#mothers outliving their eldest sons

[vhagar-balerion-meraxes]

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

god's of the sky

Two

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader, Qoren Martell x reader

Masterlist <-previous , next->

100 AC Dragonstone

Alysanne's youngest and most favored daughter, Gael, died during childbirth with her first child the princess y/n. Gael's death broke the good Queen, for she had outlived all but two of her children. No longer able to bear living at King's Landing and the Red Keep, Alysanne returned to Dragonstone. She died of a wasting illness on that took away most of the joys in her life, her body was cremated, and her ashes were interred on Dragonstone.

Little y/n watched curiously from her grandsire's arms her head tucked in his neck. She saw tears leaving the King's eyes, his expression somber and broken.

"My little princess." Jaehaerys whispered. With no parents of her own, the King became the guarding of his fifth grandchild. The little princess as the King affectionately called her became a crutch for the wise monarch just as her mother has been for Queen Alysanne.

His age prevented him from flying on dragon back as well as most of activities that brought him joy. Jaehaerys ordered that the crib of little y/n be moved to the chambers that once belonged to him and his sister-wife Queen Alysanne.

From then on princess y/n was always with the King. The old monarch played and read to the little child. Due to his condition Jaehaerys was bedridden for most of his days, rarely leaving his chambers. To the surprise of many his granddaughter accompanied him everywhere, to small council meeting, official suppers and many other. From then on the little princess was dubbed Jaehaerys's shadow.

...

101 AC Harenhall

„Mama who is that?” The great-granddaughter of King Jaehaerys princess Rhaenyra asked her mother, curiously watching the six year old girl talk to the king.

„This is your aunt, Rhaenyra.” Aemma whispered gently stroking Rhaenyra’s silver hair. „Her name is y/n. If the King allows it you two will be brought up together.”

„y/n…” Rhaenyra muttered leaning on her mothers shoulder looking intensely at the girl. „Can I show her Syrax?”

„Not today but one day my sweet” Aemma responded smiling at her daughters love for her steed.

„Aemma!” Viserys called searching for his wife. He stopped once he saw his daughter and wife awaiting at his presence.

„I am here my love.” Aemma said rising from the seat, her pregnant belly swollen and heavy. „Rhaenyra go with Daena to your nursery.”

After the death of Queen Alysanne and their two oldest sons Aemon and Baelon, Jaehaerys called upon the great council to decide the matter of succession. Fourteen claims have been brought before the council. Nine lesser claims were quickly discarded.

Archmaester Vaegon the only living son of the old king was passed over due to his vows, and Princess Rhaenys and her daughter Laena were passed over on account of their sex. The assembled lords then focused down on two major candidates: Prince Viserys Targaryen and Rhaenys's son Laenor Velaryon.

Primogeniture favored Laenor, as his mother, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, was the daughter of Prince Aemon Targaryen, who had been the eldest living son of King Jaehaerys. Yet proximity favored Viserys, who, in addition, had been the last Targaryen prince to ride Balerion.

Rhaenys stood proud with her husband Lord Corlys Velaryon and her young children at her side. Viserys along with his pregnant wife rivalled Rhaenys's claim. Despite the fondness the princess held for her cousin she despised him in this moment. She had more of a claim than Viserys but men would sooner put the realm to the torch than crown a woman.

The little girl was seated in her own little throne next to the King, she watching curiously the people before her. The soft giggles of his granddaughter brought Jaehaerys a moment of peace in this troubling moment. He was overly fond of his granddaughter, a sweet and charming babe she was, she reminded him of his first daughter, Daenerys.

In the end, the lords in the realm saw the most importance in having the male line taking precedence over the female line. While the maesters never revealed the actual numbers, it was rumored that Prince Viserys had won by a twenty to one vote.

Begrudgingly Rhaenys's supporters accepted the great council's choice. The realm decided to name Viserys the heir to the Iron Throne and prince of Dragonstone.

...

101 AC Red Keep 

The wise King Jaehaerys threw a great feast in honour of his granddaughters eight name day. No expense was spared, lords from all over the realm gathered in king's landing to attend the celebration.

Little y/n watched curiously from her grandfather's lap. Her little fingers playing with the material of the King's attire.

The king held fondness in his heart for his granddaughter. A happy and lively girl. So much unlike Gael, who cried restlessly. He smiled at the memory of his late daughters.

The six year old clumsily played with her food, she stared at her grandsire and the court before them.

The celebration continued lords and ladies danced, drank and ate their fill. It was almost after the hour of the owl that the guests began to return to their chambers.

"Come little princess, I must show you something."

The old king summoned the commander of the King's guard ser Gyles Morrigen, and ordered a carriage to be prepared at once.

"Your grace it is unwise for you to leave the keep at this time." Ser Gyles said unsure.

"I will hear none of it." The king muttered and the carriage took off towards the dragopit.

The little princess awoke once the carriage stopped at the gates of the dragonpit. She looked around curiously and looked back at her grandsire.

"Zaldrīzes!" The little girl mumbled holding onto the king's clothes. The king nodded and led them to where his steed the bronze fury rested. (Dragons)

"Bring Vermithor." The King ordered the stationed dragon keepers. The bronze fury lazily stepped out of the dragonpit "Issa jorrāelagon raqiros" (my dear friend)

The large beast looked at his rider than at the little girl next to the old King. In turn the girl let go of her grandsire's hand and took confident steps towards the dragon. The King watched curiously, nobody has ever dared to approach his steed with such confidence.

"Mithor!" The girl said, her chubby hands clapped. The bronze fury looked curiously at the little human before him. He laid his large head on the ground next to the baby. "Mithor" The girl repeated, as she was one step away from the beast. With no hesitance, she laid her head on the dragons snout, lightly petting his once shiny scales.

The king looked at the scene before him in awe. The blood of old Valyria was strong in his little princess, a future dragon lord he thought. Just like Aegon the conqueror has been. He watched as his granddaughter talked and petted the bronze fury. His body ached yet he smiled, moments passed in serene silence. But the pain soon became unbearable for the old King.

"Come y/n, we must return." The king said interrupting the bonding of his steed with his grandchild. The girl run up to him obediently, petting Vermithor one last time. The king took little y/n by her hand and returned to the carriage.

"You my grandchild may not have been what was desired but you are no less dear to me." He said to the child "Once I pass your brother will inherit the crown but you my little princess will claim Vermithor. You will make house Targaryen stronger than it has ever been."

...

"Grandsire can you tell me a story?" You pleaded sitting on Jaehaerys's bed, the king smiled.

"What would you wish to hear?" He asked quietly, his voice raspy and hoarse.

"What was grandsire Aegon like?"

"Oh sweet child... I was your age when he died. My father your great grandsire Aenys became King but he wasn't well loved."

"Then your uncle Maegor took the throne after his death." You said quietly.

"Yes, he usurped my elder brother Aegon. But many didn't think that Maegor's accession as treason, they were worried that my brother would be a weak king like our father." Jaehaerys said reminiscing his past "He was King for five years, until his mysterious death."

"Mysterious?" You questioned staring up at your grandsire's face from his lap.

"In the same day as Lord Rogar Baratheon declared me King, Maegor died impaled by the swords of the Iron Throne." The king said "Many believe that the Iron Throne is capable of killing anyone unfit of it."

"Have you ever been cut, grandfather?" You asked curiously.

"I have not, no."

"Was Aegon rejected by the throne?" Your grandsire let out a chuckle and shook his head.

"Aegon built it sweet girl. He was the one that conquered the seven kingdoms."

"Except of Dorne." You added.

"That is true, but we have won four wars against Dorne." Your grandsire noticed you were not convinced "What would you do to bring Dorne under our rule?"

You perked up at his question and thought for a moment.

"War has done nothing to bring Dorne into the seven kingdoms, perhaps a marriage would be more successful." Jaehaerys raised his long silver eyebrows.

"Who would you offer to Dorne?" He questioned curiously.

"Princess Mara has a son Qoren, I would offer an engagement to him as he is the next Prince of Dorne."

"Would you marry him?"

"If it would aid your rule grandfather then yes." You stated confidently.

"Even if you have never met him?"

You nodded cautiously.

"I can get to know him..."

"If you wish I could invite him to court." You smiled and laid down on his lap. "Your great great grandsire would be very proud of you, too smart for your own good."

You smiled up at the wise King as he caressed your hair.

"He was charismatic yet commanding, but many did not know him. His only friend was Orys Baratheon his half-brother. He spoke to my elder brothers Aegon and Viserys and myself of the conquest, of Old Valyria and the Dragonlords before him."

"Like Gaemon the Glorious?" You asked curiously

"Yes sweet girl, in 114 before the conquest he along with his father Aenar and Daenys the dreamer came to Westeros before the doom of old Valyria."

"I wish to know what Valyria was like." You murmured thinking of the ancient civilisation.

"Valyria was filled with Dragonlords, Targaryens were one of the minor houses that populated the peninsula. But through dreams we became the most powerful house in the known world."

As your grandsire told you stories of your ancestors sleep began to take over you.

...

In a month Prince Qoren arrived in the Red Keep, you were giddy to meet the boy. You stood behind your brothers as they welcomed him in the royal courtyard. A blush appeared on your cheeks as you saw the future Prince of Dorne.

"Your highnesses." He bowed his head as he approached you all with his entourage. Rhaenyra giggled as she saw the blush appear on your features.

"Hush." You whispered to her, she snuck out her tongue.

Qoren was not a lot older than you, only five years. Despite being only one and ten he was a handsome boy. Your grandsire to ill to receive his new guest stayed in his chambers, opting for meeting the prince during supper.

"It is a pleasure to be meeting you Prince Qoren." Viserys said, his wife Aemma standing beside him.

"His Grace has invited you to supper this evening." Aemma said leaning on Viserys's shoulder. The boy nodded and smiled.

"A great honour, thank you your highnesses."

You smiled at his charm, you couldn't wait for the supper to begin so you could meet the prince and get to know him.

Daemon however didn't seem too pleased with the Dornishman's presence, he scowled at the prince. You giggled at your brother's obvious resentment towards a boy almost ten years younger. Rhaenyra however was pleased with a new face in court.

"What do you think of him?" Rhaenyra whispered to your ear as Qoren was led away by servants to his new chambers.

"I have not even met him, therefore I cannot say."

"I bet you look forward to meeting him though." She cheekily answered placing her head on your shoulder, you giggled and nodded. Daemon's scowl seemed to grow even bigger.

Quickly hours passed and your maids appeared to dress you. A pale purple dress with wide sleeves and embroidered silver dragons at the side. You smiled gleefully as the maids tied the gown on you. Soon ser Ryam Redwyne knocked on the doors of your chambers to escort you. You smiled seeing the dark haired knight.

"Princess." He bowed his head

"Ser Redwyne." You answered a wide smile on your face "I hope you are doing well."

"With your presence princess I am." The knight answered and led you to the small council chamber where the supper was to take place.

The walk through Maegor's holdfast was quick and quaint, the spare nobles and servants bowed as you walked by them.

You saw that only your grandsire was present, you skipped towards him and placed a kiss on his wrinkled cheek. He smiled seeing you.

"Good morrow y/n" Jaehaerys said placing his bony hand on your silver locks affectionately.

"Where is everyone?" You asked sitting on his left.

"I have asked them to come later." His grace answered and you nodded "I wish to ask you something sweet girl... Do you want to marry?"

You looked a bit dumbfounded at your grandsire.

"One day, as is my duty." You answered

"Your grandmother was the one to arrange marriages for half the realm, I think she would support my intuition... I wish to know what you think of Prince Qoren once the supper is over."

"Certainly." You mumbled your conversation was cut short as the room began to fill. Viserys and his family along with Daemon, the small council along with Rhaenys and her family the last to enter was Prince Qoren himself. He sat next to you as was the King's desire.

"Princess y/n" Qoren said as glanced at you.

"Prince Qoren it is nice to meet you" You mumbled a bit shy. The curly haired boy smiled your way.

"You look very beautiful, princess." He said, a small smile on his lips.

"Thank you, you look very handsome yourself."

Jaehaerys smiled seeing his favourite grandchild happy and laughing. Soon the servants arrived with various dishes ranging from roasted pigs to pies. The cups were full of wine and laughter echoed through the small council chamber.

"Perhaps we could visit the gardens on the morrow?" Qoren asked quietly, you nodded and smiled.

"I would enjoy that very much." You answered, you said your goodbyes with the prince as he returned to your chambers. Feeling a bit tired yourself you decided to retire. The adults drank and laughed.

You laid comfortably in the canopy bed, the cool breeze of spring caressed your covered body. As you were drifting off to sleep you heard shuffling, you glanced around your room the search for the source of the noise.

"Rhaenyra?" You asked as the princess climbed into your bed. "What are you doing here? You should be in your chambers, it is late."

"Do you like him?" Rhaenyra teased and a blush appeared on your cheeks.

"Do I like who?" You answered evading her question. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. You sighed admitting defeat.

"He is nice." You mumbled playing with your fingers. The silver haired princess smiled at your answer.

"Grandsire will be pleased then." Rhaenyra murmured "He found you a husband without much difficulty."

"I am too young to marry Rhaenyra..!" You whispered angrily.

"But you want to marry him if you do then you will become Princess y/n of Dorne!" She sang jumping on your bed.

"What if I want to marry him?"

"Marriage is boring, boys are boring!" She said her brows furrowed and a scowl appeared on her face. "You should stay with me, we would eat cake and listen to songs and dance!"

"But it won't be that way..." You said sadly "Sooner or later you and I will have to marry and produce children."

"I will never ever have children!" Rhaenyra stated crossing her arms as she sat in front of you. "The babies in mama's belly never come and that makes mama and papa sad."

"If you say so Rhaenyra." You said sadly stroking the realm's delight hair. She leaned into your touch and laid next to you, quickly falling asleep. It soon became a habit that Rhaenyra slept in your chambers instead of her own. You did not mind, at night it was awfully quiet in the Red Keep and you felt alone.

"I envy you..." You whispered when you made sure that the silver haired princess fell asleep.

You awoke early the sun was barely over the horizon, Rhaenyra sprawled herself all over your bed. You sighed and covered the girl with blankets and left her to sleep.

The castle was quiet, not wanting to bother your maids you dressed yourself. A burgundy dress with gold vines embroidered on the corsage, the sleeves reached your elbows but the material continued.

Perhaps after breaking fast with your grandsire, you will walk the garden's with Qoren. It was a pleasant thought, at your door stood ser Clement Crabb.

"Ser Clement." You said "Could you please escort me to my grandsire?" You asked politely at the elder knight.

"Of course, princess." He said and walked ahead through Maegor's holdfast.

"y/n?" Jaehaerys asked from his bed as you entered his chambers, the smell of incense abused your nose.

"Good morrow, grandfather." You said happily and skipped towards the old King. "Ser Clement could you ask for breakfast to be brought?"

The knight nodded and left the chambers.

"You seem happy." Jaehaerys stated, as you helped him sit up in his bed, placing sating pillows behind his back.

"I am excited yes. I am to spend the afternoon with Prince Qoren."

"Ah, yes..." The King nodded and smiled. "What do you think of him? Is he worthy?"

"He is... clever and thoughtful." Your voice was thin "I hope to get to know him better today. But I do enjoy his presence and look forward to the stroll."

"That is good, sweet girl. He should be honoured merely by your presence."

"Grandsire!" You chuckled at his grace's boldness.

"I know it will be some time till you are eligible to marry but I wish to give you the choice of a suitor. Gods know that forcing a Targaryen to marry only brings misery."

"Is that why you married grandmother?"

"Precisely little dragon, our mother tried to marry her off to Orryn Baratheon hearing this she came to me and we fled to Dragonstone and wed." Jaehaerys reminisced about the past, the happiest days of his life were spent on Dragonstone with Alysanne.

The servants arrived with plates of fruits and cheeses, oatmeal and pies. Ser Ryam Redwyne helped your grandsire sit in a chair on the balcony of his chambers. You laughed as you ate occasionally helping his grace.

"Your Grace." The Kingsguard interrupted, you stared curiously at the famed knight. "Prince Qoren is here." Jaehaerys nodded and the Dornish man entered.

"Prince Qoren come." He asked and the prince obliged taking a seat on your left. "My granddaughter is very fond of pomegranates... I assume that they grow abundantly in Dorne."

"Oh yes, your grace. After all Dorne is the main export of exotic fruits." The dark haired prince answered a confident smile on his lips. You caught on, your grandsire was a very smart man.

"Grandsire, I think that the fruits that grow in Dorne are not his biggest interest." You mused cutting a piece of a fruit pie.

"As the future prince of Dorne I must be well aquainted with the land I will rule. That includes the fruit." He jested, the king smiled and chuckled. Your Grandsire quickly tiered himself, you helped him to his bed as the servants took away the plates.

"Please help yourself to the leftovers." You said to the servants, they nodded thankfully and left. "Prince Qoren shall we walk to the gardens?"

"As you wish princess." He responded and took you by the arm and you walked to Rhaenys's gardens escorted by Ser Clement.

"Thank you for sparing me the time of day, your highness." Qoren spoke glancing at you with his brown orbs.

"You do not need to be so modest, my prince."

"It is not everyday I get to be graced with the presence of a princess of the realm." You smiled bashfully at Qoren.

"You are too kind."

"I cannot help it, you are perfection itself." Qoren said

"Should I be like my aunt Viserra and simply agree?" You jested, the dark haired boy chuckled.

"I would not blame you princess."

You strolled comfortably through the gardens of the red keep. The prince proved to be wonderful company, charming and funny.

"Your Highness I know that we are much too young." The prince began taking your hand in his "But I would be honoured if you considered me as a potential husband." A bit appaled and flustered you simply nodded. The prince smiled bashfully and kissed your hand.

A few letters were exchanged between King Jaehaerys and Princess Mara. The fruit of these negotiations became the betrothal of Prince Qoren Martell and Princess y/n Targaryen. If the pair were to conceive a child, Dorne would officially become a part of the seven Kingdoms. Without war or conquest the wise King, the Conciliator managed to complete the work of his grandsire. But it wouldn't happen if it weren't for his beloved grandchild, princess y/n.

Prince Qoren stayed at court for many moons but word has spread that his mother Princess Mara has fallen ill. Worried for his mother he decided to return back to the south. Tears glossed over your eyes as you learnt that Qoren had to leave.

"Do not cry princess." He said as you stared bitterly at the ground.

"I am not crying." You stubbornly said, Qoren laughed at your words.

"I will see you soon, y/n."

"Promise me you'll be back." You whispered taking the boys hand, a small smile appeared on his thin lips.

"I promise." He said and placed a kiss to your cheek, tears dropped from your red orbs as you engulfed Qoren into a hug. "We will marry soon princess and then I will never leave your side."

"Promise it! Promise it on the old Gods and the new." You said strongly into his chest.

"I Prince Qoren of House Martell, future Prince of Dorne promise by the old Gods and the new that we will marry and that I will never leave your side until the stranger comes."

"I Princess y/n of House Targaryen, promise by the old Gods and the new that I will be by your side until the stranger comes." You said your vows after letting Qoren go.

"Goodbye, princess." He whispered and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

You watched as he climbed on his sand steed, salty tears stained your cheeks as you watched him leave.

...

102 AC Red Keep

When the bells rung, maids and guards kept y/n away from her grandsire's chambers.

The king is dead.

Tears flowed from the red orbs of the Targaryen Princess. The halls around her felt suffocating, silence rang in her ears. She stared intently at the doors of her grandsire's chambers.

y/n ran from the stench of death and yet it followed her. The cold feeling of the stranger hot on her tail. Before she knew it, her feet had taken her to the stables. She quickly jumped on a horse that was closest to her. Without a saddle she galloped through the busy streets of King's Landing. Even in the hour of the eel, the laughter of whores and lords echoed through the city.

Tears streamed down y/n's ample cheeks. She saw the dome of the dragonpit. Easily evading the dragon keepers she snuck into the many caves of the structure, easily finding her way to the bronze fury. It was as if she was simply following after a thread. Knowing where he was despite not stepping a foot in the dragon pit before.

"Vermithor?" y/n asked looking around the vast cave littered with bones, a deep grumble made her turn her gaze. The bronze fury rested on the ground, his nostrils expelled smoke. The dragon instantly stared at the girl before him. Without a second though she threw herself at Vermithor's snout petting his horns.

"māzigon, ivestragī īlva sōvegon hēnkirī" y/n pleaded her cheek pressed against his bronze scales. Vermithor roared, one wing moved then the other, his maw opened and closed. y/n looked expectantly at the bronze fury. When the beast lowered his head in her direction she smiled and climbed atop of the old steed of her grandsire. (come, let us fly together)

"Ivestragī's jikagon, Vermithor!" The dragon roared and rised from his position moving expertly among the many corridors of the dragonpit. When the light of the moon reached her eyes she laughed excitedly. Taking Vermithors reins and deepening her seat in the brown and gold saddle. "Sōves, Vermithor!" (Let's go! Fly!)

The beast roared and spread his wings, taking flight. The dragon keepers shouted and exclaimed as they noticed the bronze fury leaving the dragonpit, atop his back the little princess laughed and smiled at the people under her. The dragon took off and y/n screamed with happiness.

Grandsire I have done what you told me. I have claimed Vermithor.

While the bells rung signalising King's Jaehaerys's death the city watched as the bronze fury circled the Red Keep. Golden fire escaping it's maw.

...

The body of the wise and beloved King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm laid wrapped in cloth at the burning pyre. Vermithor looked on from the hills at the royal funeral. The high Septon said his prayers in honour of the late King. Thousands of nobles and small folk gathered to witness the funereal of the beloved King.

"May he rest with his sister wife Queen Alysanne and their many children. The god's blessed their union and King Jaehaerys's rule. We are surrounded by the fruits of his labour."

y/n looked on with sad eyes at the pyre before her. The body of her beloved grandsire wrapped in cloth. Her gaze travelled from her cousins to her brothers. She examined their saddened expressions. Then she looked at the bronze fury, he too looked sad, his dark eyes focused on the corpse of his former rider.

"y/n, my sweet it is time." The new Queen Aemma whispered to her sister in law. The seven year old looked at the silver haired woman and nodded. The little princess let go of Rhaenyra hand and stepped forward.

"Dracarys"

Vermithor roared and his throat begun to bubble with fire. The dragon breathed at the pyre. The flames delicately caressed y/n cheek, the same way Jaehaerys used to do. Salty tears flowed from the red eyes of the little princess.

The princess y/n Targaryen became the youngest dragon rider in recorded history. On the same night as her grandsire passed she secretly mounted the bronze fury at just eight years of age. This only shows the bond that y/n held with the dragon. -From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

[jacespookiebear]

ೃ࿐ 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 5

summary : you are the youngest daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Arryn. Outlived your mother and your older twin brother, Baelon, in childbirth. You were titled as (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen.

pairing : jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings : incest, tension, sexual content, age gap (reader is about 3-4 years older), jace is about a year older in this fic, misogyny, self-harm, violence, angst, teen pregnancy, birth, meraxes is alive and thriving with vhagar :D

Masterlist

“Hush now, Princess,” Lysanna tried her best to console you as you kept spurting tears. You blew into the tissue she gave you. “You were only frustrated..” you were all back on Dragonstone from Driftmark, except for the Ser Laenor, who was murdered, in his own home and in his father’s hall. Not only were your nephews grieving over their father’s death but you all had just came back from the wedding ceremony of Daemon and Rhaenyra. The Old Valyria wedding put all kind of emotions on the children’s faces, especially Daemon’s daughters. You and Lysanna certainly had no clue on what to feel. But you weren’t crying about that, it has been over a few weeks since you told your step-mother a heavy lie, it had you refuse to even look or speak to your nephew, Jace, ever since.

“And what of my nephew?!” you lifted your head to face Lysanna, who frowned and could not speak another word. “He will forever curse me once he finds out! He will hate me..” you continued to sob and sneeze into the tissue. Rhaenyra was there, hearing of it all. She wasn’t mad at all, no, she was quite contented! But had worried for you, of course.

Though, she had thought it was wrongful to put yourself and her family in a bad position with Alicent. Daemon thought you were fussing over nothing. Honestly, the couple wouldn’t mind if you were to be betrothed to the eldest son, your bond with Jace reassured Rhaenyra that it would be a marriage of eternal happiness and love. “Sister, stop your cries. I had no idea you had thought of Jace as a potential suitor.” She lightly chuckled. You scoffed at her comment, but said nothing . The corners of her lips lifted and her eyes glint with wonder, “Jace would never hate you. In fact, I believe this is what he always wanted.”

You got up from your chair to circle around your lady-in-waiting and your sister, clearly getting ready to rant some more. “You don’t understand!” you choked on your tears and gave yourself another break to breathe, like what Lysanna told you to. “I said a lie..a lie that is utterly unacceptable! Jacaerys said it himself—if he was to be betrothed, it would be out of duty not out of love!” you continued as the two listens, “And I have been ignoring the poor boy..I’m the worst person to have ever lived in the Realm..”

“Stop that nonsense now, Y/n,” Rhaenyra ordered, and suddenly there was a knock on your chamber doors and it began to swing, you quickly ran out of the view and under your bed:

“It must be Jace! I can’t look at him in the eye!”

You heard Rhaenyra groan at the way you hid so quickly, Lysanna laughing at the scene. Jace entered the chambers, with a frantic look on his face.

“Mother,” he muttered, turning to look around the room and once he was done, he frowned at his unsuccess. “have you seen the Princess? I searched the entire castle for her. We have not spoken since..I am worried..” you felt your heart break at his words and tone.

“My darling boy,” Rhaenyra smiled, she and Lysanna exchanged a look to each other before continuing, “I heard she might be in the gardens..but before you go, you must answer me truthfully.“

Jace stared back at his mother and gave a slight nod, wondering what she wanted to ask. He was worried it was a question concerning the Princess, you.

“Are you upset with the Princess?”

The question made Jace blink in confusion. He wondered where did his mother get the impression that he was in distress. But to answer her, he shook his head, “No. Why would I be?” he asked, curiously. Rhaenyra only smiled in return and slightly shrugged her shoulders,

“No reason,” your sister said, “be sure to tell your aunt.” Jace nodded and pardoned himself to leave the chambers, continuing his mission to look for you before having to go back to his studies with your uncle, Daemon. Once he left, you slid out from under your bed and heard Lysanna continue her laughing fit, you gave her a glare in return.

Rhaenyra got up from her seat and had plan to leave but before she could, she turned to look over to you, “You should go to him. Talk to him—he will understand. If you want my truth, I believe Jacaerys would be the perfect suitor for you.”

Your sister gave you a smile before she walked out. You bit your lip in frustration, she was possibly right. Lysanna helped you off the floor, quickly fixing your hair before you excused her to go find the twins and Luke to play in the library like always. After some time of hesitation, you finally walked through the halls of the castle and went outside to the gardens to find your nephew. Finding him was easy as he was near Meraxes, who was laying next to the trees, resting.

Your nephew looked rather stubborn when he couldn’t see you anywhere near your dragon but his face was quickly lit up when you approached him. “Princess!” he ran up to you, Meraxes slightly lifted her head and let out a huff, it was a sign that she missed your presence.

“Forgive me, my Prince,” you fiddled with your sleeves, you gave Jace a neutral smile. He looked confused for why you were apologizing, “These past few days…I have left you in the shadows..”

Jace nodded in agreement but held no ill feelings towards you. He watched as you began to pick at your skin once again and stopped you before your skin could turn red. “You must hate me.”

“I do not,” he answered, “I have missed you.”

“What a sweet reassurance.” You dryly confessed.

“You’re troubled,” Jace noted, curiously. “I wish to help you if only you tell me.” You hesitated to speak once more but Rhaenyra’s words clouded your thoughts and you grew more confident.

You gave your nephew a genuine smile and signaled him to walk with you through the gardens. “I am to be betrothed.” Jace quickly whipped his head to the side to look at you, panic spread all over his face. He did not look happy, not one bit.

“To whom?!”

“Well—many great houses had offered their sons’ to me. Uncle certainly had enjoyment in declining every offer,” you explained, “he says no lord deserves the hand of the Realm’s Beauty.”

Jace, still not convinced, he bore an emotionless expression as you finished speaking. “Are you to marry a Martell?” he asked, you shook your head once again. You were making his head spin, then who were you supposed to marry?

“It is my duty to tell you the truth,” you begun. You let out a deep breath and took Jace’s hands into yours, “I had whispered such lies about us and for that, I am terribly sorry, my sweet nephew,” the anticipation left Jace very impatient and nervous, “I have spoken on your behalf to the Queen…we would be married..” after the long line of silence, certainly you expected a harsh shove and a angered expression but instead he tightened his grip on your hands.

“I will do my best to honor you, my Princess. I am relieved to hear you say those words.”

You shook your head at his words, surely he was only saying those out of duty. You wanted his honest feelings. “Please do not lie. It was my fault, it is not my place to speak wrongfully about you and for that I am terribly sorry.”

Jace grumbled at how you pulled away. “It does not matter,” he says, “I am quite contented to know you want us to be betrothed…are you?”

His question burned into your head, you did not know how to feel or what to say. You are happy to know that your nephew was on your side, that you do not need to marry a high lord from a great house. House Baratheon and House Lannister were amongst them and were rather desperate for your hand, your uncle tells you—from the many letters they sent and offers they bargained to the King. Rhaenyra had liked the decision of offering your hand to the new Warden of the North—Cregan Stark, he was around the same age as you and is a capable fighter. But you were happy enough to know you would marry your nephew, he would make you happy and is a noble boy who has respect and honor unlike your brother, Aegon.

“I am happy.” you insisted, truthfully. 



To your answer, Jace looked relieved and sighed happily. He gave you a smile and you both continued to walk together while he began holding onto your hand.

That settles, you thought. You will marry Jacaerys.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As times have passed, 2 years to be exact, very quickly. You had just turned ten-and-seventh and your betrothed certainly had many plans in mind for his ten-and-fourth nameday that was coming up. Rhaenyra had decided to let the celebrations be held in King’s Landing, to the King’s requests. The halls of where meetings were held, you sat in front of your sister and uncle who had continued making preparations for your wedding. Your betrothed was running late, Lysanna had informed you that he slept late last night.

“I had already requested for an Old Valyrian wedding,” you reminded for the hundredth time. Your uncle, Daemon was all on board for it, you are a Targaryen and you must stick to traditions. “I do not wish to be married under the Seven. I do not believe in the Seven. This is my marriage, remind the Queen of that.”

Rhaenyra tapped on the wooden table, she received word from the Queen that she would like to also be part of the planning of your wedding. She wished for you to have a wedding under the Seven, with all the Great Houses present, but you wanted an Old Valyrian wedding. For years, you planned for your wedding to be held under the great traditions of your house. Rhaenyra was rather frustrated to be in the middle of your quarrel with your step mother but of course, Daemon found it amusing.

Your elder sister let out a tired sigh, she leaned into her seat. Although she sided with you but the Queen had very much insisted on this matter. “I understand, sister. But I have tried to reason with the Queen. I shall talk more on the matter when we arrive to King’s Landing for Jace’s nameday.” as she finished, the doors opened and your lady-in-waiting, Lysanna, arrived with a handful of letters.

“My Princess, I brought the letters that you had asked for,” she announced and you ushered her to come closer. The letters that you had Lysanna prepare to send across to the North, to her brother, the lord of Winterfell. Letting Lord Stark know you were arriving to visit Winterfell after your wedding. You’ve been planning to have a trip in the North for years now and you made sure to also bring Lysanna. She had shown to be grateful to visit her brother after years of being apart.

“Very well, Liz,” you spoke happily, you looked over at the letters with content and they were all beautifully written. Lysanna was known to be very proud of her penmanship, since she had become learning how to write, her main duties were to write all the letters that were to be sent from Dragonstone. “Have a raven send them off. And with our preparations..let us be finished, sister, I shall retrieve to my chambers.” you wished, with a nod from your sister, you had left your seat. As you left, Lysanna stayed behind to talk with Rhaenyra and Daemon about the continued demand letters from House Lannister, it’s been years since Rhaenyra announced your betrothal to Jacaerys Velaryon and yet, House Lannister had still insisted on offering Jason Lannister’s hand.

With each step towards your chambers, you grew more irritated. Irritated towards your step-mother, who wouldn’t take no for answer. You felt yourself grow mad everyday. As though you are in Dragonstone, miles away from King’s Landing, your step-mother still found a way to have a say in every decision you tried to make.

With you occupied in your own thoughts, you suddenly felt large but strong hands wrapped around your torso and pulled you inside in a room— a room that looked to be Jace’s chambers. Letting out a loud gasp, you heard a chuckle. Once you turned, you saw your betrothed. He was dressed in his training attire. Jace had grown so much, he grown to be more taller and bigger. His looks are more defined and mature, no longer possessing those chubby cheeks you had always squished when he was younger. But Jace could say the same about you.

You always were beautiful, but still you had changed, a lot. Your hair grew more longer and fuller. The curls appeared to be tighter with the years that had passed. Certainly he had watched your breasts and hips mature as well, you no longer had the ability to wear the dresses you had owned since you were twelve. Rhaenyra had the seamstress make you a whole closet filled of gowns after your ten-and-fifth nameday. Now you mainly wear blue and purple gowns to honor your betrothed’s house. You had still worn red and black gowns from time to time, though, you missed wearing white. It was a color that suited you better than any color, everyone in the Kingdom would agree.

“Ñuha hūra qēlossās,” Jace cupped your face, with your frustrations still bubbling inside you, you moved away from his touch. Noticing on your behavior, he did not urge to touch you again, wanting to respect you. “my apologies for not arriving at the planning..”

“You said you would make an effort in attending.” you remembered. As much as you loved Jace, you couldn’t help but feel a little unsure in this betrothal. Making your way near his window sill, you could feel Jace’s presence behind you.

He sighed, sitting on the couch that was nearby instead of being right by your side. He wanted you to come to him when you were ready. “Indeed I have..promised...” he knew he screwed up. You were already so tense about the whole wedding and to make it even worse, he couldn’t show up to the preparations.

Silence covered the room, it went by slowly. Jace was impatient, he wanted you to speak. To break the silence. To break the awkward atmosphere in the room. But you continued to look out the window, you watched Meraxes fly freely in the sky, Vermax closely following behind. The two became inseparable year after year, the ill tempered dragon grew more comfortable around the company of the Silver Queen. A small memory clouded your mind, one where you had to apologize profusely to the dragonkeepers who were in charge of Vermax, receiving angry roars and scratches from him whenever forced to be separated from Meraxes. You remembered being so mad at Jace who only laughed at the situation when you explained it to him.

“It appears Vermax shares the same love I have for you, for Meraxes.” Jace had once said to you. The words stuck with you ever since, unsure how to feel or what to say. It was possibly true for a dragon to share the emotions with their dragonrider.

“She wishes for us to be married under the Seven,” you muttered, confessing what is on your mind. Lifted your head to turn to look over at Jace, “who knows what else she wishes..next she will force our children to bear names that are not suitable for Velaryons..”

Jace let out a soft laugh. The thought of your children together— makes him fill with joy, though he does not show it. “I shall agree with her,” furrowed your brows at what he had said. He continued, “our children would be Targaryens.”

“Ñuha vēzos, you are a Velaryon.”

“Not when I ascend the Iron Throne.”

He is right. Once he is crowned King, he will bear the name Targaryen, meaning your children will start bearing the name Targaryen as well. Making you remember that your firstborn would inherit the Iron Throne after Jacaerys and so would their firstborn. Even when time will pass, you still could not wrap your head around those facts,

“If it bothers you, Princess, then we can name them after dragons.” the thought of having your children be named “Balerion” or “Vermithor” made you giggled. Your mind no longer remembering your anger towards Alicent but now you were ecstatic and in a good mood— all because of your future husband.

“Even if you had forgotten about your husbandly duties,” you turned your body away from the window and moved towards Jace, “you were able to help me forget all about my troubles.” you sat on the couch and moved closer to him.

“Thank you.” you whispered into his ear. Jace gently held onto your arms and wrapped them over his shoulders for you. You breathed in his scent as a way to calm your nerves. Perhaps you were wrong. In your eyes, you made the right decision in choosing Jacaerys to be your future husband, the future father to your children.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I feel like this chapter was a little more shorter than the others😒 I’m sorry about the delays. School is rough!! I was having trouble with how the story should continue but I’m adding more and more plot cus I love this fic so much it’s like my baby right now.

taglist (woohoo!): @sigynxlokiwifelover @l-3-e @audigay @urmomsgirlfriend1 @cold-v0dka @cookielovesbook-akie @theoriginalwife000 @xoxovenusquinn(would not let me tag u:( @ghalakgx (would not let me tag:( @neenieweenie @classysassynabitsmartassy @generousbearwolflight @gariben @si1versamurai @deltamoon666 @aemondssiut (would not let me tag u:( @thelastemzy @ryantryan6969 @topazy @starogeorgina @infinitleyethereal @speedypeter @dramaroomrat @potatolady189 (would not let me tag u:(

[syndrossi]

I have the mother of all migraines right now, so I have nothing constructive to say, really, except that I imagine having an evil candle mess around in your brain provides amazing headaches as well. I feel for Daemon if this is true and wish him all the luck in finding a remedy. Excellent chapter, full of torture for poor Daemon. I really was like, "Oh my God, Syndrossi DID IT," when I realized Daemon was about to see how the twins died in their original universes and mistake it as a prophetic vision of how they may/will die in the future. Poor guy can only put so many pictures together when provided this limited amount of confusing puzzle pieces!! I'd like to eventually hear more of his thoughts on: - his eldest son being commander of the night's watch - WHY his eldest son is even a member of the night's watch - his youngest son being killed by a BARATHEON of all things - why House Baratheon is fighting House Targaryen forces - wtf where are all the dragons, no way should Rhaegar OR Jon be ANYWHERE without their DRAGONS, let alone without back up dragons from the rest of the family during a war/battle!? <--- in a bits and pieces and fuzzy memories or in eventual memories coming back to him sort of way or even in waking up terrified because NIGHTMARE in the middle of the night sort of way (wherein his sons provide comfort in cuddles and forehead kisses!) And Jon/Rhaegar's thoughts on: - candle consequences reflecting in Daemon's behavior - when they realize what happened: wtf why did daemon let the candle get him THEY WARNED HIM - oh no what did the candle do to their father - how to DESTROY THE CANDLE ONCE AND FOR ALL ... also, do you think if he complained of a headache or even just looked like he had a headache, Jon and Rhaegar would wrestle him into bed and turn out the sconces/close the curtains and cuddle him until he fell asleep?

If Daemon is king of anything, it's king of having only half the puzzle pieces he needs to ever meaningfully connect the dots, if I may mangle some metaphors. Enough clues from the boys' behavior to determine they had rough childhoods, but the only answer is "Allard." Enough clues from the vision to determine "death awaits!" but not "my children were reincarnated...from the future."

You'll get a lot of the Jon+Rhaegar reactions in the next chapter, so it's really whether enough pieces come back to Daemon to ruminate upon what the heck Jon was doing as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, what in the seven hells House Baratheon is up to, and WHERE THE FUCK his sons' dragons are. Someone else brought up that one thing he could conclude is that Shadow and Qelebrys are stolen/killed young, which, ya know, just one more thing for Daemon to be paranoid about.

I think the biggest puzzle would be why Rhaegar would agree to be separated from Jon rather than demand to go into the Night's Watch with him, and the conclusion would be that something/someone is coercing them. Does Jon accept exile to spare Rhaegar in some way? In the civil war later, does Rhaegar fight on the same side as the ruler who exiled Jon to the Night's Watch? If so, why? (Daemon thought he must be dead, but the true nightmare is if he thinks that HE'S the hostage, and he does outlive both sons.)

And to soften things a little, I've got a sweet little "Daemon with a headache" missing scene almost ready to post.

[dominadespina]

LAZAREVIC SISTERS II

Princess Dragana Lazarevic 

Early Life

She was born as the second out of five daughters of Lazar of Serbia with his wife; Milica. Her date of birth might be around the late-1350s or early-1360s. 

She is the namesaker of her paternal aunt; Dragana Hrebeljanović, the wife of a man named Musa.  She was likely born and raised in Prilepac with her eldest sister; Mara, before moving to Krusevac. 

Not much is recorded or known about her early or later life, but most people believe her to be the second wife of Emperor Ivan Shishman. 

Marriage to…….. Shishman

A lot of Serbian sources are divided about the identidy of her husband, but he certainly was an imperial representative of the Shishman family, and they married around 1386. 

Though Nikola Giljen, mentions her as the wife of Emperor Ivan Shishman, this seems highly unlikely, as Ivan was executated in June 3rd of 1395, and later that year in September, Dragana’s mother; Milica (Now Nun Eugenia) met with the fraternal council of the St. Paptelejmona monastery to discuss financial support that should be given to her daughters in case of poverty in widowhood. 

Nowhere does it mention the recent widowhood of one of her daughters, it can then be concluded that she is not the second wife of Ivan Sishman, but instead the wife of his eldest son; Aleksander Shishman. 

The confusion of her husband’s identidy might be due to the fact that Ivan Shishman proclaimed his eldest son; Aleksander as co-ruler and so by their marriage right both Dragana and Ivan Shishman’s second wife were referred to as “Empress Consorts.”

Nonetheless, nothing is known about the relationship she shared with her husband. Like most royal marriages at the time, it had more to do with the union of two houses into a paternership than a privy love affair. 

As Turks

In 1393, Sultan Bayezid Han conquered Trpovo on July 17. Ivan and his family were captured, it does seems like Dragana was one of the family members who were captured. 

In 1395, Ivan Shishman was executed by order of Sultan Bayezid. In the meantime Aleksander converted to Islam (It is unknown if Dragana converted with him) and became Iskender. Bayezid showed mercy to his kin and put him in a position of power, Iskender became the governer of an area near the Black Sea and was now referred to as "Iskender Bey". 

Later Life 

Nothing is known about the later life of Dragana, after 1395 Serbian sources lost track of her.

Wether or not she outlived her husband is unknown, but if she did this might confirm that she did in fact convert to Islam along side her husband and became Turk, which is why she never returned home; to Serbia.

Issue

There are no known decsendants of either Iskender Bey or Dragana. 

( Sources: “КЋЕРИ КНЕЗА ЛАЗАРА ИСТОРИЈСКА СТУДИЈА ПОГОВОР” by Jelka Redep, Dve srpske sultanije : Olivera Lazarevic (1373-1444) : Mara Brankovic (1418-1487) by Nikola Giljen )

[eponastory]

Beads

There was silence all around Zuko as he sat alone by the turtle-duck pond. The sky was filled with rainclouds, but not a single drop had fallen just yet. Still, he could feel it brewing, gathering up in the sky just like in his old soul. The deep feeling of nostalgia that came and went with every breath always called up memories of times that he cherished.

Times with the only friends he had ever had and then the woman he loved more than life itself.

He was the last one now. Somehow, he outlived them all. It was not supposed to be this way, but as time kept ticking on, his body refused to give up on life. All he had was memories that were slowly fading in detail as the days, weeks, and months went on.

"Grandfather?" His silence was interrupted by his grandson, Iroh. He cracked his unblemished eye open and grunted at the halt in his thoughts. "It's about to rain. Mother said you need to go inside before it starts pouring down." Izumi was not one to fret over him in public, but behind closed doors, she was on him about his health.

"I'll be fine. I don't mind the rain." Zuko closed his eye and took in a deep breath before settling himself again. Rain made him think of her when she was much younger, alive, and full of fury. "It brings back memories."

"I don't think Mother sees it that way." He could hear Iroh crossing his arms. His grandson was so much like him in so many ways, yet there was a lot of his grandmother in him too. The way he sighed reminded Zuko of her so much. "I also think Uncle Koda said something about a game of Pi Sho later." His eldest son was only in the Fire Nation for a little while for some trade agreement or something like that.

"Tell, them both I will be in soon if they are that worried about me." Zuko told his grandson.

Then he was left in peace again with his memories.

It was Zuko's idea to have four children, but how she had gone along with that idea was beyond him. All four of their children were bothersome now, but he still loved them and made sure they had everything they needed even though he had little to give them now.

As soon as Izumi was old enough and able to take on the mantle of Fire Lord, Zuko was quick to relinquish it. After the formalities and Izumi's coronation, he took his wife on a very long trip across the world. Just the two of them traveling alone had brought back a new flame of love between them. Of course, at this point, Zuko's hair was only graying at his temples. Katara's on the other hand, had yet to show any change.

"Let me braid your hair." He felt her hand on his bare shoulder as he sat at the edge of their bed. They had been in the South Pole for a total of four days when she decided to buy some carved whalebone beads.

"Why?" He turned his head to look at her with his eyebrow raised. He knew that look on her face when he saw it. "You're up to something."

"Can I not braid my husband's hair for once?" She had already grabbed a lock of his graying hair behind his good ear with her other hand. "I just want to braid it."

"Fine." Zuko sighed out before she slapped his arm playfully earning his glare.

"You're so grumpy today. Is it because we have to go home in a few weeks?" Katara asked as she stood on her knees behind him and started on a small braid. "We could stay as long as we want."

"I'm fine with going home. We have grandchildren that require our attention." He thought about his young granddaughter, Saya, who was only four years old and her younger brother Kai. If there was anything Zuko loved more than his children, it was his grandchildren.

"Then why are you grumpy?" If Katara did not know him so well, he would say he was fine, but he knew better than to deny her. "You've been in a mood all morning."

"It's your brother." He felt a tug on the braid she was working on.

"What did Sokka do this time?" There was a huff from behind him as she pulled on the braid again, only a little harder this time. "Don't tell me he wants to take you hunting, we all know what happened last time."

"He wants to 'sword bend' again." There was a giggle from his wife as she slid her fingers up the newly made braid. "In front of everyone."

"I'll make sure to hide his boomerang this time, if it makes you feel better." He felt her thread the braid through something before tying it off and letting it hang on his shoulder. "There, all done."

He picked up the new braid to see what she had done to it and found she had threaded three whalebone beads onto it. One of them carved with a dragon like Druk that sat between two lotus beads. Zuko looked at her when she wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Happy Birthday." She kissed him on his cheek. "I love you."

When he felt the first drop of rain on his cheek, he opened his eyes with his fingers wrapped around the beads still hanging in the braid she had woven together years ago.

How he missed her.

[gutfaced]

𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋: 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 & 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

been thinking of haymitch and his many many dead family members. such is the way of the most tragic victor of district 12 and most doomed.. !!! note: anyone alive has either a strained relationship with him or a lack of one at all. as the sarvers (linnea, perry and keene) all have unsuspecting surnames, their deaths are avoided.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐘𝐒

Vella Abernathy — Mother of Hasil Abernathy, dies from grief circa her son’s execution. DECEASED

Ritter Abernathy — Father of Hasil Abernathy & husband to Vella Abernathy, survives past his son’s death and eventually dies of old age. DECEASED

↑ lack of connection to haymitch himself

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

Peregrine “Perry” Sarver — Mother of Cassia & Linnea Sarver, alive during the 74th Games. (Strained relationship) ALIVE

Keene Sarver — Father of Cassia and Linnea Sarver, dies during the firebombing of Twelve. DECEASED

↑ primary grandparents

Linnea “Daphne” Sarver-Harshaw — Sister of Cassia Abernathy, alive during and after the 74th Games (rekindles relationship with Haymitch post-war.) ALIVE

Stat Harshaw — Husband to Linnea Sarver, alive during and after the 74th Games. Surrogate father to Haymitch during his 18-20s and onwards. ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ

↑ biological aunt

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐘𝐒

Cassia Abernathy (nee Sarver) — Mother of Haymitch & Kipley Abernathy, murdered in a private interview screening alongside her youngest son to a firing squad arranged by President Snow. Buried alongside her son within a mausoleum in Twelve funded by Haymitch. DECEASED

Hasil Abernathy — Father of Haymitch & Kipley Abernathy and husband to Cassia Abernathy, executed via public whipping amidst mining strikes / charges for illegal hunting. DECEASED

↑ biological parents

Haymitch Abernathy — Eldest son of Cassia & Hasil Abernathy, older brother to Kipley Abernathy. Outlives the majority of his bloodline and is the last to carry the surname. ALIVE

Kipley “Kip” Abernathy — Youngest son of Cassia & Hasil Abernathy, younger brother to Haymitch Abernathy. Murdered in a private interview screening alongside his mother to a firing squad arranged by President Snow. Buried alongside her within a mausoleum in Twelve funded by Haymitch. DECEASED

↓ haymitch's late girlfriend

𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

“Junia” Arlene Meadowfair — Daughter of Mrs. & Mr. Meadowfair (District 12’s Mayor,) and girlfriend to Haymitch Abernathy. Dies in a train accident alongside her family while returning home, orchestrated by President Snow after being invited to the Capitol. DECEASED

[bbygirl-aemond]

Cursed Targaryen Names

Hello everyone! I think by this point we've all heard the theory that the name Visenya is cursed in ASoIaF, and I recently received this ask here that drew my attention to the fact that the name Aegon doesn't have the greatest track record, either. One realization later, and I arrived at my new theory: All three names from the Conquering trio have been cursed. Maybe by Visenya (I hope by Visenya). So let's go through what happens to all the poor kids that get saddled with these names, shall we?

Visenya

Visenya, who Rhaenyra wanted as a sister when Aemma was pregnant, but who was actually a boy named Baelon. Still, at one point Rhaenyra had declared the baby's name would be Visenya. As we all know, the baby died, and took its mother with it.

Visenya, the stillborn daughter of Rhaenyra. Born with birth defects, with scales on her skin, and with a tail.

Aegon

Aegon the Uncrowned, who was usurped by his uncle Maegor despite being the trueborn and eldest son of the late king, and who was later killed by Maegor at just seventeen.

Aegon, son of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, who died three days after he was born

Aegon, son of Baelon and Alyssa, whose birth killed his mother and who died days before his first birthday, also managing to ruin Viserys and Daemon's childhood

Aegon II, who watched all of his siblings and most of his children die before him in a war they were forced into, who spent his final years disfigured and in agony, and who died in his twenties

Aegon III, who traumatically lost his dragon and thought he'd abandoned his brother to die, whose older half-brothers all died, who watched his mother be eaten alive as a child, and who spent the rest of his life depressed as a result

Aegon IV, who was probably actually insane

Aegon V, who killed not only himself but also his own children and heir in his desperation to uncover the magic of the dragons in the Tragedy at Summerhall

And finally, poor baby Aegon, whose head was bashed in against a wall in front of his mother, Elia

Rhaenys

Rhaenys, daughter of Aemon and Jocelyn, who outlived her two beloved children and was burned alive after being sent on a suicide mission by the same woman she thought killed her son

Rhaenys, the three-year-old daughter of Elia and Rhaegar, who was ripped from beneath her bed and stabbed to death so viciously that Tywin Lannister had to cover her body with a cloak before presenting her to the King.

Also, as a note, there's one instance of one of these three names popping up pre-Conquest: Aegon Targaryen, son of Gaemon and Daenys, who happily married his sister, ruled Dragonstone, and passed it down to his son with no problems. Whose children all survived to adulthood, whose wife did not die in childbirth, and who is not noted to have a particularly gruesome death. This just adds to my theory that this name was not cursed pre-Conquest hehe.

[cats-of-eden-valley]

name: Amaranth

pride: Goldspring

role: Matron

age: Geriatric

sex: Molly

traits: Sharp, observant, hardworking

------

siblings: Ixia, Ash

1stlitter: Arbutus

grandkittens: Jasmine, Meadowsweet

------

• Currently the oldest living cat in the Valley. Most cats can't even remember a time when Amaranth wasn't senior.

• She's the eldest of her mother's first litter. Sickness infested the nursery, and Amaranth's littermate died, while Ama herself lost vision in her left eye.

• Her mother had a second litter with a daughter and son: Ixia and Ash.

• The year Amaranth had her first litter, the Ninth Blink ran long and the rains were late, the first instance to occur in her lifetime. From a burgeoning litter of four, she lost all but one: Arbutus.

• She wasn't very involved in his care, and quickly returned to her duties, distancing herself from him.

• A few years after Arbutus was born, Amaranth's mother retired and Ama became matron. Despite the looming future of her family losing the spot if she didn't have a daughter, she decided not to have a second litter.

• Her sister, Ixia, tried twice to have a litter, hoping that she would have a daughter and save Ama from the burden. Unfortunately, her first litter died during and after a difficult birth, one that Ixia took many blinks to recover from.

• Both Amaranth and Ash, who had become a healer, asked Ixia to save her health and not true try again, but Ixia insisted her first was a fluke. Despite her optimism, she later died alongisde her second litter.

• Amaranth was Speaker for a time, but she didn't want to be forever. The previous Speaker, Chrysanthemum, retired before her daughter, Tamarack, had children, and though she convinced the pride, and Ama, to let Tam be a matron, they refused to have her as Speaker. They would only compromise with Amaranth being temporary, and then later choosing between Cypress and Tam.

• Save for Arbutus, Amaranth outlived her entire family. She retired in her later years, well after most do, but decided to maintain her status as Matron "until she breathes her last breath."

• When Arbutus retired, they finally struck up a bond, not as mother and son but as peers who'd seen it all. Amaranth learned from him that two kittens adopted by Arbutus's friend, Aster, were actually his illicit children had with a Windswept molly.

• This prompted her to choose Jasmine as her heir, especially as Jas becomes pregnant with her own first litter.

• Numerous injuries, including falls, broken bones, and the scarring and clouding of her remainder eye have taken their toll on Amaranth. She doesn't wander far these days, and struggled the past year to keep up during the move to the Waking Holt. In hushed whispers, many speculate that this may be her final year.

[lovedreamer11]

Westeros couples with large age gaps

Okay, today I want to write about the age gap among Westeros couples. This will be a long post. I got this idea after seeing a post calling Daemon a pedophile for the hundredth time. I would understand if this was written by people who are concerned about Rhaenyra’s well-being, but no. The authors of such statements are most often green fans who don’t care about Rhaenyra and are looking for another reason to write nasty things about Daemon.

The sexual relationship between Daemon and Rhaenyra began when the princess was 15 and the prince 31. From a modern point of view, this is terrible, I admit. If I had a daughter, I would never have allowed her to have a relationship with such a big age difference when she was 15. But at that time, others were more embarrassed by the fact of an extramarital affair than by the fact of an extramarital affair. age difference. Rhaenyra was lucky in a way. I mean, before the war, Daemon was good to her. They spent a lot of time together, expensive gifts, compliments. Maesters love to discuss Daemon and Rhaenyra's relationship during the war, but before the war there was not a single mention of adultery in the ten years of marriage. Moreover, shortly before the war, Daemon and Rhaenyra conceived another child, and the entire time the princess was carrying Visenya, her husband was always nearby. And even at 49 years old, Daemon was still an attractive man.

Let's look at other couples.

Rhaenys and Corlys. The age difference between them is 21 years. Corlys is older than Rhaenys's father, Prince Aemon. But this did not bother anyone. The princess's grandfather himself, King Jaehaerys, approved of this marriage and stated that Rhaenys could not have chosen a better man. And Rhaenys was only 16 years old, while Corlys was 37 years old. She was his wife almost all her life. 39 years of marriage.

What do you think of the age difference between Corlys and the mother of his illegitimate sons? 44 years old. My grandfather was 44 when I was born. And it wasn’t even a one-night stand, since there were two children. The boys lived with their mother in the village, while Corlys did nothing for the boys' well-being over the years, as he was too afraid of his wife's reaction.

Next up are Princess Daella Targaryen and Lord Rodrik Arryn, who are 21 years apart in age. I admit, I don't feel any animosity towards this couple. After all, thanks to them, Aemma Arryn was born, and after Rhaenyra Targaryen. But there are some points that confuse me. First, the reasons why Daella chose Lord Arryn is that he reminds her of her father. The second thing is that, according to Alysanne, Rodrik loved the princess for many years and did not hide it. I'm sorry, many years? Daella was 16 when the wedding took place. How old was Daella when a thirty-year-old man and father of four children liked her? There's an even better question. If Alysanne knew that the councilman was in love with her daughter, who was younger than his own eldest daughter, then why didn't she do anything?

What will people say about Lady Baela Targaryen and Thaddeus Rowan, who was 40 years older than the girl? Here is his description.

"Lord Rowan is forty years my senior, bald as a stone, with a belly that weighs more than I do."

Every girl's dream, isn't it? Fortunately, Baela was able to avoid such a marriage, but Floris Baratheon was not so lucky. Thaddeus was 42 years older than the girl, and Floris herself got married at 14. To make matters worse, a few years later the poor girl died during childbirth.

What about between the engagement between Princess Viserra Targaryen and Lord Theomore Manderly, who was 30-40 years older than the bride? To make matters worse, he outlived four of his wives and had several heirs. Viserra would be doomed to spend the rest of her life in a foreign land, with an old and ugly husband, and her children, if they were born, would not receive any inheritance. I just can’t believe that such a marriage was arranged for a girl by her own mother.

Princess Daenerys Targaryen (daughter of Aegon the Unworthy) at the age of 15 married Prince Maron Martell, who was 14-25 years older than her. The marriage was an arranged one and, according to GRRM, Daenerys herself was in love with her illegitimate brother Daemon Blackfire. But at least it seems that Maron was kind to his wife, and Daenerys herself became the wife of the Prince of Dorne. I would like to believe that Daenerys was able to find happiness in this marriage.

Lysa Tully was born between 266 and 268. Her first husband, Jon Arryn, was born between 218 and 220. The age difference between them is almost fifty years. Jon was old enough to be a father to Hoster Tully, Lysa's father. I have never felt love for Lysa Arryn, but I feel sorry for her. She was unhappy almost all her life, and due to her past abortion, she was unable to become a mother for a long time. Jon was kind to wife and their marriage gave Lysa power over the Valley, but still the power did not make Lysa happy.

Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo. Their age difference is somewhere between 15-20 years. GOT tried to romanticize this couple, but I don’t see romance. I apologize to the fans of this couple. But Dany is a real victim of Stockholm syndrome. I really feel sorry for fourteen-year-old Daenerys, who convinced herself that there was great love between her and Drogo.

Lord Walder Frey and his eighth wife Lady Joyeuse Erenford. Attention, the age difference between them is 74 years! Walder is an old and rude old man who has more than ten heirs. The poor girl will just waste her youth on her husband and be unhappy all her life.

Larra Rogare and Prince Viserys Targaryen. Their age difference is only seven years. Not as much as previous couples. Everything would not be so bad if Viserys was 16 years old and Larra 23, but no. When the couple got married, the prince was only 12 years old, and at 13 he became a father. This is normal?!

The next couple will surprise everyone. This is Maegor Targaryen and Ceryse Hightower, who was 10 years older than her husband. Then again, if Maegor was 16 and Ceryse was 26, everything would be fine. But Maegor was only thirteen. At that time, he had not yet become a murderer of relatives and a usurper, he was a child. Problematic, but still a child. I blame Aegon and Visenya for allowing their son to marry so early rather than wait at least two or three more years.

The point is that in Westeros marriages with large age differences constantly occurred. This is truly terrible. Some were able to find happiness in their marriage, some avoided it, some remained unhappy for the rest of their lives. This post may seem chaotic to some, but don't judge me. I got sick a little bit.

[morganaspendragonss]

i'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

requested by @alostsock for 'asthma attack' on my @anyfandomgoesbingo (it's definitely not been two years shut up) i actually really enjoyed writing this and i wouldn't mind doing more bridgerton fic in the future! title from brother by kodaline ao3 | 1.9k | benedict & anthony, hurt/comfort, pre-canon

Everything changes when their father dies. How could it not? Edmund Bridgerton was known by all in the ton and liked by most, and even those with cause for distaste felt the shockwaves unleashed by his death.

But none of them ever knew the true horror of it all. 

Benedict remembers that day clearly; he’s the only one, besides Anthony, who does. Even Colin had been barely more than a child, and their mother had been so lost in her grief that he doubts in her memories she can distinguish one day from the next. 

But Benedict remembers that day, and all the days that followed, all the changes they wrought. Changes that manifested in the ton, in their home, in himself and in every one of his brothers and sisters. Even little baby Hyacinth, still in their mother’s belly when he died, was changed.

None of them, though, so much as Anthony.

He hardens, turns to stone against the world; laughter and smiles took a long time to return to Bridgerton House, but sometimes it seems like they never returned to Anthony. Alongside his father, Benedict mourns for his brother – Anthony had always been a serious child, always aware of his status as the oldest, the Viscount ascendent, but their father had been the kind of man who would never die.

Until he did, of course.

And Anthony…

Very few people, including their own siblings, know that Anthony was a sick child. No-one outside their household, really, save the doctor who once proclaimed that he would not live to see his sixth year. It is satisfying to think that, not only was he wrong, but Anthony has now outlived him by a decade.

Of course, there was talk at the time of the Bridgertons' sickly child, especially when Benedict’s birth followed so swiftly afterwards. But memories are short in the ton and gossip is frequent, so nobody remembers anymore how Anthony would sometimes collapse in the street, struggling to breathe and looking for all the world like he was inches from death’s door.

No-one would believe it anyway, to look at him now. Anthony has grown into a man and it’s been a long time since anyone in the ton has seen him as anything other than Edmund Bridgerton’s strong eldest son. The attacks were for their home, and any that broke through his control in public were blamed on his ever-growing collection of younger siblings and their illnesses. Anthony played his role for the ton, but at home, in front of their mother and father and Benedict, he was himself. 

Then it happened, and Benedict found himself mourning both father and brother.

Anthony lives in his study these days. He rarely breakfasts with them, always caught up in this thing or that, and he never plays with the younger ones anymore. That duty falls to Benedict now, and while he doesn’t mind, it’s clear that Colin and Daphne, at least, do.

“Anthony is much better at this than you,” Daphne haughtily informs him over a game of marbles.

Benedict doesn’t doubt it; he thinks even baby Hyacinth or little Gregory could thrash him at Ring Taw. They’ve been playing for fifteen minutes and his own pile of won marbles is woefully small. Colin’s is only slightly bigger, whereas Daphne holds the lion’s share. Somehow, though, she looks less than impressed with her haul as she stares down Benedict with contempt. 

He flicks another marble into the circle – and misses, of course. Daphne sighs and dramatically flicks her own marble, claiming another handful for herself.

“See?”

“Well, I thought you’d be pleased to play with a failure such as myself,” Benedict retorts. He gestures to her pile. “You’re winning, rather spectacularly, I might add.”

Daphne huffs with all the exasperation in her eleven-year-old body. “It’s boring,” she insists. “There’s no competition when you and Colin are terrible.”

Colin, who up until that point had been quietly rolling his marbles around, grabs one of the biggest and launches it at Daphne. Benedict can only watch as the marble sails across the room and crashes–

–into a bunch of potted lilies. Colin sighs in disappointment; Benedict in relief. Thank God his brother doesn’t have particularly good aim. He gathers the remaining marbles up before either of them can get any more ideas and puts the bag away on a high shelf. 

“Right,” he says, folding his arms and staring down at his siblings. “I think we’ve had enough marbles for today. How about a round of pall-mall in the garden?”

It’s a fine spring day outside and Benedict is sure that the fresh air will do them good, himself included. But if he expected his siblings to join in with his enthusiasm – which, usually, is a given when pall-mall is involved – then he is disappointed; they remain on the floor, exchanging doubtful glances.

“Will Anthony play?” Colin asks, voice small.

The well-worn excuse of Anthony being busy is on the tip of his tongue, but Benedict forces it back when he catches sight of their faces. Wide eyes, near tears – neither of them are young enough to believe the lies that Anthony and their mother and Benedict himself have been trying to ply them with. They’ve noticed how Anthony has changed and they miss their brother, and it awakens something in Benedict – a part of himself that had gone into hiding that day – that misses Anthony so hard it aches.

So when he assures his siblings, “I’ll make sure he does,” he means it. 

He slows to a tiptoe and his confidence fades as he approaches the study door. It used to belong to their father, this room, until one day it silently became Anthony’s, like so much else in this house. When he tentatively knocks on the door, Benedict half-expects his father to answer, half-expects his smooth, familiar baritone to welcome him inside.

Instead, there is silence.

Benedict sighs and knocks again, more insistent this time. “Anthony,” he calls, loud enough that his brother has to hear him. “I know you’re in there, I need a word.” And some more, but he’s not fool enough to open with that.

Still more silence, and Benedict starts to doubt if he is in there. But, where else would he be? Taking air in the garden? Not likely, not when he has his duties to tend to.

“Anthony!” Benedict shouts this time, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. He promised Daphne and Colin that Anthony would play with them, and he’ll manage it if it’s the last thing either of them do.

He flings the door open, speech on his lips–

Only for it to die in an instant. Anthony is bent over his desk, barely on his feet, with one hand gripping the wood so hard his knuckles are turning white, the other pulling ineffectually at his cravat. Wheezes rather than breaths leave his mouth and his face has gone bright red, eyes bloodshot and bulging.

Benedict is not proud, later, of the way he freezes. He just hasn’t seen Anthony like this in so long, and it’s terrifying, it always has been, to see his older brother become so weak. It’s only when Anthony’s hand abandons his cravat and starts scrabbling across the desk that Benedict comes back to life, and he jumps across the room, gripping his brother’s shoulders and steering him with far too much ease into a chair.

Searching his brain for memories of what used to help, he runs back to the door and sticks his head out, flagging down a passing maid.

“Run a bath,” he commands. “A cold one.”

She frowns at him. “Now, sir?”

“Yes, now!”

Her eyes widen and she scurries off with a mumbled “Yes, sir,” and Benedict doesn’t have time to feel bad because when he turns around, Anthony is slumped over, arm outstretched across the desk. His grasping hand almost upends the decanter of what Benedict assumes is some sort of liquor, but when he catches it and moves it away from Anthony’s struggling, his brother all but growls at him.

“No,” he gasps, barely. “Need.”

It’s not really the time to be getting drunk, but Benedict trusts his brother, so he pours a few fingers into a glass. He has to guide it to his lips, Anthony’s hands shaking too much not to drop it, and half of the liquid spills down his brother’s waistcoat. When the glass is empty, Anthony is reaching again, pointing to a box on the side table. 

Benedict opens it, and this he remembers. It was something this newfangled doctor, who apparently suffered from the same condition as Anthony, had recommended some years ago, and it was like a miracle when it came to his treatment. The herbal syrup doesn’t cure his attacks, not completely, but it eases them enough for them to get Anthony into a cold bath or resting in bed.

It takes a few agonising minutes, but eventually Anthony’s breathing evens out a little. There’s still an awful, rattling quality to it, but he’ll live – Benedict hopes.

“Are you well, brother?” he asks, when it seems like Anthony might be alright to start talking.

He receives a hard look in return. “What…” A cough, harsh enough to have Benedict wincing in sympathy. “What do you want?”

Benedict raises his eyebrows. “Hello to you too. And you’re welcome, by the way. I came here to drag you outside for a game of pall mall, and a good thing too; seems like I arrived just in time.”

“I was fine.”

He won’t dignify that with a response. Anthony will never admit to needing help, not this version of him anyway, and Benedict isn’t going to waste his energy trying. There’s a knock at the door just then and the maid from earlier steps inside.

“The bath you requested is ready, sir,” she says, surprised eyes taking in the scene before her. No doubt gossip of the viscount’s discomposed state will make its way around the servants’ quarters within the hour, but there are enough staff who remember the worst of Anthony’s illness that Benedict is confident it won’t spread farther. 

“Excellent,” he says, then turns to Anthony. “Brother.”

Anthony glares, but he does stand and make his way out of the room with the servant. Benedict follows closely behind; his brother won’t accept a hand to steady him, but he still looks like he could keel over at any second.

“I’ll tell Daphne and Colin that you have a headache and are resting,” he informs him conversationally. “But as soon as you’re well, you owe them a round of pall mall.”

“Do I?” Anthony replies. He stops as they reach the door to the bathing room and turns around, and Benedict is startled by his lowered gaze. “Thank you, Benedict,” he murmurs. “For…everything.”

Benedict watches, wide-eyed, as his brother disappears behind the door. He hasn’t seen that level of vulnerability in Anthony…ever, really, and it’s strange. Unnerving. 

But a good sign, he thinks. Underneath the grief and the weight of duty, his brother is still there. He’ll make his way back to them. Benedict is sure of it.

[stxrrynxghts]

Uttaraa Headcanons

Is this a series now? Maybe.

Uttaraa is the baby of the family.

She was a premature baby.

Uttaraa is seven years younger than her eldest sibling, Shankha.

She has a fair complexion. Her facial features resemble her mother, mostly, except she has her father's eyes.

Uttaraa doesn't have a favorite family member. She claims all of them are her favorites. Hint: it is Shankha.

Her favorite color is pink. She likes wearing bright and vibrant colors.

Uttaraa is great at kicking someone/something.

She has narcolepsy. Her favorite place to nap is next to the fountain.

She is a happy-go-lucky, optimistic, clingy girl. She is a crybaby too.

She enjoys reading, dancing, and poetry.

As a child, Uttaraa worked out in the palace library.

She detests warfare.

Uttaraa is a good singer, but she doesn't sing out of shyness.

She is very forgetful.

Uttaraa is an expert at dice, but she does not play it often.

She enjoys eating.

Uttaraa is very short, and almost everyone towers over her.

She is scared of bugs, fire, and reptiles. She hates snakes, especially. Uttaraa fainted when she saw Iravan's snake form for the first time.

Uttaraa loves all kinds of physical affections. She especially loves cuddles.

She was a great student, but she hated studying.

Uttar and Uttaraa always sneak out to dress as commoners and go shopping. It is their secret. They don't Shankha because they know he will disapprove.

Uttaraa spent most of her childhood in Kekaya, due to the continuous Matsya-Trigarta wars.

Uttaraa is scared of Bhima. It has something to do with the fact that he killed her uncle.

Uttaraa loves dolls.

She didn't like Abhimanyu the first time they met. She thought he was too brash.

Uttaraa started liking Abhimanyu after they began meeting each other in the library.

She realized her feelings for Abhimanyu one random night.

Uttaraa loves visiting Dvaraka.

She is a romantic person.

Uttaraa loves secretly cooking something for Abhimanyu.

She was almost two months pregnant during the war. Everyone knew about it, before the war began.

The thought that someone from her family might die never came in her mind, until Uttar died.

Uttaraa had severe PTSD and depression after the war.

She suffered from PPD for a long time after Parikshit's birth.

Uttaraa outlived everyone, even her son.

[thecinderninja]

Familiar Faces

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

She had gotten the letter only moths previous. Her eldest son had died while studying in London. She had grieved, and she had moved on as best she could. It was hard though. Parents were never supposed to outlive their children. She had been alone at the time. Her husband had left recently without an explanation, and both of her sons were attending distant universities.

After getting the letter about Edward, she decided that she wouldn't sit around and wait for news anymore. She'd had her whole family taken from her – her mother died when she was very young, and her father had died when she was only 19. Her husband left her, and now her first son was gone too. She would hold on to what she had left as tightly as she could.

So, a few months after receiving the letter, she had packed up what little she had and bought a one way ticket to Munich. And when she finally arrived, she learned she was still too late. Alfons was dead as well. Apparently she had missed him by mere days. Days. There were men who had known him, and they were all being very vague about how he had died. She wasn't, however, too late for the funeral.

She would see at least one of her boys put to rest. She never noticed the figures at the back of the service, and left soon after.

She met a woman named Gracia that same day. Upon learning that she was Alfons' mother, she offered to let her stay with her until she had decided where to go from here. She was grateful, considering she didn't have enough money left to return. She had just... wanted to see her son.

And all at once, it was too much. She had collapsed into the other woman's arms, sobbing. Gracia had led her back to the house, sat her on a couch, and brought her some warm stew. She didn't like having to be babied – treated like a child. She appreciated Gracia's kindness, but didn't want to be a burden.

The next morning, she got out of bed early, did Gracia's washing, and had breakfast ready when the younger woman awoke. She offered to go to the market and do the shopping. Gracia was ready to argue, but she quickly gave a gentle smile and explained that "I don't want to feel like a bother, and I need something to take my mind off of things." Gracia reluctantly agreed.

It didn't help her take her mind off things.

Trisha was in an unfamiliar place, and her world had just come crashing down around her. Even so, she put on a smile as she did her and Miss Gracia's shopping. Because she was a strong woman, and she was stuck in Munich now and would need to keep her wits about her if she wanted to keep on living. She would need a job, for money. She would need a place to stay besides Gracia's, if she planned on staying in Munich. And she didn't see any reason to leave – she had no more roots holding her here as she did calling her back to any other place. It didn't really matter to her. But for now, she needed to find some potatoes.

She was grieving, but the world kept spinning. If she fell now, it wouldn't wait for her to get back up.

She believed all of this, as she always had, until her world ground to a shuddering halt, and threw her off her feet.. Because right there, on the other side of the street, were to boys who shouldn't. Shouldn't be here, shouldn't be together, shouldn't be alive. And she wondered if perhaps she wasn't coping quite as well as she thought she was, if she was seeing her son's faces on boys in the market.

And maybe she wasn't as strong as she thought after all, if she was on her hands and knees, dropping Gracia's shopping where it rolled across the cobblestones.

And maybe she'd let her mind get away from her, because as the world blurred and she heard someone cry out in surprise, and rapid footsteps on the stones, and a hand on her shoulder, it was his voice asking if she was okay. Maybe she should have waited longer to go back outside. Maybe then she wouldn't have been reduced to sobbing on the pavement as someone who couldn't possibly be her son tried to comfort her.

But then she grabbed his wrist and looked up at him, and her breath caught, because he looked different, yes, but more importantly, he looked the same. And she knew she was probably frightening the boy. His pupils shrank when she looked at him and he backpedalled away from her, so she knew she must be frightening him. But she couldn't help it from escaping. "A-Alfons?"

"Mom?" Whatever she was expecting, it hadn't been that. It almost seemed cruel. She couldn't see his face any longer, as the world was too bright, and too streaked, to see anything clearly. But she was sure the little boy would be gone by now. Instead, she found both his small arms wrapped around her shoulders.

"Hey... it's, um, okay." He sounded frightened, but he was still holding her tightly. What a sweet boy. He didn't even know what was wrong with her.

"Hey, Al? What's going on?" A second voice sounded, and a second set of footsteps drew nearer. She knew the voice, but she knew it couldn't-

"Ed! I... um. I can't- she-!" The Alfons-boy seemed nearly as frantic as she was, and she knew they were making a scene. Her Alfons hated making a scene. He didn't like getting too much attention. She was surprised no one had asked them to move from the street yet. Or tried to interfere. If she had been able to see clearly, she would have realized that people were making an effort to give the sobbing woman a wide berth and keeping their eyes looking firmly away.

But he had said-... she looked up again as the second voice approached, and when she saw his face... it was too much. She grabbed his jacket and pulled. She was holding two boys she didn't even know and crying into their hair. She knew now. She wasn't strong at all. She was just a crazy old woman with nothing left to live for. But in this moment, she could at least pretend, that they were her boys, and they were together again. She couldn't bear to let go.

To her surprise, both boys hugged her back. And she could have sworn she heard someone else crying. Familiar Strangers (p1/3) Familiar Strangers (p2/3) Familiar Strangers (p3/3)

[persephoneggsy]

I'm too excited about The Veilguard so I wrote a little fic trying to figure out my prospective Rook, Phryne. Tried to keep stuff re: the Mourn Watch vague since I'm sure we'll learn more about them in the game proper. This is mainly just me succumbing to the brainrot lolol

***

People often said that the dead looked like they were sleeping. All the tension and worries of the corporeal had vanished, leaving only an expression of peaceful repose.

Phryne had seen her fair share of dead faces – she’d been a mercenary for several years, and besides, she was Nevarran. Death was seeped into their very marrow.

Sometimes, it was true. Other times, she’d look down at see a face twisted with pain, shock, sometimes even sadness. She just never thought it mattered. Who cared what someone’s final expression was? Dead was dead; the mortal soul was gone, and if they found their bodies possessed, then the most expressive the corpse would be was dependent entirely on the spirit doing the possessing.

Now, though. Phryne looked down at her son and wished he looked like he was sleeping.

Rothe’s expression was much like it had been in life; hard and stern, his jaw stubbornly set and eyebrows furrowed as if he were in the middle of an inspection. Even in death, her eldest child was not able to relax, it seemed. She used to tease him for that, wondering how he and his sister had turned out so uptight. He’d always answer, “It’s obvious, Mother: we had to make up for your carefree nature.”

Even when his tone was light, his mouth would twitch into a short approximation of a smile before resuming its usual stoic state. And now, that was the face he would carry into eternity.

Phryne tore her eyes away from her son’s face – his too young face, he was barely thirty, why had she outlived her son – and focused on the rest of him. The Mortalitasi in charge of preparing his body had done a fine job of repairing… the damage. She’d been told his cause of death was a blade to his heart. It would have been quick, or at least quicker than bleeding out or starving or drowning. Small mercies, she supposed.

He was wearing his finest suit, the same he’d worn at his wedding, but with an added red-orange sash and emblem pin denoting the symbol of the Inquisition. His arms were crossed over his stomach, hands resting on the hilt of his trusted blade – it was broken in two when his body arrived from the Arbor Wilds, but Phryne had found a reliable craftsman able to repair it. One could hardly tell it was broken, now.

Rothe had left instructions for the sword. When he was old enough, and if he wanted it, it would go to his son, Quirin. It would be some time before that happened, thought Phryne. Quirin was barely five years old.

Maker. Phryne closed her eyes. Poor Quirin. Still a child, and both his parents gone. His mother was lost to fever just two short years ago, and now his father, lost to a cause halfway around the world. Her daughter, Elke, was going to take him in, raise him alongside her own son, Halig. She’d given Phryne a pointed look when she made that declaration, as if expecting her to argue. Of course, Phryne did not; Elke was a good mother.

Better than Phryne thought she had been, anyway.

A polite cough drew Phryne’s attention away from Rothe’s body. A man around her age was standing in the doorway of the funeral hall. Judging by the staff in his hands, topped with a skull, he was a mage, and he seemed vaguely familiar to her. Perhaps she’d crossed paths with him in the Watch.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t realize there were still mourners here.”

Phryne glanced at the candles illuminating Rothe’s still form. They’d nearly burnt to their ends. Had she been there that long? It seemed that just minutes ago, the hall was filled with mourners, Rothe’s friends and acquaintances. Elke and the children had been among the last to leave, but now, it seemed she’d been alone with her thoughts for some time.

“It’s… fine,” Phryne managed to say. She smoothed down her mourning dress and turned away from the corpse. “Are you here to administer his final rites?”

“Yes, but if you need more time…”

“No, thank you.” Phryne managed a weak smile, which the necromancer returned, though his was much more sincere. He was quite handsome, she noted distantly, and if the body on the altar had been anyone’s other than Rothe, she might have said so out loud. As it was, she merely gave her son one last look over her shoulder. “He’s as ready as he’s going to be. Me too, I think.”

The necromancer chuckled kindly. “A relative?”

“My son.”

“Ah. My condolences.”

He stepped forward, joining Phryne at the altar. Shrewd eyes scanned over Rothe’s body. Phryne found herself watching the mage. She was a part of the Mourn Watch, and she suspected he was as well – last rites were typically conducted by Watchers, especially in cases where it was another Watcher’s relatives that had died – though she never saw much of the mages that made up the bulk of the order. Most tended to stay in their studies, talking to skeletons and doing research long into the night.

“Inquisition, hm?” he murmured. “They’ve been doing good work. You must have been proud.”

“I suppose I was.”

“It’s in question?”

“I am proud. But no mother wants to outlive her children.”

He gave a sympathetic nod at that. “True enough. But it’s clear that you loved him. I’m sure his spirit sits well at the Maker’s side.”

“I hope so.”

They then lapsed into a contemplative silence, which Phryne took as her cue.

“I’ll leave you to your work, sir,” she said, straightening her back as if she were in uniform. To her surprise, he waved a hand at her.

“Oh, no, please not ‘sir’. Emmrich is just fine.”

She spared him another smile; this one smaller, still tinged with grief, but genuine nonetheless.

“Emmrich, then. Thank you.”

Emmrich inclined his head towards her, watching as she turned and left the funeral hall. Once she was out of the darkened room, she let out a long breath. Emmrich. The name was familiar, too. Perhaps he was one of the more famous Watchers… which meant, hopefully, that Rothe was in good hands.

Her heart already feeling lighter than it had been for weeks, Phryne started making her way home.

[morningflew]

HEADCANON — LOVE AND MARRIAGE : five years after the death of her first husband, princess rhaena married ser garmund hightower, with whom she had six daughters: valaena, coryn, daenys, lysandra, tamsin, and rhaella.

valaena "laena" hightower (born 141 AC) - the eldest. rhaena wanted a daughter of her own to name after her mother, just like her twin sister baela did, but chose to make it a diminutive for a distinction between her and her niece. valaena is almost exclusively referred to as "laena" amongst close friends and family. laena was a carbon copy of her mother, if not so much in face then in disposition. she is betrothed to and eventually marries her stepsister alysanne's second son, laenor.

laena's family is even more prolific than her own as she gives birth to seven children later in life: four boys and three girls. her husband dies in battle in 196 AC and she outlives him by three years, dying of consumption.

*has the targaryen silver hair

coryn hightower (born 143 AC) - coryn was born in the summertime and had a personality that could not have been more suited for the season. of all the girls, rhaena and garmund had the most difficulty trying to keep her behaved; as a child she was often scolded by her septa for rushing through her lessons to play outside. coryn mellowed over time, but she was always known to be the liveliest of the hightower children. she marries a year after her older sister to a secondborn son from house celtigar.

there has been much speculation over the name chosen for coryn, with it being very similar to the name of rhaena's first husband, ser corwyn corbray. rhaena has never commented on the fact and coryn has never asked.

*has the targaryen silver hair

daenys hightower (born 146 AC) - while many tend to think she was named after her ancestor, her name is actually a middle ground between her grandfather daemon's and great-grandmother rhaenys'. much like daenys the dreamer, daenys once dreamt about taking up the faith and becoming a septa, and she resigned herself to this fate for years as she studied the holy texts. she gave up this aspiration upon attending her first ball and realizing she'd like to fall in love.

daenys, however, was very nitpicky with her suitors and it took years to marry her off. she eventually marries a cousin of queen myriah and prince maron martell of dorne, the heir to house allyrion of godsgrace.

lysandra, tamsin, and rhaella hightower (born 151 AC) - rhaena had always thought she would have twins like her mother did, but she never once considered the possibility of triplets. the girls came early; rhaena's labours lasted for over a day and the attending maester believed she wouldn't make it, nor would the child. but when dawn broke, she had two more daughters in her arms while garmund held another. amongst all sisters, they took the most after their father.

lysandra was a lot like her aunt baela, tomboyish and wild, and her partner in crime was rhaella more often than it was tamsin. the firstborn and lastborn triplet were the same side of the same coin. tamsin was relegated as the mediator between the two and didn't much like their antics. she kept close to their eldest sister, laena.

all three were betrothed around the same time. as expected, tamsin was the first to marry and does so even a few months earlier than her older sister daenys. she married into house mullendore. rhaella married into house velaryon, a distant relative of theirs descending from vaemond velaryon. lysandra married into house tully and though her husband died within three months of their marriage, she stayed in riverrun as a companion to his sister, who'd grown fond of her and she had likewise grown fond of.

[lullaebies]

Have you ever written an AU where Aegon II survives longer after the dance, or do you consider writing one? (Obviously it's fine if you aren't interested, I hope you don't feel uncomfortable by me asking)

I think the idea is interesting because he would have had to remarry and start a "new" family to have more heirs... like his father did.

Aegon is Viserys's mirror. Both became king because most of Westeros supports male primogeniture, both outlived their dragons, both are broken physically, both only had one female surviving child from their first marriage to their relative who they married very young

As heartbreaking as it is to say this, I think if Aegon had remarried like his father did, he would have treated the children from his second marriage the same way Viserys treated him & his siblings because he's just like his father and Helaena was his Aemma

Obviously he'd name whatever future eldest living son he had heir but in all other ways Jaehaera would have been his Rhaenyra

...and the emotional neglect would all be the same. The shadows of Jaehaerys & Maelor would have hung over those kids the way Baelon hung over his.

Jaehaera definitely wouldn't have grown up to be another Rhaenyra because natural difference in personality + different traumatic childhood experiences + not being raised "thee heir" but I can see their father's treating them the same. Never the most important until their mothers and brothers are dead and suddenly their everything because they're all Aegon & Viserys had left from "the good part of their lives".

The cycle of abuse/neglect in this family is tragic, and everything we know about Aegon, both from his personality and experiences, tells me he wouldn't have been able to break it.

To start with the question - first of all don't worry it's not uncomfortable at all! but I haven't, and I would probably not write it myself as in the long run it wouldn't really cater to me as a writer (as I ship helaegon pretty exclusively with one another and while I love, love the angst, an AU like that would require much care put into it that I don't have the time or will to provide). That being said, you put it in SUCH a fantastic way, and I think we have the same mind, because yep, lmao. I am obsessed with Aegon II and Viserys parallelism, tbh, the tragedy of it is so raw. I have gone on record talking about drunk-on-poppy-milk Aegon thinking he's going to see Helaena when people tell him about him going to meet his (new) wife. The level of guilt he could have from knowing that this all stemmed from his taking of the crown (or maybe, it was always meant to be, considering the circumstances with TB - but either way, he doomed his sister-wife and his kids just by being him and that is SUCH a blow). Everything you put down on, I agree with 100%. Whether you see Helaegon as romantic or platonic or whatnot, the days he was married to Helaena and had his kids with her was the era of his life that was quiet and he was more free. And now he's traumatized to think of all the loss he has suffered, not as able-bodied by any means, and suffering long term guilt. You can just see him on his dying breathes thinking he's seeing Helaena in the light - and perhaps everyone else he has failed, too. Aegon II and Viserys I parallelism always, always FUCKS. The generational trauma will never stop hurting those who weren't well-adjusted enough to bear it in the first place. Amazing angst take anon, I love.