digging into the roots of her hair in frustration and fear. Closing her eyes, she screamed at the top of her voice. “I said that is enough!!”

Suddenly, behind Maera, Ēbrion charged forward, his roar echoing mightily across the beach. The powerful sound snapped Aemond out of his rage, his eye widening as he saw the silver dragon stalking toward him.

The silver beast growled at Aemond, its intentions clear. But before it could strike, Ēbrion unleashed a gigantic orange flame into the air, a blazing warning that illuminated the misty surroundings. The silver dragon hissed in response, the heat and force of the flame forcing it to reconsider. Reluctantly, it began to back away, its eyes still fixed on Aemond.

Aemond stood up from the ground, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. He dropped his sword, the metallic clatter sharp against the dull roar of the waves. The pale-haired stranger, still on the ground, dropped his own sword and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, his eyes wide with fear and realization.

The Prince walked over to Maera, his sharp features bright red, streaked with dirt and sweat from the fight. Maera frowned at him, her disappointment clear. She wished he had not acted with violence so swiftly, knowing that it only complicated their already precarious situation. The look they exchanged was laden with unspoken words, her eyes conveying both worry and disapproval.

Maera looked past Aemond’s shoulder at the strangers. The pale-haired man, now on his feet, stood once again by his giant companion, who remained unconcerned despite his ally spitting out blood. The giant man’s arms were still folded, and a smirk lingered on his lips.

As Maera observed them, she began to think. The bond between these strangers did not seem strong. If they were both truly loyal to Rhaenyra’s cause, they would have killed her and Aemond the moment they landed. They certainly had the means to do so with their dragons. Yet, they hadn’t. This realization sparked Maera’s curiosity; she needed to find out more.

Reaching up, Maera dusted some dirt off of Aemond’s shoulder, a surprising gesture that caused the Prince to initially flinch. “We have been bested, husband,” she announced loudly for the men to hear. “No matter how much we try to deny it.”

Aemond’s face turned thunderous at her comment but then she locked her green eyes with his, giving him a look that communicated volumes. Trust me, the look said. Keep your mouth shut, and let me handle this. Aemond's jaw tightened, but he nodded slightly, understanding the silent command. Maera turned back to the strangers, her mind racing with questions and strategies to uncover their true intentions.

The men of Westeros were all the same and Maera knew a little bit of charm and flattery could go a long way. As she approached them, she smiled warmly, tilting her head and rubbing her gigantic baby bump to appear less threatening. The gesture softened her demeanor, making her seem more approachable and harmless.

“Forgive me, my Lords, for I do not know your names.” The pale-haired man raised a brow at her words, but Maera simply smiled at him. “You must be highly trusted members of Rhaenyra’s council.”

The men exchanged a glance before the giant stranger let out a chuckle at her comment. “We are merely the commanders of her war machines, Princess. And we are not Lords, so there is no need for such formalities.”

The Princess nodded with a smile and then strangers could not help but appear more relaxed during the interaction. The pale-haired man, who had been tense and ready for a fight, visibly unwound, his shoulders dropping and his expression easing into one of cautious curiosity. He exchanged a glance with his giant companion, who allowed a slow, appreciative grin to spread across his face.

The larger man seemed particularly enamored by Maera’s charm. He smiled down at her, his eyes raking over her body with a lustful gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. His appreciative glance traveled from her face to her swollen belly, then back up again, making no effort to hide his interest.

“I am Hugh, and this is Ulf,” he said, gesturing to his pale-haired companion. “We were enlisted by the Queen to tame and ride the wild dragons.”

She cordially extended her hand towards Hugh, who smirked down at her, clearly delighted. Instead of shaking her hand, he bent down and kissed it, his lips lingering a fraction too long.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Aemond, who had had enough of the man flirting with his wife. His face flushed with barely contained anger, Aemond quickly made his way back to Maera’s side, his presence a stark reminder of his protective nature. “She is no queen of ours,” the Prince declared, shooting a glare at Hugh, who seemed to find the situation amusing.

Maera discreetly nudged her husband in the ribs, reminding him to shut his mouth. She glanced over her shoulder, noticing Vhagar and Ēbrion standing watch. Vhagar’s faded green and bronze scales gleamed dully in the overcast light, her massive yellow eyes fixed on the group with a vigilant intensity. Beside her, Ēbrion’s blue and black scales shimmered, his orange eyes narrowing as he monitored every movement.

Turning her attention back to the strangers, Maera’s gaze shifted over Hugh and Ulf’s shoulders to their dragons. The bronze and silver dragons, though alert, had their ears pressed down against their heads—a clear sign of submission to the larger dragons. Their eyes were glued to the interactions, ready to respond but not challenging the dominance of Vhagar and Ēbrion.

“In any case, I am impressed,” she commented. “Tis no easy feat to claim a dragon. And you’re both clearly quite good at controlling them if Rhaenyra has left you in charge of her castle.”

The men seemed thoroughly charmed by Maera’s demeanor. Sensing an opportunity, she decided to probe for more information about Rhaenyra’s invasion of the capital and the roles Ulf and Hugh played in the war effort. But she would need to be subtle about it.

“My lords,” she addressed them, despite their previous insistence that they held no titles. “I know this is…unusual, but we have traveled a long way.” Maera then looked down at her bump, stroking it lovingly with a maternal tenderness. “And in my condition, I will need food and rest before departing once more. Could I trouble you for your hospitality?”

Ulf seemed hesitant, glancing at Hugh, but the giant man jumped in before his ally could answer. “We could not deny entry to such a charming princess.” His voice was deep, almost rumbling, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and admiration.

Maera beamed at him, her smile warm and inviting. She reached out and squeezed the giant’s arm tenderly, feeling the solid muscle beneath his tunic. “You are too kind.” Her touch lingered just long enough to make Aemond shift uncomfortably, his jaw tightening.

Aemond cleared his throat, the sound a sharp reminder of his presence. Maera couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction, a subtle payback for how Aemond indulged Alys in the past. She withdrew her arm and sighed, her demeanor shifting to one of genuine concern.

“And whilst it needn’t be said, my womanly mind causes me to overthink.” She placed a delicate hand on her chest, her eyes wide and innocent. Both men tilted their heads in confusion before the princess explained. “My husband and I invoke the guest right. We and our dragons will do you no harm so long as you do not harm us.”

The men exchanged glances, a moment of hesitation passing between them. Finally, the pale-haired man nodded, his expression softening. “Of course.”

Hugh then offered his thick arm for the princess to take. “Come. The journey must have been a tiring one.” His voice was gentle now, almost comforting.

As Maera was about to gratefully accept, she felt a firm squeeze on her forearm. She turned to see Aemond, his face stoic but his violet eye displaying concern and distrust of the strangers.

“Īlon jorrāelagon naejot volper,” We need to be careful, the Prince murmured.

Maera met his gaze, her own eyes communicating reassurance. She knew what she was doing.“Rāpirī aōha perzys se bisa situation kostagon mirre vaoresagon,” Quell your fire and this situation may work in our favour.

Notes: 6 more days my guys 😎 also it’s my birthday! Here’s my gift to you all! 🖤 the plot thickens 👀 and shoutout to @choclovr who figured out where this was going

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #house targaryen #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house wylde #hotd helaena #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #ewan nation #ewan mitchell #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction

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oghowley · 9 months ago

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Walters Art Museum

Baltimore is home to many museums across the city! One museum that stands out is the Walters Art Museum. It is cultural heritage site that offers a rich and diverse experience, showcasing art from around the world spanning seven millennia. I was first introduced to this museum by my art history class my sophomore year. Something I like about the fine arts core requirement in Loyola’s curriculum is the incorporation of museum visits that gets you out of the classroom and into the community to learn and see new things. Since my initial visit as part of my class I have visited multiple times and every time I go I see a piece of art I did notice the time before. I think that is the beauty of going multiple times, especially since the Walters Art Museum has so many pieces it is hard to see everything, you are able to see new pieces or notice something new about a piece you have already seen before.

One of the most striking aspects of the museum is its focus on inclusivity and diversity. The museum’s collection includes art from various cultures, including African, Asian, European, and American, highlighting the contributions and histories of diverse communities. This emphasis on diversity is a testament to the larger culture of Baltimore, which is known for its rich cultural heritage and diverse population.

My personal favorite pieces are the Greek marble statues depicting the human figure. Another thing I like about the museum is the different exhibitions and installations they have, so there is always something new. A few weeks ago they had an event for the Lunar New Year with a dragon dance performance. The best part about this museum is that there is something for everyone and it is free! The no cost definitely makes it more appealing to college students. The museum is also in a great location, located in the Mount Vernon cultural district, the heart of one of Baltimore most iconic neighborhoods.

While the museum celebrates a wide range of cultures and histories, it is important to note that there may be certain groups or individuals who are not as prominently featured of celebrated in the museum’s collection. For example, indigenous peoples or marginalized communities do not see much representation in the exhibits, which could be seen as a limitation.

Overall, the Walters Art Museum serves as an important cultural institution in Baltimore, offering visitors a chance to explore and appreciate the diverse artistic traditions of the world. The museum is a reminder of the richness and complexity of human culture and history, and the importance of preserving cultures.

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inspiringvacationstours · 11 months ago

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From North to South: Vietnam Tour Packages for a Complete Experience

Welcome readers to a comprehensive guide on exploring Vietnam Tour Package. Vietnam is a country known for its diverse landscapes, rich history, and vibrant culture. From the bustling streets of Hanoi in the North to the pristine beaches of Phu Quoc Island in the South, Vietnam offers a complete experience for travelers.

In this blog post, we will take you on a virtual tour of Vietnam, highlighting the must-visit attractions, unique experiences, and local cuisines that make each region special.

I. Northern Vietnam

A. Hanoi - The Capital City:

Hanoi is often the starting point for Northern Vietnam tours and serves as the gateway to the country's rich history and culture. The city is a bustling metropolis filled with a mix of old-world charm and modern development. Must-visit attractions in Hanoi include Hoan Kiem Lake, where you can take a leisurely stroll and visit the iconic red bridge, the Old Quarter with its narrow streets and ancient buildings, and the Temple of Literature, Vietnam's first university. For a truly local experience, we recommend taking a street food tour to sample Hanoi's famous dishes or hopping on a cyclo ride to explore the city at a leisurely pace.

B. Ha Long Bay - A Natural Wonder:

Ha Long Bay is a UNESCO World Heritage site known for its breathtaking beauty. The bay is characterized by thousands of limestone karsts rising out of emerald waters, creating a surreal landscape. Popular activities in Ha Long Bay include cruising on a traditional junk boat, kayaking through hidden caves and lagoons, and exploring the stunning Thien Cung Cave. For an unforgettable experience, we recommend staying overnight on a traditional junk boat, where you can enjoy fresh seafood, watch the sunset over the bay, and wake up to the serene beauty of Ha Long Bay.

C. Sapa - The Misty Mountains:

Located in the northwest of Vietnam, Sapa is famous for its misty mountains, terraced rice fields, and vibrant ethnic minority cultures. The stunning landscapes of Sapa are best explored on foot, with trekking opportunities to remote villages where you can meet locals and learn about their way of life. Sapa is particularly beautiful during harvest season when the rice terraces turn golden, or during local festivals when you can witness traditional dances and rituals. Don't forget to immerse yourself in the local culture by trying traditional dishes and staying in a homestay for an authentic experience.

II. Central Vietnam

A. Hue - Imperial City:

Hue is a city steeped in history and is often referred to as the Imperial City of Vietnam. The city was the capital of the Nguyen Dynasty and is home to several UNESCO World Heritage sites. Must-visit attractions in Hue include the Imperial Citadel, a massive complex with palaces, shrines, and gardens, the iconic Thien Mu Pagoda located on the banks of the Perfume River, and the Royal Tombs, where the Nguyen emperors were laid to rest. For a unique experience, we recommend taking a dragon boat ride along the Perfume River, where you can enjoy the scenic views and visit the Thien Mu Pagoda.

B. Hoi An - Ancient Town:

Hoi An is a charming town known for its well-preserved architecture, lantern-lit streets, and rich cultural heritage. The town is a UNESCO World Heritage site and offers a glimpse into Vietnam's ancient past. Hoi An is famous for its tailor-made clothing services, where you can have custom clothing made in a matter of days. The town is also a shopper's paradise, with vibrant markets offering a wide range of souvenirs, handicrafts, and local products. Don't miss the opportunity to try local dishes like Cao Lau, a specialty noodle dish, or participate in a cooking class to learn the secrets of Vietnamese cuisine.

C. Da Nang - Modern City:

Da Nang is a vibrant city located on the central coast of Vietnam. The Vietnam tour package offers a mix of modern development and natural beauty, with beautiful beaches, lush mountains, and iconic landmarks. Must-visit attractions in Da Nang include the Marble Mountains, a cluster of five limestone mountains with temples, caves, and panoramic views of the city, the Dragon Bridge, an architectural marvel that breathes fire and water every weekend, and Ba Na Hills, a hill station with a cable car ride offering stunning views and a French-inspired village. After a day of exploring, you can unwind at My Khe Beach, one of the most beautiful beaches in Vietnam, or enjoy the city's vibrant nightlife.

III. Southern Vietnam

A. Ho Chi Minh City - The Bustling Metropolis:

Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon, is the largest city in Vietnam and the economic hub of the country. The city is a melting pot of cultures, with a rich history and modern development. Must-see landmarks in Ho Chi Minh City include the Reunification Palace, a symbol of the country's reunification after the Vietnam War, the Notre-Dame Cathedral, a stunning example of French colonial architecture, and the bustling Ben Thanh Market, where you can shop for local handicrafts, clothing, and souvenirs. Don't miss the opportunity to try street food in Ho Chi Minh City, with local delicacies like banh mi and pho being favorites among locals and tourists alike.

B. Mekong Delta - The River of Nine Dragons:

The Mekong Delta is a unique region in Southern Vietnam, known as the "River of Nine Dragons" due to its intricate network of rivers and canals. The region is characterized by its lush greenery, fertile farmlands, and floating markets. Activities in the Mekong Delta include boat trips to floating markets, where locals sell fresh produce and handicrafts from their boats, cycling through rural villages to experience the local way of life, and visiting fruit orchards to sample the region's exotic fruits. For an authentic experience, we recommend staying in a homestay, where you can immerse yourself in the local culture and enjoy home-cooked meals.

C. Phu Quoc Island - Tropical Paradise:

Phu Quoc Island is located in the Gulf of Thailand and is known for its white sand beaches, crystal-clear waters, and stunning sunsets. The island offers a range of water activities, from snorkeling and diving to fishing trips and boat tours. Phu Quoc is also famous for its night markets, where you can sample fresh seafood, local street food, and shop for souvenirs and handmade crafts. For a unique experience, you can visit one of the island's fish sauce factories, where the famous Phu Quoc fish sauce is produced.

Conclusion:

Vietnam tour package offers a diverse range of experiences, from the bustling streets of Hanoi to the tranquil beaches of Phu Quoc Island. Whether you're interested in history and culture, natural landscapes, or culinary delights, Vietnam has something to offer everyone.

By choosing a tour package that covers different regions of Vietnam, you can embark on an unforgettable journey from North to South, immersing yourself in the beauty and charm of this unique country. So pack your bags, book your tour package, and get ready for the adventure of a lifetime in Vietnam!

Source: From North to South: Vietnam Tour Packages for a Complete Experience

#Vietnam Tour Package

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dailycharacteroption · 2 years ago

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Draconic Druid (Druid Archetype)

(art by vest on DeviantArt)

A good long while ago, we covered the dragon shaman archetype for the druid class. A variant on the various “animal shaman” archetypes from Advanced Player’s Guide, it represented about as far as they were willing to push the concept back then. After all, dragons were, while excellent representations of elemental fury, beyond the normal ken of nature magic… right?

While I still feel like that archetype has a place in the game, today’s subject takes it further, firmly believing that despite their supernatural nature, dragons are a part of the natural world, so much so that they devote themselves fully to draconic shapeshifting, and to bonding with a drake companion (using the rules from Legacy of Dragons).

The history of this archetype is a sort of snapshot of how the Pathfinder system slowly grew beyond the confines of the 3.5 framework that it was spawned from. As someone who was here for most of that journey, it really is fascinating to look back on.

But I digress. The draconic druid and the dragon shaman can still exist together in the same world, the latter more focused on emulating reflections of draconic might in the reptilian world, while the former actively attempts to accept the true power of dragons into their very being.

Giving up many draconic abilities, these druids learn to attract and bind to themselves a mighty drake companion, which can emulate all manner of drake species and roles, or might represent something unique. However, like all drake companions, they are extremely difficult to replace.

As one might expect, the knowledge these mystics attain regarding dragons makes them well-versed in their lore, but also in the dangerous powers and abilities of such beings and how best to avoid and resist them.

Rather than wild shape into a wide variety of forms, they instead grow scales and fangs, taking on a fierce draconic, but otherwise humanoid aspect. As they grow in power, they can use double the normal energy to transform fully into a man-sized dragon, and later into a larger dragon.

If you’re interested in playing a druid, but with a distinctive draconic flair, this might be what you’re looking for, both with a customizable drake companion and the ability to (eventually) shapeshift into a dragon. That being said, you do give up a lot of defensive and utility abilities, so keep that in mind.

In any case, the customizable nature of the drake companion lends itself to a lot of different build types, such as a flying mount, a flanking companion, or even combined ranged artillery and support. Also, don’t forget that druids also get their own draconic polymorph spell at higher levels: form of the exotic dragon, which grants them primal dragon forms!

It’s appropriate that I bring up the primal dragons, as their connection to the elemental planes gives them special significance to druids. Alas, as written the wild shape of this archetype does not cover the Form of the Exotic Dragon spells, but if you want to replace or even add those form to their wild shape with some homebrewing, I’m sure nobody would mind.

In the middle of the night, a drake and rider smash through the sliding screen door of a local daimyo’s mansion, creating quite the ruckus and sending the guards into a frenzy. The rider, a druid versed in the mystic arts, claims that the daimyo’s bride is in fact a rokurokubi in disguise.

Called the Drake Tamer by bards and contemporaries, the vine leshy Moon Dew doesn’t consider himself the master of his companion Alexaar, but rather, his partner, the two having mutual respect for each other. Together, the two patrol the forest for threats against the natural order.

Desert drakes are an uncommon sight in the dunes of Misabur. While most are little more than predators, those that dwell close to the constant light of the Whiteshard become curious about the whispers emanating from it, and seek to learn from the humanoids that wander under its glow.

#pathfinder #archetype #druid #draconic druid #drake #rokurokubi #vine leshy #desert drake #Legacy of Dragons

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fiovske · 3 years ago

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I would really really love to hear about that DnD part of yours!! what are you up to who are you playing if you don't mind sharing of course

oh i dont mind talking about our d&d party at all! Our campaign is set in a wildlife Reserve and its a very non-combat based campaign like the primary objective rn is to solve the reason and source of necromantic surge of energies happening in the reserve and in doing so, whatever we do, we have is to make sure we DO NOT injure or hurt the occupants of the reserve, which ranges from a wide range of beasts and specimens to behirs and what not so like its safe grounds for creatures that might be a danger onto others or to themselves or simply creatures who have nowhere else to go. Non-violence means has ALWAYS been the primary objective of this campaign!

its difficult managing the situation bc d&d is designed to be a combat-based game and we're playing it exactly opposed to that in the way our 'attacks' are more actions and we have to stay on the non-lethal side of things! and handle the situation, even in a combat scenario, w/o bloodshed, at least on the other occupants of the reserve. they can and do attack us! as wild creatures are wont to! so we often have to come up w creative and non-attack based use of our arsenal and spells. its really fun!

as for me, I play a panda, cleric of the Raven Queen from Shadowfell who really likes sunlight and whose favourite colour is greens and yellows! there's a Satyr wizard also from Shadowfell a nerd and a painter! we have an aasimar w a shotgun who is an amazing cook, a halforc druid who has adopted a baby grey render and therefore dealing w the crisis of early parenthood, and a kobold princess who is a dedicated academic with her vocal enthusiasm at the workings of the reserve!

we dont just play d&d we intend to sweep around a lot of other ttrpg systems as we go. we do have a lot of fun tbh as we do a set of quests which take us to different places! we have travelled to a basilisk nest to study their sudden growth and collect basilisk oil, we have been to a frozen town and its frozen lake underwater w NPCs which was a v beautiful arc! we have tackled a fundraiser where the necromantic surge occured again, a sort of corruption in the reserve. which has a whole lot of us concerned tbh. also in our system we cant and dont use revivify/resurrection spells so that makes the stakes permanent!

right now we're deciding what our next mission would be we're spoilt for choice it's either study faerie dragons in the feywild, travel to a city deep in the underdark where they do not navigate by the sense of sight or light at all, climb a mount like Everest situation to help the old behir at the reserve travel up to better climates where she would feel better, since she can't teleport to shadowfell but it seems the behir was born on the mountain so that's interesting!! also there's another option of chasing a skyswimmer, an extraplannar sky-swimming serpent for documenting and collecting samples etc w/o actually harming the beast at all since the reserve has no records of such a creature at all.

so thats a decision we debate on and make next session!

#its a whole lot of fun tbh! this campaign is SO FUN.#fleece DMs this campaign and they are. SO GOOD at this #their npcs the story beats the choices we make as players etc #IT ALL gelds so well we just have a shitton of fun #like we just has a primarily downtime ep this session but the combat prev was gruelling.#everyone has such interesting backstories and their arcs just. flourish ok its. very fun to see and witness and enjoy and be a part of!#would u believe i literally have no weapon ever lmaoo #its a very fun campaign!!

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raeynbowboi · 5 years ago

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The Character Forge: How to Play as Link in DnD 5e

Link is without a doubt one of the most iconic heroes in fiction, which is why I’m excited to work on this build of Link. Now, of course Link has a long history of games where he’s had a wide variety of skills and abilities. So, for this build, I wanted to focus on his most recurring skills and items, and try to find DnD items with similar effects, if possible, to fill out his arsenal. Link is a multi-talented young man who has a talent for many skills, weapons, and items. He’s extremely flexible in what he can work with, and that was a primary focus of this build: to broaden his abilities as much as I could.

The Makings of a Hero

Hylians are clearly some kind of elf. You could make Link a Human or Variant Human if you want, but if it looks like an elf and it hyaas like an elf, chances are it’s an elf. There are a lot of kinds of elf he could be. Hylians are closely connected to the gods and think highly of themselves, so High Elf is a strong possibility. But Link is also something of a wilderness expert, so he could be a Wood Elf too.

Link is clearly good, but where on the goodness scale is a little less clear. He is a champion for goodness and light, so he could be Lawful Good, but he’s also jokingly famous for breaking into random houses and smashing random pots to steal people’s hidden money, so he could fall under Chaotic Good. And that divide could also make him Neutral Good.

As for background, that also tends to differ between game. Sometimes he’s a simple villager, a rancher, a farmer, a knight, an amnesiac foreigner. He’s so inconsistent that it’s better to just give him a background that covers the skills he doesn’t pick up from his build. Top contenders for Link’s background would be Outlander, Knight of the Order, Soldier, Far Traveler, and Folk Hero.

Skills, Abilities, & Items

Weapons -Longsword -Shield -Bow and Arrows -Bombs -Slingshot -Boomerang -Greatsword -Club -Spear -Magical Rods Skills -Horse Riding -Mounted Combat -Dungeon Crawler -Puzzle-solving -Weapon proficiency -Fighting Maneuvers Famous Items -Triforce of Courage -Master Sword -Hylian Shield/Mirror Shield -Hero Bow -Ocarina of Time -Power Bracelet/Golden Gauntlets -Zora Tunic/Mermaid Suit/Zora Flippers -Roc’s Feather/Feather Cape/Hover Boots/Glider -Hookshot/Longshot -Gale Boomerang -Wind Waker -Pegasus Boots/Pegasus Seeds -Biggoron’s Sword -Fire Rod -Fire Arrow/Lightning Arrow/Ice Arrow/Light Arrow -Ball and Chain -Fierce Deity Mask

Get to Class

Fighter Arcane Archer Battle Master Cavalier/Knight Champion Monster Hunter Scout Sharpshooter

Paladin Ancients Crown Devotion Heroism

Ranger Hunter Monster Hunter

Rogue Inquisitive Scout Swashbuckler

Stats & Proficiencies

Honestly, Link was hard to stat balance at first. I figured his best stat should be Constitution to correlate with a late-game number of heart containers. Link needs to be able to take a serious hit, and he spends most of the game getting a bigger health bar for just that very reason. Aside from Constitution, nothing really stood out as more important, though Intelligence and Charisma can get the shaft a bit, as Intelligence covers mostly book-learning which Link isn’t really known for, and largely in part to being a mute, aside from dancing in the Subrosia dance hall or playing his Ocarina, Link isn’t exactly great with Charisma-based skills. That’s not to say he’s really bad at anything, though. Link is a real Renaissance Man, as he’s good pretty much everything. Which means he shouldn’t have any negative modifiers. But Link is also not the pinnacle of strength, durability, or insightfulness. He needs items to perform feats of great strength, speed, or stamina, and wouldn’t get very far without them, so he’s also not going to be the max in any of his stats either. Rather, he’s going to be competent in Intelligence and Charisma, and fairly good at everything else.

Proficiencies: Acrobatics Animal Handling Athletics Insight Investigation Nature Perception Stealth Survival

Link’s New Toys

-Bag of Holding -Triforce of Courage (Banner of the Krig Rune) -Mastersword (Dawnbringer) -Hylian Shield (Shield of the Hidden Lord, Shield +3) -Mirror Shield (Repulsion Shield) -Hero’s Bow (Oathbow) -Golden Gauntlets (Gauntlets of Ogre Power) -Zora Tunic/Mermaid Suit (Cap of Water Breathing, Cloak of the Manta Ray) -Gale Boomerang (Storm Boomerang) -Hover Boots (Boots of Levitation) -Pegasus Boots (Boots of Speed, Boots of Striding and Springing) -Fire Rod (Necklace of Fireball)* -Fierce Deity Mask (Mask of the Dragon Queen) *There are items like the Wand of Fireball and the Staff of Fire, but both items require the holder to be a magic user, which Link is not.

Name: Link Race: High Elf Background: Outlander Alignment: Neutral Good Class: Monster Slayer Ranger (6) Battle Master Fighter (10) Inquisitive Rogue (4) Base Stats: Strength: 16 (+3) Dexterity: 14 (+2) Constitution: 18 (+4) Intelligence: 10 (0) Wisdom: 16 (+3) Charisma: 10 (0) Saving Throws: Strength: +9 Dexterity: +8 Constitution: +3 Intelligence: 0 Wisdom: +3 Charisma: 0 Combat Stats: HP: 200 AC: 15 Speed: 30 Initiative: +2 Number of Attacks: 2 Proficiency Bonus: +6 Passive Perception: 19 Dark Vision: 60 feet Proficiencies and Expertise: Acrobatics (Rogue) Animal Handling (Ranger) Athletics (Outlander) Insight (Ranger) Investigation (Ranger) Perception (Elf) Survival (Outlander) Skills: Acrobatics: +8 Medicine: +3 Animal Handling: +9 Nature: +6 Arcana: 0 Perception: +9 Athletics: +15 Performance: 0 Deception: 0 Persuasion: 0 History: 0 Religion:0 Insight: +9 Sleight of Hand: +2 Intimidation: 0 Stealth: +8 Investigation: +6 Survival: +15 Condition Resistances: Charmed Immunities: Sleep Racial Feature: Elf Elven Weapon Training: Proficiency with Shortsword, Longsword, Shortbow, and Longbow. Ranger Feature: Fighting Style Archery: Add +2 to attack rolls for ranged weapons. Ranger Feature: Favored Terrain Forest Grassland Ranger Feature: Favored Enemy Monstrosity Fiend Fighter Feature: Fighting Style Dueling: Add +2 to melee damage rolls when using 1 one-handed weapon. Fighter Feature: Superiority Die 5 (1d10s) Fighter Feature: Maneuvers Disarming Attack: spend a superiority die to force your target to make a Strength saving throw. On a failed roll, it drops 1 item of your choosing. Feinting Attack: spend a superiority die as a bonus action, and select a target. You gain advantage against that creature and add the roll of your superiority die to your attack damage if you hit the target creature. Parry: As a reaction, reduce melee damage you take by your dex modifier + the roll of a superiority die. Precision Attack: add the roll of a superiority die to the damage roll of a melee attack you made. Riposte: When an enemy’s attack misses you, you can make a counter attack, and add the roll of a superiority die. Sweeping Attack: Use a superiority die to cause your melee attack to hit a second creature within 5 feet of your first target. Add your superiority dice roll. Trip Attack: Use a superiority die to force a large or smaller creature to make a Strength saving throw. on a failed save, that creature is knocked prone. Spell Slots: 1st (4) 2nd (2) Link’s Spellbook Cantrips True Strike 1st Level Cure Wounds Hunter’s Mark Wild Cunning Protection from Good and Evil 2nd Level Find Traps Actions: Action Surge: take an extra action once per rest. Primeval Awareness: Spend a spell slot. For 1 or 2 minutes, you sense the kinds of creatures within 1 mile of you, or 6 miles in forests and grasslands. Bonus Actions: Cunning Action: Dash, Disengage, or Hide once per turn. Second Wind: Regain 1d10+10 HP once per rest. Features, Traits, and Feats: Archery Fighting Style: Gain +2 on attack rolls with ranged weapons. Dueling Fighting Style: Gain +2 on damage rolls when armed with a single one-handed melee weapon. Ear for Deceit: Any roll of 7 or lower on an Insight check against lying becomes an 8. Extra Attack: You get two Attack actions. Eye for Detail: Perform an Insight or Investigation check as a bonus action. Favored Enemy: Deal +2 bonus damage to Monstrosities and Fiends. Gain advantage on Survival checks to track Monstrosities and Fiends, and Intelligence checks to remember information about them. Fey Ancestry: Resistance to Charmed effects, immunity to magical sleep. Hunter’s Sense: As an action, choose a creature within 60 feet. You learn the creature’s damage immunities, resistances, and vulnerabilities. Can be used 3 times per long rest. Improved Combat Superiority: Your superiority die become 1d10s. Indomitable: Reroll a failed save once per long rest. Insightful Fighting: As a bonus action, make an Insight check against another creature’s Deception check. If you succeed, you can use Sneak Attack against the creature even without advantage for up to a minute. Doesn’t work if you’re disadvantaged. Wears off if you target a new creature with this feature. Know Your Enemy: If you spend at least 1 minute outside of battle observing a creature, the DM will tell you whether the creature is superior, inferior, or equal to you in any 2 of the following stats: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, AC, Current HP, Total Class Levels, or Fighter Class Levels. Natural Explorer: Favored Terrains are Grasslands and Forests. While in your favored terrains: double proficiency bonuses for INT and WIS checks you’re proficient in, difficult terrain doesn’t slow your party down, always alert for danger, can move stealthily at a normal pace when traveling alone, find double food when foraging, and when tracking anything, you can tell how big they were, how many there were, and how long ago they passed through. Sharpshooter: Attacking from long range doesn’t disadvantage ranged attack rolls, ranged weapon attacks ignore half and 3/4 cover, and you can -5 on a ranged weapon attack roll to add +10 to the damage roll on a successful hit. Slayer’s Prey: As a bonus action, pick a creature within 60 feet of you. Add 1d6 damage to the first attack you make against that creature. Sneak Attack: Add 2d6 to damage roll when you have advantage, or another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it. Thieves’ Cant: You can articulate covert messages in casual conversations. Trance: Trance for 4 hours instead of sleeping for 8. Wanderer: You have an excellent memory for terrain and don’t need a map. You can remember where to find settlements, foraging spots, and geographical landmarks. You can always find enough food and water to sustain yourself and up to 5 more people provided the land can provide food and drinkable water.

I’m sure there’s some who will disagree with my picks, but I optimized a build around looking for enemy weaknesses, having a ton of proficiencies, and having a wide and varied arsenal of weapons at Link’s disposal. If you’d build Link another way, tell me what you’d do different. Who do you want to see me make next? And as always, I look forward to seeing you again at the Character Forge, where heroes are made.

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musetta3 · 3 years ago

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Hey! Super curious about "The Dragon and the Wolf" for the WIP game. :) I love Skyrim but I've never read any fic for it before.

Hi, Niri!

Thank you for the ask! @poeti-kat also asked about Dragon and the Wolf, so I'll tag them here so they may see the answer <3

Ok, so. This piece is one of my favorite WIPs, because it's about my first foray into gaming way back in the day, when I was hopelessly bad at video games. It follows my reluctant Dragonborn, Iseult the Black, as she adventures through Tamriel with her perpetually grumpy companion (and future husband), Vilkas. It's an enemies-to-lovers story with a happy ending.

A while back, I'd gotten an anonymous ask with 10 different items, like broken swords, gems, a love letter, etc. So I'm using the prompts as the inspiration for the chapters, each item tying into the storyline.

Here's a bit from the first prompt, 'broken sword,' in which Vilkas meets Iseult.

It started, as many things in Vilkas’s life did, with a sword. A broken one, more specifically, snapped at the hilt and tied to the horse he’d borrowed for his journey. Vilkas heaved a sigh, urging his mount down the road to the city of Whiterun. The late summer sun felt good on his back, sore from travel and combat; the warmth seeped in, chasing the furrows from his brow until Vilkas nearly smiled.

Nearly. According to his brother, Vilkas’s face would crack if he ever smiled, and Vilkas wasn’t about to tempt fate by trying...

It was nearing sunset by the time Vilkas had finally reached Whiterun and returned his horse to the stables. The clang of hammer on steel rang out against the gathering gloom, the forge and smelter glowing like the great, fiery eyes of a dragon. Savory smells of roasted mutton and fresh bread wafted down the street from inns and homes. A grumble thundered in his belly, stirring his wolf-blood. He’d last eaten breakfast, now that he thought on it. He lengthened his stride, hoping to arrive at Jorrvaskr in time for the evening meal.

“Vil?” A familiar voice startled him from his thoughts. There, leaning against a beam, was his childhood friend, Adrienne the blacksmith. She grinned, waving him over, “by the Nine, man, you’re a sight for sore eyes! How did your trip south go?”

“Fine, fine,” Vilkas replied once he joined her, hoping his smile wasn’t as exhausted as he felt. “Fared much better than the bandits I encountered.” He untied his broken longsword from his pack, “some hard-headed bastard broke my sword on his skull.”

Adrienne chuckled, “I’ll see what I can do once this customer finishes up at the forge. If she does, for that matter.” She nodded towards the fire, “she’s been making armor all day.”

“That so?” His gray eyes went wide when a dark-haired woman rounded the corner with a set of… he couldn’t call it armor, not in good conscience. “What is that? Looks like an animal carcass.”

Adrienne shushed him, “she’s repairing it, of course it would look like mammoth shite. But that’s not it, Vil; look at the sword.” A fine arming sword rested on its sheath next to the grindstone, ready to be sharpened. Its steel gleamed like oil on water.

Vilkas narrowed his eyes. What would a poorly outfitted adventurer be doing with such a fine blade? Did she even know how to wield it? “You think we should tell the guards there’s a thief?”

She shook her head. “Hardly. Only one person in the whole of Skyrim has such a glorious weapon, Vil, mark my words: the jarl. And word around the Cloud District is that he just gave an arming sword to the Dragonborn.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “I highly doubt Iseult the Black would ever come here of all places, Adri.”

“Why not? The jarl wants to give her the title of Thane for all her contributions to keeping the hold safe.” She sighed happily, “business will be booming after this, mark my words. Maybe I’ll rename the shop after her, what do you think? ‘Dragonborn’s Rest’ or something.”

It was Vilkas’s turn to laugh, watching as the woman shaped what he assumed was a pauldron on the anvil. A tendril of dark hair fell forward from behind her ear, caressing her cheek. Much to his distaste, the wolf-blood stirred within him, like it always did with attractive women. His cheeks flushed from embarrassment, until they burned almost as brightly as the forge before him.

“I-I must go,” Vilkas said. He hastily excused himself, splashing his face at the well in attempt to cool his face. The fierce gleam in that woman’s eye, the curl of her slight smile as she beat the metal into submission wouldn’t leave him alone. He imagined her strokes landing on a bandit’s skull instead of the armor before her, how powerful she would be in the heat of battle. His wolf blood leapt at the thought of that...

“Ugh. Lycanthropy's no boon, it's a bane,” he muttered. "By the Nine, this curse is the bane of my existence—”

“Ser Warrior? Are you on your way to Jorrvaskr, too?” someone asked beside him. Vilkas jumped, startled; the woman from the forge was addressing him, her newly repaired armor under her servant’s arm, along with several other parcels and satchels.

Vilkas’s gray eyes widened. “Mmhmm,” he mumbled, newly-cooled face growing hot again.

If she noticed his startle, she didn’t mention it. The woman extended her hand in greeting. “Iseult,” she introduced herself, “Iseult the Black.”

He stared. Divines, Adrienne was right; she was the Dragonborn. “V-Vilkas,” he replied, taking her hand. “Vilkas of Jorrvaskr.”

#wip #writing wip #skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #wip game #iseult #iseult the black #vilkas #vilkas x dragonborn #skyrim writing prompts #my writing #the dragon and the wolf #musetta answers #my fanfiction

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bennydwight · 4 years ago

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Dragon Age Oneshot

Shameless, indulgent, one-sided Varric/Inquisitor, because I understand why we’re not allowed to romance the dwarf, but that’s not gonna stop me from being bitter about it.

(Also feat. Dorian being simultaneously the best and worst wingman)

~~~~~~

"Oh dear what's got the Inquisitor so long in the face this time?"

Lavellan hid her startle well enough that Dorian didn't comment. Maker's breath, he could be stealthy when he wanted to. Observant, too, so she didn’t see much point in lying to him. "I'm in love, Dorian."

She felt more than saw his interest pique, and he slid down the stone wall to join her on the steps. Below them, the courtyard was abuzz with activity: Dennet and his apprentice busied themselves with checking the new stock of mounts, the merchants from Val Royeaux shifted primly as Fereldan soldiers examined their wares, and patients of the last battle milled around the surgeons camp. Among them, even from this height, Lavellan could see Cole's wide-brimmed hat bobbing along through the crowd of wounded like a leaf on a river, likely offering comfort to those who needed it. Varric's copper hair trailed along beside, either gathering intelligence for his next book, or ensuring Cole stayed within the confines of human morality. Nice that those two got along so well.

Far below, a soldier said something and Varric laughed, the delighted rasp floating up to reach even Lavellan's perch. Why must he do that to her.

"In love, you say?" Dorian continued next to her. "Anyone I would know?"

Lavellan sighed. "He's roguishly charming, dashingly handsome, entirely uninterested, and so far out of my league he may as well be the Black Divine."

"Dear me, have you fallen in love with me all over again? Can't say I'm not flattered, though I recall us having this conversation once before."

That drew a laugh from the depths of her lovesickness and she nudged Dorian with a shoulder. "You know the flame I hold for you in my heart will never extinguish."

"Alas, perhaps in another life." He chuckled back. "Who's the fortunate gentleman?"

"Oh please, if you think I'll out and tell you like some babbling maid chasing the butcher's son, I give you too much credit."

He leaned back, stroking his goatee with an interested finger. "Making a game out of it then? Very well, I'll play along. Ten silver says I can guess the lad in three tries."

A game was exactly what Lavellan didn’t want, but she far too much enjoyed Dorian's scowl when he lost not to play. The ten silver could buy her something interesting from the baker too, next time they travelled to Val Royeaux. "You'll be paying for my next pastry run, Vint."

"Better save at least some of that silver for larger clothing then." He made a show of tapping his chin, deep, deep in thought, the flash bastard. "Roguishly charming, daringly handsome... Just to clarify, you are talking about a lad, yes?"

"Oh, no. Making that distinction would narrow the field by far too much. If you weren't paying attention to the pronouns, that's on you."

Dorian glowered at her, but there was no real heat behind it while the gears of his mind were ticking elsewhere. "From the description alone, of course my first guess would have to be our distinguished commander? Not that I'd blame you, mind, he is quite the man."

Perhaps too much man for Lavellan, the commander was far too battle-ready for her to find attractive (though admittedly the scars did send something stirring within her). And Cullen's evasive reactions towards the advances of other members of the fairer gender betrayed a disposition more boyish than Lavellan expected. She imagined courting Cullen would be very much like courting the spirit of a farm boy in the body of a marble statue. "I flirted with him once, for fun. I was afraid he'd wet himself."

Dorian's laughter rang warm and clear through the courtyard. "That might explain why you couldn't tell him, the poor man would throw himself off the battlements."

Lavellan stuck her tongue out at him. "Don't make it sound like my affections are a disease to be feared."

"They certainly spread that way."

"You enjoy it, you all do. Maker knows none of you under my command have ever gotten enough hugs in your lifetimes."

"Something we all know you're desperately trying to correct."

"This game is timed, Dorian, if you don't use your guesses in the next ten seconds then you forfeit."

"Don't be silly, that was never agreed upon," he waved a hand flippantly, but settled again. "Sera-"

"Nope."

"That wasn't a guess, you didn't let me finish! I was going to say Sera is in league all her own, so it can't be her."

"It counts."

"It doesn’t. "

Lavellan never was very good at keeping a straight face, especially in Dorian's presence. "Fine, fine, you get one freebie."

"Then my next guess would have to be the Iron Bull."

Oh, she'd thought about it. Maybe Lavellan was just weak for big hands and a soft voice. And who could forget those muscles? But Iron Bull wasn't exactly secretive about his thoughts on relationships, thoughts Lavellan wasn't sure she could share in the long run. And maybe it would have been different if Iron Bull committed to the Inquisitor, but after an accidental (and awkward) run in with Bull and a kitchen maid, Lavellan was pretty certain she'd seen all she needed to regarding Skyhold's resident Ben-Hassarath.

Besides. She'd seen the silky way Dorian's eyes smoothed over Iron Bull's shoulders when his back was turned. There had never been two people she was less inclined to come between.

She shot Dorian a sly side-eye. "I'll leave the lovesickness to other, more suitable people when it comes to the Bull, I think."

He hid the hitch in his shoulders almost perfectly, but the pink dusting on his cheekbones was a little harder to explain away. To his credit, Dorian didn't try. "Ahem. Well, you mentioned 'uninterested', so it can't be the swooning--"

He trailed off, but Lavellan's sharp stare snapped to him, ears twitching up. "The what?"

"Nothing, a slip of the tongue."

"Your tongue is so slippery it's a wonder it doesn't slither out of your head. Now out with it, who were you talking about?"

Dorian heaved a mighty sigh, but his eyes shone in that way they did when he'd been sitting on a sweet bit of gossip for too long. "Very well, I promised Vivienne I wouldn’t say anything since you didn't need 'undue distractions', but since you insisted. One of your throne guards can't keep his eyes away from you."

This was news to her. "Wha- Are you talking about Davrish or Johannes? Or Tel, he fills in sometimes."

"The lad who usually stands at your left. Human, on the tall side, dark hair. Hard to see much under the helmet, but he's got a scar under his eye."

Davrish then. "He fancies me?"

Dorian laughed. "Like Solas fancies the Fade. He reveres you. Whenever you're in the Main Hall, he refuses to look anywhere else. He practically vibrates when you're judging someone, I imagine since he's never had a woman that close to him in his life. Have you truly not noticed?"

She truly hadn't. She'd spoken to Davrish several times around Skyhold, usually a casual bit of snark tossed around regarding the latest judgement, but never had she gotten the impression that he was interested. Perhaps since, whenever she frequented the Main Hall, her attention lingered elsewhere... "I suppose I'm usually distracted."

Dorian leaned closer, something wicked crawling into his grin like a desert lizard. "Distracted, are you?"

Lavellan huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if that could still her heart's rapid beat. "I'm the Inquisitor, Dorian, not all of us can lounge in the library all day, drinking cheap ale and commenting on whatever daily atrocity Solas is wearing."

"Oh, that reminds me, did you see the particularly awful armour he picked up during your last trip to the Oasis? I could go on for days about the state of the stitching alone-"

He definitely could, as proven time and again. Times like these, where her Tevinter friend really got on a roll, Lavellan could feign interest well enough while letting her mind wander to more introspective topics. She nodded and made appropriate noises at appropriate times to Dorian's impassioned ramblings, but once again her eyes sought the copper head weaving in and out of view of the crowd below.

As if sensing her seeking eyes, Varric pulled his attention away from Cole and stared straight at her.

Lavellan's heart stuttered to a stop. Even this far away, his eyes shone with the barely concealed mirth he always seemed to carry just under the crooked quirk of his eyebrow. The corner of his mouth pulled up in that roguish smile she loved as they made eye contact, and one hand (gloved, why always gloved) rose in a lazy wave.

Like a dunderhead, Lavellan practically tripped over herself to return the gesture, nearly catching her finger in one of the buckles of her clothes in the process. Varric didn't seem to notice, his smile widening before he turned back to his odd little charge.

Too late, Lavellan noticed Dorian had fallen silent beside her, his calculating golden eyes boring into her frozen face. She heard the dots connect.

"Oh."

Don’t make eye contact, don't make eye contact

"Oh, MAKER."

Lavellan spun on him, the tips of her ears burning under his scrutiny. "WHAT."

He stared back, expression refreshingly open for once, though it bore no malice. Only stunned disbelief. "Lavellan, the dwarf?"

Not trusting herself to speak around the dry lump lodged in her throat, Lavellan reached into her pocket and dropped ten silver into Dorian's unresponsive hand.

He stared at the coins as if in shock, though Lavellan knew him well enough by now to know when he was exaggerating emotion. Dorian and Sarcasm were old friends. "I can’t- Vishante kaffas."

"I know."

"Of all the available young matches here in Skyhold, you're wasting your time making doe-eyes at the single most ineligible person this side of the Anderfels."

"I know.”

"He's in love with a crossbow, for Maker's sake!"

"I KNOW!" Lavellan groaned, burying her head in her hands. "If you think I haven’t had this discussion with myself numerous times then you are sorely mistaken."

A beat of silence. "Although," Dorian started in such an oddly contemplative tone that Lavellan peeked out from between her fingers. The silver was gone, tucked away while she'd been marinating in her own self-horror, and his hand returned to its previous action of thoughtfully stroking his facial hair. "He is quite the strapping one." His face took on a haughty air. "And we already knew you had a penchant towards the witty."

"Not only wit," Lavellan sighed, and now that her darkest thoughts hovered at the forefront of her tongue, she found it nigh impossible to stop them from stumbling into the light of day. "He's suave, confident in a way that still eludes Cullen. He has all the easy, rugged attractiveness of the Iron Bull with none of his-"

"Expansive tastes?" Dorian supplied, entirely unhelpfully.

"-worldliness." Lavellan corrected coolly.

"He's quite the complainer. "

"He's opinionated, and most of them are right. Varric is warmth, and friendship, and a drop of sunlight in the midst of the rainstorm that is the Breach."

"I may vomit."

"I am taking that as a challenge. He is soft eyes and soft leather, and the feeling you get right after you make someone laugh. He's quiet nights by the fireside, the smell of ink swirling in the warmed air. He is-"

"-headed this way."

Lavellan was just about to admonish Dorian for his unsportsmanlike attempt to distract her from her flowering prose (it had really started to flow there, too!), but a glance downward found Cole nowhere to be seen, and instead one copper-headed dwarf tromping up the stairs.

All thoughts of poetry dissipated. He was coming straight for them! "Oh... oh Maker-"

"Don't panic," Dorian smirked, "with a nose that large, he can probably smell your nerves."

She didn’t have the chance to smack him before Varric reached them, breath laboured in the way that often happened when short legs were presented with more than five steps. Lavellan wondered why Varric chose to spend the majority of his days in the Grand Hall when it required so many steps to get there (and she refused to let herself believe it was because he wanted to be near her, no no). "Well, you two are looking chummy."

"Varric!" Dorian opened with no shortness of theatrics, "We were just talking about you!"

"Is that right?" Lavellan heard more than saw Varric's raised eyebrow as she pinned Dorian under a glare so hot it had been known to stop enemies in their tracks.

Dorian, having evolved out of the category of "enemy" some time ago, barely noticed. "Yes, we were just discussing your romance serial, the one Cassandra enjoys so much? Are you planning on writing more?"

Lavellan’s glare had taken on a panicked note, her friend going rogue before her eyes. How hard did one have to stare at another for them to spontaneously combust?

Varric, large as his nose was, didn’t seem to smell her distress this time. He laughed. "I am if Seeker has anything to say about it! Why, you're a fan too? Learning anything interesting?"

"On the contrary, I have an idea for another serial I'm sure readers would enjoy."

Lavellan’s shoulders relaxed marginally, head tilting at a quizzical angle. What was he doing...

"I don't usually entertain book pitches, but for you Sparkler? Let's hear it."

"It's about a famous, powerful young artist, who falls in love with a roguishly charming, dashingly handsome writer-"

Aaaaand there went her shoulders again, hitched almost to her burning ears. Back safely to Varric, she frantically mouthed "I'll KILL you, you sunnuvabitch", the rest of Dorian's blatantly obvious pitch drowning under the blood pumping in her ears. His mouth quirked up in the only indication he was paying her any mind at all.

Varric made a thoughtful noise, and she didn't dare turn round to look at him. "An artist and a writer, huh? It's got potential. And no one can say it's... unrealistic." Maker's breath, was he implying something? Was that tone barely concealed subtext, or just Varric being an asshole?

And Dorian couldn't leave it at that, oh no, never let it be said that Dorian Pavus did things halfway. "And say, if you do decide to write it, I'm sure our dear inquisitor wouldn’t mind illustrating. Surely you two have known each other long enough that working closely for prolonged periods of time wouldn’t be too agonizing."

Using her body as a shield, Lavellan flipped him off.

"It's certainly something to consider," Varric hummed, none the wiser to Lavellan's mortification. Unless... he was playing with her? "I'm sure my lady readers would appreciate another romance."

Dorian stared straight into Lavellan's eyes. "They certainly would."

"What about it, Herald?" Oh Maker, he was leaning over her now. The scent of warm leather drifted over her like the sweetest perfume-- NO, that was gross! Don’t think like that! "Feel like collaborating?"

"Sure," her voice came out more like a squeak than a sound, and Dorian couldn't quite hide his snort behind his moustache.

The creak of leather as Varric leaned back. "Peachy. After we take care of this Corypheus business, of course, even I understand that we have priorities. Speaking of, I gotta ask Seeker something. Dorian."

Dorian nodded in farewell, radiating smugness. Expecting her turn to be next and realizing at the same time that she hadn't looked at Varric a single time during this conversation, Lavellan finally turned to the dwarf.

Bad idea. She turned directly into that insufferable crooked grin. His hooded eyes glittered with mischief, like he was privy to an in-joke. The sun set behind him, haloing his visage with golden light. Varric himself couldn't have written this scene better, and Lavellan hated herself for thinking it. Her ears drooped under the weakness of her own body.

Varric's grin widened marginally. "Inquisitor."

"Bye," Lavellan breathed more than said. Dorian snorted again, louder, but Varric was polite enough not to mention it. He continued up the stairs and Lavellan managed until his heavy bootsteps faded away to melt into a humiliated puddle. She slumped over her legs, burying her face in her hands.

"Dear me, Inquisitor, your ears are a most delightful shade of crimson."

"Dorian?"

"Yes?"

"Once I can stand again, I am going to take my knife and cut out your tongue."

"Oh, I'd still find ways to humiliate you."

"I wont even use my nice knife. It'll be a kitchen knife. You'll suffer for days, just like I am now."

He patted her jovially on the shoulder. "Come now, Lavellan, surely you must know that Varric is crass and boorish, but he's far from an idiot. He'll nip this in the bud within the week and I need to get a decent amount of teasing in before then."

Lavellan punched him in the arm.

END

#dragon age inquisition #da:i #varric tethras #varric #lavellan #dorian pavus #dorian #Varric/inquisitor #varriquisitor?#writing #oneshot

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years ago

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I think as the story progresses, Sansa's connection with nature will also strengthen. The Vale's geography also seems as some sort of a precursor to that of the North - Mountains, icy terrains, snow etc. I wonder whether her singing has more to it than we actually know - maybe something magical with it. Grrm has said Sansa is a warg like her siblings and considering if the Starks have some shared genetics with children of the forest, the latter's magical singing could be something that we could see in Sansa's.

The Vale is not the North tho, and the similarities we can find as allusions to the North are there only because winter is arriving.

This is the North:

Amon Shin in Maine asks, “If you lived in Westeros, which house would you like to be part of, or in which area would you like to live?” GRRM: Well, you know, there’s something to be said for being an honorable Stark, but you’re kinda cold all the time and poor and so forth. And you have a lot of land, but there’s not a lot of stuff on it, you know? On the other hand, if you’re a Lannister, you have a nice house and all the gold you want and all of that stuff. So, there’s a lot to be said for being a Lannister. I don’t know. Maybe I could probably see me being a Lannister. And I would always pay my debts.

—A Dance with Dragons | George R.R. Martin | Talks at Google - July 2011

“I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?” Robert snorted. “Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?” “Likely they were too shy to come out,” Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. “Kings are a rare sight in the north.” Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

“And if we accept this alliance?” inquired Lord Mathis Rowan. “What terms does he propose?” “That we recognize his kingship and grant him everything north of the Neck.” Lord Redwyne laughed. “What is there north of the Neck that any sane man would want? If Greyjoy will trade swords and sails for stone and snow, I say do it, and count ourselves lucky.”

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

While the Vale of Arryn is very fertile and beautiful:

The Vale of Arryn—a long, wide, fertile valley entirely ringed by the great grey-green peaks of the mighty Mountains of the Moon—is as rich as it is beautiful.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The Vale

It had been years since Sansa last saw her mother's sister. She will be kind to me for my mother's sake, surely. She's my own blood. And the Vale of Arryn was beautiful, all the songs said so. Perhaps it would not be so terrible to stay here for a time.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

I believe that Sansa always loved nature, that's why she wanted to see the world outside Winterfell:

And so they left her direwolf and his bodyguard behind them, while they ranged east along the north bank of the Trident with no company save Lion’s Tooth. It was a glorious day, a magical day. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of flowers, and the woods here had a gentle beauty that Sansa had never seen in the north. Prince Joffrey’s mount was a blood bay courser, swift as the wind, and he rode it with reckless abandon, so fast that Sansa was hard-pressed to keep up on her mare. It was a day for adventures. They explored the caves by the riverbank, and tracked a shadowcat to its lair, and when they grew hungry, Joffrey found a holdfast by its smoke and told them to fetch food and wine for their prince and his lady. They dined on trout fresh from the river, and Sansa drank more wine than she had ever drunk before. “My father only lets us have one cup, and only at feasts,” she confessed to her prince.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

I wrote a little bit about Sansa and singing here.

The nightingale reference links Sansa with Lúthien Tinúviel, an important character from Tolkien's Silmarillion.

I also wrote about Sansa and warging here.

And I also wrote about the Stark's direwolves and the Children of the Forest here.

Thanks for your message.

#sansa stark #anon asks

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starkeristheendgame · 5 years ago

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peter and tony are on a motorcycle together. The constant movement and touching is getting them kind of excited.

I really hope you like this and that I did it justice! For those curious, this is the bike that Tony rides. I will forever spit curses at the Gods for making me the size of a Pomeranian. This is basically Early!College!Peter and Adult!Tony, and can be seen as a Biker/Gang AU if you wanna!

TW: Public sex | Sex toy use | D/s dynamics | Consensual power dynamics | Potentially degrading monikers

Nobody had really believed Peter when he’d quietly admitted to having a boyfriend. It wasn’t that he was ugly, no. Peter was just basically married to his studying, and had seemed utterly and steadfast disinterested in any other offer of company. Though, if he did have a boyfriend, that would explain why.

And nobody really believed him when they caught the face on his lockscreen. The devastatingly handsome thirty-something model of a man that eyed them with a tilted head and a killer smirk. This was the guy you saw in California, dating movie stars and fucking models, not living in Manhattan and dating a barely-legal college student.

So when Leah Denvers overhears Peter talking about how his boyfriend will be picking him up from college, near enough the entire school gathers outside, hovering on the steps and all doing their best to fake disinterest, like they aren’t eyeing the boy stood on the edge of the curb like hawks.

The noise comes first. Like thunder, but fiercer. Like with the rolling booms comes the trickling purr of a jungle cat, and the warning snarl of a dragon. Something angry and something powerful. Something that knew it had the rule of the streets. Nobody bothered to feign disinterest anymore.

The beast that came charging around the corner was sleek and black, abstract edges and sharp points, a being that would blend into the darkness if not for its glowing red eyes. The rider that mounted it sat low, leaning over the tank, dressed head to foot in a sleek, black leather suit and helmet.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief, acutely aware of every single set of eyes on his back. Tony being here meant they could make a rather speedy getaway. Ned had apologetically abandoned him on the curb, whisked away to a family meal with some long-lost Auntie.

The rider steered the bike to an elegant halt and sat upright slowly, blacked out, glossy visor turning slowly to face him as the rider sat astride the bike, letting it growl between his thighs, hands resting calmly on the tank. Peter could see his own face in the visor, cheeks flushed, pupils blown.

Peter stepped off the curb and up close, close enough he could smell the leather and the gasoline, could feel the heat of the bike and damned near her vibrations. He reached up a hand and delicately thumbed the safety lock of the helmet, lifting the visor up slowly until he could see dark, dark eyes, framed by long, thick lashes.

People were talking. Whispering furiously. Peter knew what they were saying. Knew their doubts. He was just a semi-popular, not-so-great-with-fashion college student. How was a man like this with a boy like him?

Tony Stark leaned away from him just slightly, blinking slowly like a cat as he reached behind him, for the spare jacket and helmet strapped safely to the seat Peter would soon occupy. He shrugged on the thick, armoured jacket himself, but obliged when Tony took the helmet from his hands, tugging up the bandanna from around his neck to cover his lower face, gentle and careful when he helped Peter to put it on and to tighten the straps.

Tony let his head dip, pressing their helmeted foreheads together, like a tender kiss. He did it, each time before a ride. Good luck, he called it. And then he was bracing his legs and the bike, holding her stable as Peter put a hand to his shoulder and bounced up onto the back, tucking his legs into the correct position and sighed in contentment as he draped himself over Tony’s back, arms tight around his toned waist.

Nearly the entire school was still staring when the engine gave a great roar between his thighs and leapt forwards. He would never get used to the thrill, would never get used to the leap in his chest and the tingle of adrenaline through his veins. But the worst was the vibrations, unrelenting against his ass, and being pressed so close against his lover, entrusting him with his very life.

Peter wobbled off the bike hard between his legs more often than not.

Tony did, too.

They came to a halt at a stop light, Tony leaning upright to keep steady as they waited, and Peter relaxed against him, squeezing him lovingly. Tony reacted by reaching back, a large, gloved hand squeezing his thigh before it went to the throttle and twisted, just enough to hitch the revs, enough to have Peter squirming on the pillion seat, biting his lip.

On the freeway, Tony set her free, the engine a thrumming monster beneath them. The angle that Peter sat upon her meant that the steady purr licked at the insides of his thighs, his asscheeks, against his tender cock. He knew for a fact where Tony’s cock was squeezed against the tank that he was hard. It was in each careful, uncomfortable hitch of his hips.

Very slowly, Peter let his hands slide down Tony’s stomach, inch by inch until he was thumbing at the stiff leather over his flanks, stifling his hot cock. Tony pulled one hand from the bars and lay it over his hand, pressing Peter’s palm down firmly against the hard rise of his length, before he returned it to the steering.

Halfway to Tony’s penthouse, Peter was hard enough that it ached, uncomfortable in his jeans, hips nudging against the base of Tony’s spine on each opportunity. His boyfriend reacted in kind, squeezing his thighs and revving the engine when there was no need, just to tease Peter with the powerful vibrations.

Where he ought to have turned left, Tony turned right, and Peter watched the city blur into mostly abandoned lanes and streets. In a nook between a tall, abandoned apartment complex and a parking zone, Tony nudged the bike to the side and to a halt, reaching back to tap Peter’s thigh twice.

Dismount.

No sooner than Peter had stepped out of kicking range, Tony was kicking the stand down and swinging a leg over, hands reaching for his helmet. His hair was tousled and messy when he pulled it off, tugging down the bandanna to around his neck, tearing at his gloves with a dark, hungry gaze. Peter couldn’t bite back his grin, legs still tingling from the ride as he tore at his own helmet and jacket.

For all their impatience with taking the gear off, they were still careful when they set it down, out of the way and with care before large hands settled on Peter’s hips, spinning him. A hand between his shoulders and he went down, folding over the bike with a half-giggle of delight, Tony’s thick thigh forcing his legs apart, making him present.

“Such a desperate little slut, hm? Couldn’t even wait to get home. You just had to beg to be filled up” Tony breathed, hot and husky against his ear, folding over him like a stallion mounting his mare, hard and firm and unforgiving against him from shoulders to thighs. Peter could do nothing but mewl, pawing at the bike helplessly and arching against his lover.

“Hhngh, please. Tony, fuck. Please. You’re so - None of them believed me. You’re that fucking hot they all thought I was lying” Peter rasped, eyes rolling when Tony nuzzled at his neck, coaxed him to bare it so he could sink his teeth into the soft, vulnerable flesh.

“Mm, and do you like that they believe you now, pet? Do you like that they know you bounce on my cock like my good little boy?” It was punctuated with a harsh jolt of his hips, and Peter hissed.

“Yes”.

“Do you feel pride, knowing they want me, but they know they can’t have me? That they can’t, because you are Daddy’s little whore?”.

Peter nearly sobbed, rocking his hips against the bike for friction, for anything as Tony reached for his ass, squeezing a fat cheek harshly before he pushed his hand under the loose band of his jeans, firm fingers pressing down on the base of the plug that was nestled deep in his ass, flared wide within to stretch his slick little insides.

“Daddy likes it, too” Tony purred in his ear, fucking the plug into him with short little presses, hand reinforced by the harsh thrusts of his hips. Tony licked at his neck, his jaw, bit the shell of his ear with a low rumble and drove a hand into his hair, twisting and gripping hold of the silky locks for purchase.

“P-Please” Peter breathed shakily, spreading his legs wider, pressing his ass back against Tony’s hand and his cock, biting at his lip to try and stifle the sounds tearing from his throat. Abandoned didn’t necessarily mean nobody was lurking in the shadows.

“Mm, since you were so good, and wore this all day” Tony pretended to muse, and Peter nearly cried when he felt Tony’s fingertip slide around the edge of the plug, against his sore and stretched rim, which bent around the gentle pressure and then sucked his fingertip in greedily, a brief burst of pain quickly smothered by the heat of pleasure.

“O-Oh! Fuck. Fuck, please. Tony!” Peter whimpered, head dropping as he scrabbled for purchase against the bike, near drooling as his thighs began to shake. Tony pressed against the plug again and brushed a thumb over his raw hole, forcing a shaky breath from his younger boyfriend.

“If you cum now, little slut, you’ll have to ride the rest of the way home wet” Tony warned. Peter knew how uncomfortable it would be, how raw and tacky it would feel when his cum began to dry, but he nodded wickedly none the less, rutting against the frame of the motorcycle and squirming his hips to encourage Tony’s finger deeper.

From behind him, Tony gave a low hum, and used his own hips to shove his finger deeper, startling a yelp from Peter that morphed into a cry as Tony rubbed at his sweet spot, his tender hole stretched too wide too soon, but Peter loved every moment of it, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back when the boiling heat in his stomach pooled and overflowed, legs buckling so he collapsed against the bike as he came on a cracked gasp of Tony’s name.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Cum for me” Tony coaxed him, gentle and overcareful as he rubbed him through it, and eased his finger out. He crowded Peter tighter, squeezing him against the bike as one hand came up to grip his jaw, thumb forcing his mouth open like a reluctant horse for the bit, the other pushing his slick finger into Peter’s mouth, so he could taste himself, stroking the back of his tongue until the boy hiccuped on a gag.

“If you’re not hard again by the time we get back, I’m going to tie you naked to the bike on the driveway, and leave you there” Tony whispered sweetly.

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