#my rook would have been around 16 then

[welcomefortune]

Finally getting some reactivity with my Rook's background!

Plus bonus codex about Rook's dad:

[pinacoladamatata]

if they Tamlen solas' ass, that might just be IT for me

[novaursa]

The Flames We Carry

- Summary: Ser Criston Cole expected for Rhaenys and Meleys to appear over Rook's Rest. To Gwayne's horror, Rhaenyra sent her sister instead: you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaeyra's younger sister and is bonded to Silverwing. These events happen after Skyfall. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content, but there are visual descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 3 712

- A/N: this was scheduled to be posted tomorrow, but I've decided post extra today. Enjoy.

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

Ser Gwayne Hightower had always been a man torn between loyalty and desire, but never more so than in the days leading up to the siege at Rook's Rest. The tension between him and Ser Criston Cole had grown sharper since that fateful day when he let you—the Princess, Y/N—slip through his grasp before their march on Duskendale. He could still feel the warmth of your skin against his, the taste of your lips lingering like a ghostly memory, a sweet torment. You had been his time and time again, even if only in stolen moments, and each encounter had deepened the scars on his heart.

Gwayne knew he should be focusing on the battle ahead, yet his thoughts strayed back to you, his mind replaying that night over and over. The look in your eyes when you realized he would let you go, when you understood the depth of his feelings despite all the bitterness that lingered between your Houses. He had set you free, knowing full well it was an act of treason in all but name, and yet he would do it again if it meant sparing you the horrors to come.

But now, at Rook's Rest, everything was escalating rapidly. Ser Criston's scorpion ballistas and archers were poised in ambush, waiting for the dragon they expected: Rhaenys on Meleys. The war council had been clear, and Gwayne had heard it all through gritted teeth—Aemond and Aegon would flank her on Vhagar and Sunfyre, trapping her in dragonfire and steel. It was a ruthless plan, one that made his stomach churn. He had sworn to protect his family, his king, and yet all he could think about was you.

The skies darkened, a shadow sweeping over the encampment. The men tensed, eyes raised to the heavens as the flap of wings grew louder. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked up, expecting the crimson scales of Meleys. But what he saw instead made his blood run cold.

Silverwing.

The graceful, silvery-grey dragon, once ridden by Queen Alysanne, now bonded to you. Gwayne’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. This was not supposed to happen. It was not supposed to be you in the skies above, facing down two monstrous dragons with only the loyal Silverwing at your side. Panic clawed at his throat, his mind racing. He could see it in Criston's eyes too—the slight widening, the realization that their ambush had just become a slaughter. Not for Rhaenys, but for you.

“No…” The word slipped from Gwayne’s lips before he could stop it. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the nearest scorpion, where soldiers prepared to take aim at Silverwing. His vision tunneled, anger and fear boiling together in his veins. He couldn’t let this happen—not to you.

"Stand down!" Gwayne shouted at the soldiers, shoving one aside with enough force to send the man sprawling. The crew looked at him in confusion, but Gwayne didn’t care. He grabbed hold of the crank, making it impossible for them to load the bolt.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!” Criston’s voice was a venomous hiss as he stalked toward Gwayne, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re sabotaging the plan! Move, or I’ll have you—”

Gwayne spun around, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. “I won’t let you do this, Criston. Not to her.”

Criston’s lip curled in disgust. “Her? You would betray your king, your House, for a traitorous whore who—"

The sound of steel rang out as Gwayne drew his sword, slashing at the scorpion mechanism, rendering it useless. The soldiers scattered, unwilling to get caught in the confrontation between two knights who had both earned their deadly reputations. Criston’s eyes narrowed, and in the blink of an eye, his sword was in his hand, the tip leveled at Gwayne’s chest.

“You’ll die for this treachery, Hightower,” Criston spat, the words laced with venom.

“I would die a thousand times before I let you kill her,” Gwayne growled back, his voice low and dangerous. “I won’t let you harm her.”

Above them, the roar of dragons filled the air as Silverwing engaged with Sunfyre and Vhagar. Dragonfire crackled like thunder, the heat from the flames casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. You were up there, fighting for your life, for your cause. Gwayne’s heart ached with every fiery burst, knowing that each moment could be your last.

Criston lunged, and Gwayne barely parried the strike in time. The two knights clashed, steel against steel, each strike filled with desperation and fury. Gwayne fought with everything he had, driven by the need to protect you, even if it meant cutting down one of his own.

“Do you think she cares for you, Gwayne?!” Criston taunted between strikes. “She’s a dragonrider, a princess—she’ll never be yours! You’re a fool!”

“I know what I am,” Gwayne snarled, knocking Criston’s sword aside and slamming his shoulder into the other man’s chest, sending him stumbling back. “But I also know what I feel. And I’ll not stand by and let you murder her.”

Criston recovered quickly, rage twisting his features as he advanced again. “She chose Daemon over you! The Rogue Prince—do you think she’ll remember your name when she’s ash?”

Gwayne roared in fury, his blade a blur as he pressed the attack. The sounds of battle, of dragons shrieking and flames roaring, were deafening, but all Gwayne could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the desperate need to get to you, to save you. But with every second that passed, his hope dwindled, and fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Then, the ground trembled, a shockwave of heat and force rippling across the battlefield as a massive burst of dragonfire erupted nearby. Gwayne staggered, the distraction costing him as Criston’s sword sliced across his side. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. He couldn’t afford to fall—not when you needed him.

But as the flames subsided, a silhouette emerged through the smoke—Silverwing, descending, with you astride her. Your eyes, burning with determination and fury, locked onto the scene below: Criston standing over a wounded Gwayne, ready to deliver the killing blow.

“Y/N!” Gwayne shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t hesitate. With a command, Silverwing unleashed a torrent of dragonfire, forcing Criston to leap back, narrowly avoiding being consumed by the flames. In the brief reprieve, Gwayne stumbled to his feet, clutching his side.

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The memory of that last kiss, of your shared moments, hung between you like an unspoken vow. Gwayne knew he had only seconds before the battle resumed, but in those few heartbeats, he saw the truth in your eyes—the love that had never truly died, the bond that still connected you, even through war and betrayal.

But there was no time for words. With a final, lingering look, you turned Silverwing toward the sky, preparing for the next wave of the fight. And as you ascended into the chaos once more, Gwayne knew he would fight until his last breath to protect you, even if the whole world stood against him.The battle raged on, but in that moment, Gwayne Hightower’s heart belonged to only one—you.

The battlefield below Rook’s Rest was a symphony of chaos and death, the sky a canvas painted with fire and blood. Gwayne could only watch in helpless agony as you and Silverwing clashed in the heavens with Sunfyre and Aegon, two dragons locked in a deadly dance of tooth and claw. Overhead, the monstrous shadow of Vhagar circled like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Every screech of agony, every roar of defiance, was a knife twisting deeper into Gwayne’s chest.

On the ground, Criston Cole barked orders, his eyes fixed on the battle above. The soldiers scrambled, trying to reload the scorpions, but the dragonfire raining down made their task near impossible. Bolts flew haphazardly, striking neither dragon nor rider, only adding to the carnage below as men screamed, burning alive in dragonflame. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his ears, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the clash in the sky.

Silverwing and Sunfyre circled each other in a blur of flashing claws and snapping jaws, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and blood. Gwayne could see the desperation in the way you leaned into every attack, urging Silverwing forward with a fury that matched his own. Aegon, though armored in golden scales and atop his mighty Sunfyre, was losing ground; he was not the rider you were, and Sunfyre, for all his pride, was no match for Silverwing’s speed and power.

“Hold fast, Sunfyre!” Aegon’s voice cut through the air, laced with both command and fear. But the king’s bravado was slipping. The once-proud Sunfyre shrieked in pain as Silverwing’s talons raked across his side, tearing through scales and flesh. Blood sprayed like rain, glistening in the sunlight before falling onto Criston’s soldiers below, causing them to scatter in panic.

Gwayne could feel his grip tightening on his sword as he watched, torn between the desire to cheer for your victory and the dread that this battle would consume you. Criston, standing nearby, had forgotten Gwayne entirely, his eyes alight with a mixture of awe and hatred. “If Sunfyre falls, so falls our king,” Criston muttered to himself, though Gwayne could hear the edge of panic in his voice.

But you would not give Sunfyre a moment of reprieve. Silverwing descended with fury, slamming into the golden beast with the force of a hurricane. The clash was brutal, teeth and claws tearing through scales, blood and fire mingling as the two dragons grappled. Sunfyre roared, a cry filled with both pain and rage, as Silverwing’s jaws clamped down on his wing.

“No!” Aegon’s scream echoed across the battlefield, his eyes wide with disbelief as Silverwing’s powerful muscles twisted and tore, shredding Sunfyre’s wing almost completely from its body. The golden dragon thrashed wildly, his flight faltering as the wing dangled uselessly by a thread of sinew and bone.

Gwayne’s breath caught in his throat, torn between elation and horror. You were winning, but at what cost? He knew what was coming next. Vhagar, that ancient beast of war, had been waiting for this moment. With a bellow that shook the very ground, the monstrous she-dragon descended like a nightmare from the skies, her jaws wide and hungry.

“Look out!” Gwayne shouted, knowing full well you couldn’t hear him from so far below. His heart thundered in his chest as Vhagar slammed into both Silverwing and Sunfyre with the force of a landslide. The three dragons collided in a tangle of limbs, scales, and teeth, a storm of rage and destruction. The impact was so fierce that Gwayne felt the ground shudder beneath him.

“No! No, no, no…” Gwayne whispered, his voice cracking as he watched the entangled dragons plummet toward the earth. You and Aegon were mere shadows against the backdrop of fire and smoke, barely visible as the dragons twisted and fell in a deadly spiral. Criston’s soldiers, caught between the descending juggernauts and their own fear, broke ranks, fleeing in every direction as the ground rushed up to meet the falling beasts.

Gwayne felt a cold dread settle in his bones as he watched you, desperately holding onto Silverwing’s saddle as the world blurred around you. You clung on with a ferocity that spoke to your will to survive, but against Vhagar’s ancient fury and Sunfyre’s desperate thrashing, even the mighty Silverwing was struggling.

Criston’s eyes were wild as he watched the battle unfold, his voice a harsh whisper of disbelief. “Vhagar will end it… she must end it…”

But Gwayne wasn’t watching Vhagar anymore. He was watching you. You were still fighting, still urging Silverwing to fight back, but the odds were overwhelming. Sunfyre’s golden scales were slick with blood, his roars more pitiful now as he struggled to right himself in the air. Silverwing’s wings beat furiously, trying to break free from Vhagar’s crushing grip, but the elder dragon’s jaws clamped down on Silverwing’s neck, dragging all three dragons toward the ground with terrifying speed.

The earth shook as the three dragons smashed into the battlefield, the impact sending up a cloud of dirt and debris. The sound was deafening—a sickening crunch of bone and screech of metal as the dragons collided with the earth. Gwayne’s heart dropped into his stomach, his eyes searching desperately through the smoke and dust for any sign of you.

“No…” he whispered, stumbling forward as if he could somehow reach you, somehow pull you from the wreckage of dragons and death. But even from here, he could see the carnage—Silverwing’s body twisted and battered, Sunfyre writhing in agony, and Vhagar looming above them all, a monstrous shadow of death.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell silent, every eye fixed on the wreckage of the fallen dragons. Gwayne’s breath was ragged, his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of you amidst the chaos. The dust began to settle, revealing broken bodies, shattered armor, and the mangled forms of the dragons.

And then he saw you—barely visible, still moving. You crawled from beneath Silverwing’s wing, blood streaking your face, your expression fierce even in the face of such overwhelming odds. Gwayne’s heart leaped into his throat. You were alive. Against all the odds, you had survived the fall.

But the battle was far from over. Vhagar’s malevolent eyes fixed on you, a deep rumble echoing from her throat as she prepared to finish what she had started. Aegon, still clinging to the last shreds of his pride, shouted commands to Sunfyre, but the once-majestic dragon was crippled, struggling even to rise.

Gwayne turned to Criston, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Do something! Call them off—she’ll be slaughtered!”

But Criston’s eyes were cold, devoid of mercy. “It’s too late, Hightower. She made her choice.”

Before Gwayne could respond, a deafening roar split the air as Vhagar reared back, ready to unleash a final torrent of fire upon you and Silverwing. Gwayne’s breath caught, knowing he was powerless to stop what was coming. All he could do was watch in helpless horror as the monstrous she-dragon prepared to strike.

But in those last moments, your eyes locked onto his. Even from across the battlefield, Gwayne saw the fire in your gaze—the unyielding determination, the refusal to surrender, even in the face of certain death. It was a look that would be seared into his memory forever.

And as Vhagar’s jaws parted, ready to unleash death upon the field, Gwayne did the only thing he could—he prayed. For you, for Silverwing, and for the love that had been forged in the fires of war.

It felt like time itself had slowed, the moments stretching into agonizing eternity. His breath hitched as the flames began to build in Vhagar’s throat, the light of impending destruction flickering in her maw. It would be over in seconds—everything would be lost.

But then, with a burst of speed that took even Gwayne by surprise, Silverwing jolted forward, her wings beating with desperate strength. As Vhagar’s jaws parted to unleash her fiery death, Silverwing struck. The smaller, silvery dragon lunged at Vhagar’s exposed throat, her teeth sinking into the tender scales. Her bite was unrelenting, fueled by both fury and the need to protect you. Vhagar’s flame sputtered out in a roar of agony, the ancient beast thrashing wildly as she tried to shake off the determined Silverwing.

Gwayne’s eyes widened in awe and terror. Silverwing’s tail snapped like a whip, striking Vhagar’s head with a force that reverberated across the battlefield. The blow landed squarely on Vhagar’s eye, the sound of bone and scale cracking sickeningly loud. The she-dragon’s roar of pain was a monstrous, guttural cry that seemed to shake the heavens. Even Aemond, usually so composed in battle, shouted in fury and alarm, yanking hard on the reins to regain control of his wounded dragon.

Gwayne knew he had only moments to act. Blood was streaming down your face, and even from a distance, he could see the exhaustion and pain etched into your features. You laid on the ground, barely holding on to life as Silverwing thrashed against Vhagar’s deadly strength. It was a miracle you had survived this long, but that miracle was on the brink of shattering. Gwayne’s decision was made in an instant, despite the searing pain in his side and the chaos around him.

Nearby, a riderless horse whinnied in terror, its eyes rolling as it tried to flee the madness. Gwayne gritted his teeth, limping toward the panicked creature. “Easy, girl,” he rasped, wincing with every step. The horse reared, wild with fear, but Gwayne moved with surprising swiftness, grasping the reins and swinging himself into the saddle with a grunt of pain. Blood stained his tunic from his earlier wound, but he forced himself to push through it. There was no time to dwell on it—not when you were up there, fighting for your life.

“Where are you going, you fool?!” Criston’s voice rang out behind him, filled with fury. “You’ll die, Hightower! Come back!”

But Gwayne was deaf to Criston’s commands. He spurred the horse forward, urging it toward the burning wreckage of dragons, toward you. The horse resisted at first, terrified by the scent of blood and fire, but Gwayne was relentless, guiding it with strong hands and determined resolve. The animal finally obeyed, its hooves pounding against the earth as it charged through the smoke and debris.

Criston cursed behind him, and Gwayne heard the clatter of armor as the Lord Commander sprinted after him, but Gwayne didn’t care. All that mattered was reaching you.

Above, the struggle between Silverwing and Vhagar intensified. Aemond’s curses mingled with the roars of his dragon as he tried to force Vhagar to tear herself free, but Silverwing was like a vice, her jaws locked onto Vhagar’s throat. The she-dragon’s great wings buffeted the air, but even Vhagar, with all her size and strength, was struggling against the tenacity of her smaller opponent. Silverwing’s wings were shredded, her silvery scales bloodied, but she refused to let go. She was holding on not just for herself, but for you.

“Y/N!” Gwayne’s shout cut through the chaos as he neared the spot where you lay half-alive below Silverwing’s wing. He could see that you were barely conscious, your grip weak on your sword as you fought to stay awake. Desperation fueled his every move as he urged the horse closer, reaching out to you. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

Through the haze of pain, you blinked up at him, your eyes unfocused. “Gwayne?” Your voice was faint, tinged with disbelief. “You… you shouldn’t be here…”

“I’m not leaving you!” Gwayne snapped, his voice rough with emotion. With a final burst of strength, he dismounted down beside you, reaching for your arm. The moment his hand grasped yours, you seemed to come back to life, your eyes clearing just enough to recognize him fully.

“Gwayne… you need to run,” you gasped, wincing as another jolt of pain coursed through you. “She’s going to kill us all…”

“Not today,” he vowed, pulling up with him and onto his horse. You were light in his arms, weakened from battle and injury, but there was still a flicker of the fierce spirit he had always admired in you. “I’ll get you out of here, I swear it.”

Criston’s voice was closer now, filled with anger. “Hightower, you’ll be executed for this!” he roared, but Gwayne didn’t even spare him a glance. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal surged forward, carrying you both away from the hellish scene behind you.

As the horse galloped across the field, Gwayne glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the moment when Silverwing’s strength finally gave out. Vhagar’s claws found purchase, tearing deep into Silverwing’s side, and with a heart-wrenching cry, the silver dragon was forced to release her grip. Vhagar reared up, triumphant and bloodied, but the cost of the battle was clear—her eye was ruined, her scales cracked and bleeding. Silverwing collapsed onto the battlefield, her wings crumpling beneath her, but even then, she snarled defiantly, refusing to bow.

But there was no more fight left in her. Gwayne’s heart broke as he watched the light fade from Silverwing’s eyes, her body slumping in exhaustion. Aemond’s laughter echoed through the sky, dark and cruel, as he urged Vhagar to take the final blow. But before Vhagar could finish her fallen opponent, Gwayne’s eyes caught the movement of Criston as he halted his pursuit.

“Cole!” Aegon’s voice was a ragged gasp, filled with pain and panic. The king lay on the battlefield, unmoving, his once-golden armor scorched and twisted from the flames. His face was barely recognizable, the flesh blistered and raw, his body wracked with agony. Criston’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what had happened—their king was grievously injured, possibly dying. All thoughts of pursuing Gwayne and you evaporated as Criston sprinted toward Aegon, screaming orders for a healer.

Gwayne tightened his hold on you as the horse raced away from the carnage, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. You clung to him weakly, your breath shallow, your strength fading fast. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he urged, his voice trembling with barely contained desperation. “Just hold on a little longer. We’ll find safety. I won’t let you die.”

Your eyes fluttered, and for a brief moment, you leaned your head against his chest, your voice a faint whisper. “You saved me… again…”

Gwayne’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to spill over. “And I’ll keep saving you, no matter what it costs,” he promised, pressing a fierce kiss to your temple as the wind whipped through your hair. “I’m not losing you. Not today, not ever.”

Behind them, the battle raged on, but for Gwayne, the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms and the fragile hope that somehow, despite everything, they would both live to see another day.

[ruggiesbiologicalfather]

i've been struck by inspiration

here's my ranking of twisted wonderland students by how likely i'd be to let them behind the wheel of a car. this is gonna be a long one bc i'm including explanations of course. (and i know that in-game it's rare to be able to drive, we're ignoring that and pretending it's common to drive around)

1. Leona: canonically, he can drive and drive well. i feel like this was an easy one. but it makes sense!

2. Vil: he just has so many random skills that i feel like driving would be no problem at all. honestly, there's not much that i think vil CAN'T do

3. Trey: everything about him screams Responsible Driver. he would definitely play chauffeur for heartslabyul whenever they need to go somewhere. AND he'd have snacks in the glove compartment. 10/10 ride

4. Jamil: he can absolutely drive well - near perfect i'd argue. what's the alternative? let KALIM drive? get real. it's his duty to get where he needs to go safely

5. Jack: the self-discipline that this boy possesses is unrivaled. he would be locked in behind the wheel. he spent so long becoming the best driver he can be and by god, he's gonna prove it

6. Deuce: LISTEN TO ME, LISTEN! he's really good on that blastcycle which is more dangerous and difficult (said as a former bike/atv guy). a car is nothing to him. plus he's on his Honor Student streak so he's trying his best. my only worry is speed. slow it down, friend

7. Epel: similar to deuce. farm kids learn to drive really early in their lives. HOWEVER... driving safely?? hmmmm... his biggest flaws are going too fast and whipping around curves when no one else is on the road

8. Riddle: he would definitely follow all the road rules. to the letter. every trip would take an extra 30 minutes to an hour. no music, windows up, silence. he won't even let YOU be on your phone lest he become distracted. also ROAD RAGE. interstate driving would get very scary

9. Ortho: fuck it, let the robot give it a shot

10. Azul: i feel like once he figured out the mechanics, he would be fine on the road. however, if he got pulled over he would definitely argue with the cop and get us both arrested. so... i'm gonna pass

11. Jade: yes, we're getting where we need to go. but... nefariously. and there's something in the trunk. i feel like he'd also randomly go "oops" just to freak out his passengers. "what do you mean OOPS?" "don't worry about it :)"

12. Ruggie: there's a wildness to my boy that drove his ranking down. he would definitely drive a jeep with the doors off. music blasting, wind whipping around everywhere. it would be a fairly safe drive but not a particularly enjoyable one. also i would fall out

13. Silver: i don't know, i feel like he would be chill. i put him low bc briar valley doesn't have cars so his driving education would be quite scarce and he'd be a new driver. but he could get the job done. probably

14. Sebek: similar to silver but he needs to relax. malleus is fine, we're just going to walmart

15. Ace: he just gives off the vibe of "16-year-old kid in the car his dad bought for him." never lets anyone merge, hits curbs, can never figure out the speed limit, etc, etc. even worse if deuce is in the car! "ace, watch out for the mailbox!" "don't tell me what to- *BANG*"

16. Cater: gay people can't drive

17. Rook: distracted driver. god forbid there's wildlife around, he would turn 180 in his seat to look at it. this Oh Shit Handle is getting some use. also i KNOW his car would be shit. i don't care that his family is rich, he's driving a 2003 hyundai sonata

18. Floyd: LISTEN! there's a 50/50 shot that everything goes perfectly fine. like as long as he's in a good mood, he can get the job done. you definitely just have to check in before you buckle up. get ready to tuck and roll

19. Malleus: what is a car?

20. Idia: there's so much anxiety there i feel like one thing would go slightly left and he'd almost pass out. he's white-knuckling the wheel, praying that no one else is on the road. it's alright buddy, you can be a passenger princess

21. Kalim: No.

22. Grim + Yuu: okay, for this one it's a joint effort. yuu at the wheel and grim on the pedals. there's so much chaos and screaming. four-way stops don't exist. yellow lights are green and red lights are yellow. the horn has not stopped honking since the engine started. this is an emergency situation ONLY. like someone is bleeding out in the backseat and no one is answering their phones

23. Lilia: absolutely not. i will walk

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XVI

Chapter 16

Last chapter here

Masterlist

sailor Daenys era

Daenys and Cregan began their hunt with the supplies available in Rook's Rest. Kalla was kind enough to guide them to guest rooms, weapon storage, and even the vaults. Though Daenys had no current need for coin, she was grateful for the trust Kalla had given her in such little time.

"The Princess of Dragons" was an affectionate name given to her by Kalla and Kallus, who regailed her 'taming' of Sunfyre with wide eyes. Though they only heard of it initially from the soliders, they watched on in awe as the dragon that had been keeping them indoors for days was now bowing his lean head to the Princess.

She kindly accepted the moniker, knowing that non-Valyrion blooded folk did not understand the kinship that Valyrions had with dragons. Bonded or not. Though, the wary look that Cregan stared at the golden dragon with did amuse her.

She expected the ship and small crew to arrive by the next daylight. With the raven reaching Rhaenyra and the Queen sending word to a trusted captain, preparations had to be made from there to transport a dragon. None had done such a feat, with dragons notoriously being independent. Daenys had not recalled a single dragon in her family's history that had become handicapped in its time. Most dragons sustaining battle injuries perished. She was glad Sunfyre was an outlier—Aegon's dragon or not.

Wielding only a spear, Daenys shrugged off the suggestion of traps from Cregan. "Sunfyre wouldn't taste a rabbit or squirrel if we fed it to him. It's the equivalent to crumbs for us."

Cregan huffed good-naturedly. "Spoiled things, dragons are."

"We are royalty, Lord Stark." She mused with a sidewards glance to him as they shared a smile.

"So what does a Prince's dragon eat?" He mumbled half to himself, eyes scanning with all the vigilance of a weathered wolf.

"Goat, cattle, deer." She shrugged. They all had different preferences when being fed by the dragonkeepers. Syrax preferred sheep and cattle, Vermax liked harder to kill prey like stags, and not to even mention Caraxes who exclusively hunted wild for himself. Daenys considered herself lucky that Morningstar was not so picky, especially when the North and South held different types of meals. Having to leave her behind after her marriage seemed like a fate worse than death. "Last I saw in King's Landing, Sunfyre liked smaller animals. He has quite the narrow snout."

"Looks more a snake than a dragon." Cregan commented. Daenys shot an amused glance to him, thinking to herself that he was a little right.

"You've gotten comfortable around them."

"Dragons?" He asked, huffing.

She hummed acknowledgment.

"One could never grow comfortable with enemy forces. Who knows if the usurper's dragon will be submissive for so long? I've simply gotten used to the sight, 'tis all."

"You won't be saying that when you see Vhagar. She's another league of her own." Daenys frowned. How unfair it was, that a dragon as ancient and war-torn as Vhagar got to live nearly two hundred years and none of her kin got the same. It would have been a mercy for the beast to rest with Balerion and Meraxes. Balerion passed of what the dragonkeepers suspected was old age, not too long after Viserys got to claim him as his dragon. Vhagar lived to this day nearly fifty years later, still fighting and flying while she was so close to the Black Dread's age.

Now, the old queen would be resigned to fight until she died, like her sister Meraxes. An ironic fate, to be sure. The Targaryen men always seemed to have it easier, in the end.

"I'd like to hope I never see Vhagar in my lifetime."

Daenys looked to the skies for a moment. The clear blue spotted by fluffy white clouds was almost disrespectful to the ongoing war. In all the history texts she read, the weather was never mentioned. Why should such insignificant things be given space on the precious pages? Yet she always imagined stormy grey skies and unruly waves scouring the entire ocean during times of war and death. Living it was an entirely different thing than imagining it. The world went on as normal, like nothing had changed within the realm.

Daenys' life would never be the same. The world would go on despite it.

"I feel the same way." She said absentmindedly.

She was only stopped from her walk by a firm hand on her elbow. Turning, she met Cregan's stern face. "You're distracted." He stated.

"I'm thinking." She deflected.

He didn't let go, turning his head down in a way that reminded her of Dusk. "Is it about the man?" He guessed.

Guiltily, the man she killed had truly not been on her mind since her and Jacaerys had taken their leave outside. Daenys didn't feel like talking about the pressure of war to him, nor did she feel like lying to his face, so she shrugged and brushed his hand off her arm. Instead, she laced her fingers with his to urge him onwards.

"Sunfyre needs to eat." Was her distant reply.

The next morning, both of the dragons had been appropriately fed and provided water. It took the efforts of Cregan and Daenys both to push a bin large enough for a dragon to drink out of, but it was worth it to see the dragon lighten considerably.

Kalla had given them spacious guest rooms that were in much better repair than those at Harrenhall. The bed and dry room felt like a dream compared to those nights in damp halls.

After dressing herself (only tying the corset with the aid of a blushing Cregan), Daenys went to the dining hall, expecting it to be occupied only by the servants. She was instead met with a hyperactive Kallus, who seemed to recover from his hardships in his home with bright smiles and teeming energy. Kalla, who looked much more tired than her brother, said her 'goodmornings' to Cregan and Daenys with a yawn.

"Princess!" Kallus shouted from his seat, bowl of breakfast oats picked clean. "Kalla said you would let me ride your dragon!"

"I said she might allow you to get near it." The sister corrected, nudging him back into his seat.

Daenys laughed softly, the sight familiar and heart-squeezing all at the same time. "Of course you can. Morningstar carries quite a good temperment compared to most." She said, watching the boy's eyes light up.

"Can I pet her? Please, can I?" He babbled, jumping from his seat and tugging Kalla to get up as well.

"We'll see how you feel when you get up close." She decided, lifting a hand out for the boy to latch on to. Which he did in a barrel of motion, nearly knocking the princess over if not for Cregan's steady hand on her waist. Playfully glaring at him at the sound of a chuckle rumbling in the Stark's chest, Daenys led the way outdoors. In the warmth of the sun the two dragons basked in its light out in the open field, giant pail of water nearly empty from Sunfyre's rapid gulps.

Golden and white scales gleamed in the light like gemstones and as the four of them drew closer, with Kalla hiding behind Cregan and Kallus nearly tripping Daenys with how close he dragged his feet near her. "You haven't lost your courage now have you, Kallus?" Cregan asked with a warm lit of humor.

Kallus vehemently denied. "No! It's cold out here."

She had to muffle a laugh at his denial, nodding along. "Freezing. I should have brought a fur-lined coat out here." The sun was high in the sky and the air fresh and cool. Despite this, a heavy feeling engulfed her body in a mere few moments. Turning to Cregan, she saw his own pelt off his broad shoulders, obviously now placed on her own over the borrowed dress. Quickly moving her gaze back to Kallus, her flustered expression couldn't be hidden from the Stark Lord, who held an extreme likeness to the cat who ate the canary.

Morningstar lifted her head to meet the group. A low trill left her jaws, and the Stauntons froze in fear. "It's okay. She is only curious." Daenys comforted, placing a hand on Kallus' back and rubbing in gentle circles. "Do you still want to meet her?"

Kalla gulped loudly. "Are you certain she will not...?"

Cregan smiled and nodded reassuringly. "The Princess of Dragons can surely trust her own dragon with your brother. If Morningstar allowed me to ride upon her saddle, she'll have no issue with Kallus merely petting her, my Lady." He offered confidently.

This seemed to work, as the elder sister brightened up and nodded firmly. "Go on, Kallus. The Princess won't let anything happen to you."

Invigorated by his sister's confidence, Kallus summoned all the courage in his little heart and allowed Daenys to guide him up to Morningstar.

"Lykiri," she cooed to the dragon, who's deep exhale when sniffing the boy nearly knocked him over. Satisfied, she lowered her head to the floor. "Go on." She urged, placing a hand first between her dragon's nostrils.

Even though Kallus was shivering, he still followed her lead and placed a hand on her snout. "It's warm!" He shouted in awe, earning an endeared chuckle from the Princess.

"Dragons run quite hot."

"Because of the fire?" He asked innocently, stroking the white scales up and down as Morningstar purred.

"Mmhm." She affirmed. Turning to look over her shoulder, Daenys saw the teary eyes of Kalla and the fond look of Cregan. He studied her carefully with a small but permanent smile plastered on his face. The intense stare was nearly too much for her to bear and Daenys was grateful for Kallus' intrusion.

"One day, I want a dragon of mine own."

"You might find one yet, sweet boy."

Daenys skipped lunch, choosing to overlook the seas by rooftop of Rook's Rest. Cregan joined only after scribing a letter to the greybeard's commander.

"Lord Trant sent word that the men joined forced near the Twins. It's only a few weeks left before they'll make it to the heart of the Riverlands."

Daenys smiled, relieved at the positive news. "If Jace convinces the Freys to allow them passage we'll be able to see the Riverland armies meet with the Northern. If we can surround the Crownlands and the Reach..." She gripped the ledge with white knuckles.

Cregan placed a firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "The Westerlands have been mostly neutral thus far. If the Greyjoys join your mother's force, they'll all surrender to their navy."

She nodded, the sight of the ocean below calming her turbulent mind. "With time. All we need is time."

"Daenys," Cregan started, moving to stand at the ledge with her and leaning on it with both hands. Together, they overlooked the waters. "I need to tell you something."

"What is it?" She asked, throat feeling dry at his solemn tone.

He smiled knowingly, easing her anxiety with a breath of air through his nose. "It's not bad. I only wished to tell you before you see for yourself and think I've kept it from you. Which, I have long enough."

A lover? She thought, squinting. No, he's said before that he had none. A third leg, perhaps. A mutated one that is hidden from sight. She amused herself with her thoughts before he could continue.

"Go on."

"Do you remember what I told you about Wargs and their ancestry in the North?"

Daenys did, only in his briefest mention and the faint stories of her childhood. Rumors here and there of Northmen and wildlings shifting their perspectives into bonded animals, seeing through their eyes and moving in their feet.

"I do." She shrugged.

"You told me that if you could bond with your dragon, you would believe any magic in this world."

Daenys nodded again, slightly exasperated.

"I am a warg." Cregan told her, looking into his eyes with a strangely guilty face.

Daenys sucked a breath in. "Dusk?" She asked, curiousity rising in her.

Cregan grinned at her automatic response. "Of course."

"And you're not jesting?"

"When do I?" He mused. "I'm serious. I held off on telling you because there was never a good time. I correspond with Lord Trant and the forces through him."

Daenys shared his proud expression. Nudging his shoulder, she said, "I couldn't be upset about that, silly Stark. I think its nice that we can share a bond like we do."

She had many questions on her mind; how did it feel to be a wolf? How did he find out about the ability? How many wargs were there in the Stark line? All had to wait, unfortunately, as a ship made way over the horizon. Nearly noon now, the sun was high and cast no shadows, showing the vessel in all its glory.

"Eveningstar..." She murmured out in awe. As beautiful as she remembered it, her father's ship was a smooth oak with dyed blue Valyrion banners. On its mainsail was a matching seahorse, and on the smaller jibs on the front was two silver dragons intertwined—an image of Morningstar and Seasmoke. Laenor had it added on mere days after Corlys gifted it to him—insisting that the future owner of the ship should have her dragon memorialized along with his.

Daenys still remembered how sore her cheeks were from grinning all day long as they sailed around the Stormlands.

"Eveningstar?" Cregan asked, eyes sharp. "Your mother's ship?"

"My father's. It stays at Driftmark since his death." She breathed. "My grandsire is here."

Tensely, he asked, "that's a good thing, is it not?"

She was unsure of that herself. It felt like her father sending in Rhaenyra when Daenys did something wrong—he never had the heart to punish her. She had let Jacaerys go off on his own after all. "I hope so," she offered meekly, shrugging to Cregan who's eyes glitted with amusement.

Corlys coming was an unmeasured variable, though Daenys wasn't unhappy to know it was someone familiar rather than a crew of random sailors from Dragonstone's port. She was happy to see Eveningstar in good shape.

When the ship docked, Cregan and Daenys met them at the small pier. She made a mental reminder to send word for the dock to be made bigger, to house more ships from Driftmark's fleet in case of emergencies. Corlys came off first, using his relatively new cane as an aid.

"Grandsire," Daenys rushed to meet him in a hug. The first time seeing him since Rhaenys' death, and she knew it hung heavily between them. Corlys looked exhausted, more so than usual, with puffy eyes and lines thick on his face.

"Daenys." He greeted warmly, cradling her head to his chest and resting his chin on her head. "You won Rook's Rest back."

Flustered at his statement, she looked over her shoulder at the burnt fields and blood-stained patches. She knew his curt words were his own way of congratulations and pride; quite similar to Daemon. "We did." She spoke. The very place Rhaenys died was taken back into their hands, and she felt unaccomplished saying it aloud. "If only I got Aemond, too."

Corlys stared out at the fields distantly. "One step at a time, granddaughter." He ambled a few steps away, back to the gangway. At the top of it, standing rigidly near the railing was a well-muscled man with deep-toned skin. "This is Addam of Hull. The man who rescued me in the Stepstones. He started upkeep on Eveningstar upon our return to Driftmark."

"I hadn't thought we'd need to use her again after Laenor's death, but I find myself surprised every day now." Corlys said dryly. For a split second, his eyes wandered down to the direwolf sigil that kept the coat firm over her shoulders. If he noticed it as Cregan's he did not say a word.

Daenys fought the urge to look at Cregan behind her questioningly. Many crewmates came and went under Corlys' nose without him batting an eye, nor bothering to introduce her to someone who she would ride a boat with for a few measly hours. Truthfully, she hadn't cared who the crew she spent so much time with on Eveningstar with since she'd been too busy enjoying the quality time with her father.

"Princess." Addam greeted nervously, bowing his head to her slightly from his position above.

"A pleasure." She uttered back, looking to her grandsire again. "Is Eveningstar equipped to hold Sunfyre like I request?"

Corlys hummed, glancing to The Golden in the treeline. The dragons had since huddled there during the night, cuddling like a liter of pups. "When Rhaenyra sent that raven I thought she had gone mad." Daenys tensed involuntarily. "But, I know now that I owe her an apology. You really did tame the brat's dragon."

"I wouldn't say tamed," she started. "He was practically abandoned. Can't fly ever again, so they left him to be reduced to a guard dog."

"All the better for us." He assured, proudly clapping her on the shoulder. "We can haul the dragon on through the cargo strip."

Leaning in to mutter, Corlys asked: "Are you certain Sunfyre won't eat the crew the moment we set sail? There's no getting back to Dragonstone without them all."

Smiling, she met his coy jest. "Mayhaps we ought to pick which men can be sacrificed first."

Within the hour, Sunfyre was led onto Eveningstar through the back of the ship's much larger gangway. Watching the scene, surely the first of its kind, Morningstar tilted her giant head this way and that as Sunfyre willingly was led by Daenys onto the man-made contraption. When he was settled awkwardly between the poles of the ship, ducked and weaved carefully so nothing could break, Daenys met Cregan at the pier.

"How do you think Kalla and Kallus will fare alone?" She asked him, plucking at her nails from the overwhelming responsibilities. Getting Sunfyre safely to Dragonstone without being hunted by Vhagar, sailing the ship without complications, leaving Rook's Rest undefended yet again. Although it was such a short trip between the two castles, it would be so easy for a Green dragon to simply fly out to Rook's Rest and destroy it entirely.

Cregan looked on to the two siblings, who were standing in front of the keep's entrance and holding hands. "They'll be just fine. The Greens won't bother to fight hard and lose men over this place again, knowing that the Queen is adamant on protecting it."

Daenys sighed, tension still harsh on her shoulders as she rolled them and leaned into Cregan's warmth. "That's it, then." She said aloud. They had already said their 'goodbyes' that morning to the two lonesome Stauntons. "Familiarize yourself with my grandsire while I give Morningstar heed?" She requested with a saccharine smile.

With a sweet kiss on her hand, Cregan boarded the ship and met Corlys near the wheel, greeting the man with all the respect that the Sea Snake deserved. Turning her attention to the curious white dragon, Daenys patting her maw gently. "Return to Dragonstone and rest." She commanded, earning a chuff from the jealous dragon. In only a few moments, the she-dragon lifted off toward the island on her own. It would take no time for her to reach the dragonpit and the Dragonkeepers to continue treating her still-healing wounds.

Kissing her teeth, Daenys boarded the boat last. Meeting Corlys at its head, she answered his raised brow. "Let's set off."

Daenys stood at the bow in front while Corlys made his way to the stern as he shouted orders to begin steering the ship out of the pier. She couldn't shake the sudden pit she had in her stomach—the same feeling she got the previous day when she had a daydream. Still uncertain of her newfound development, Daenys was wary of her consciousness flowing in and out. At her side, Cregan's hand hovered around her waist. "You look pale." He muttered lowly. "Are you greensick?"

"I don't get greensick." She said weakly. Clutching the railing, she could see dots of black cloud her vision for seconds at a time before fading back to normal.

Narrowing his eyes, Cregan eyed the area behind them where Sunfyre sat in the middle of the ship. "Let's get you sat down." He said, guiding her near the antsy dragon to allow her some privacy and rest. Most of the crew seemed to either pretend that a dragon wasn't trapped on a barge with them or stared at it the entire time. Both types of men had clear trembles in their hands as sails were dropped and knots were tied.

Slumping down against Sunfyre, who barely even noticed with his hackles raised and head turning wildly to figure out why his world was rocking to and fro, Daenys allowed herself to fall into the oncoming vision.

The crashing waves that heavy downpours of rain brought moved the sea and thunder flashes lit up the skies and black sea alike. With a shattering sound she was out of the vision again.

Cregan was hovering, peering down at her with great concern. "Where did you go?" He asked in a hushed tone, plenty aware of the stares Corlys was giving them.

At the end of the ship a shout came: "there's something caught on the anchor!" From a crewmate. Corlys limped over to see, muttering under his breath about the annoyance.

"Leave the anchor at the side, as long as it doesn't drag against the seafloor we can depart. Dragonstone is only a short sail away."

Obediently, the man tied rolled what he could of the chain around the windlass and locked it in place. "Ready to go, m'Lord."

Corlys returned to the wheel and steered it out.

Daenys blinked rapidly, the same feeling overwhelming her again.

"Daenys," came his voice again. "Focus on me."

As much as she wanted to, the call of her mind was much stronger than the physical force around her. Once more, she was thrust into the storm.

"Go home, pup and tell the bitch your mother that the Lord of Storm's end is not a dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

Who was that? The hateful voice seemed to surround her as the man shouted.

Soaking wet but still somehow impermanent like she had been during the murder of Jaehaerys, Daenys was in a keep's hall surrounded by guards and the pouring rain outside. The hall echoed with every word the black-haired man spoke, and it dawned on her who exactly he was.

Borros Baratheon. The Lord of House Baratheon and the indirect murderer of Lucerys. The first of the great houses to break their oath to Rhaenyra and side with the Greens. Daenys vaguely thought he was pathetic at first sight, yelling at a boy from his seat at the head of the room. On one side stood Aemond with his hands folding behind his back, a smug and calculated look on his sharp face.

"House Baratheon sides with King Aegon Targaryen."

Lucerys tensed harshly, hand grabbing onto his sword pommel at his belt—though he must have known it would never protect him against the elder. He looked back and forth between Aemond and Borros, thinking of his next course of action. In the pouring rain, it would be hard to travel home: most Lords would offer a Prince lodging for the night in such cases.

The Baratheon would not. His pride was too great.

"Leave, boy."

Lucerys knew he was out of luck. Aemond had already given his hand to Lord Borros' daughter in exchange for his men and navy. Luke, being bethrothed, had nothing to give. Kissing his teeth, he turned tail to walk back to the waiting Arrax. Though as he walked he shivered from the cold, and his wet clothes did not help. Daenys wished to do something for her brother—anything to keep him safe and warm. A simple cloak over his small frame, a seat by the dining hall's fire that they conversed in front of so often, a dragonride together in the safety of Dragonstone's territory.

"Wait." Aemond pursed, stopping Luke from his tracks.

Luke looked over his shoulder, keeping a brave face. Daenys was shocked that her feet moved on their own, something she was usually unable to do during visions, to stand in front of him and between Aemond.

The whisp of air from her movement seemed to make Luke pause and search the space in front of him. Though his distraction was short-lived when Aemond spoke again. Aemond moved slowly as he removed the black patch that covered his missing eye. It was a gruesome sight to see that a sapphire had replaced the spot where an eye once was. It was deep and sparkling though wholely empty and intimidating. Holding it tight by his hip, Aemond growled, "I want you to put out your eye."

Daenys gasped and Lucerys backed up slightly. "I won't fight you." He countered bravely. Daenys saw how Borros tensed but made no move to stop the feud, no matter how unfair it was.

"Give me your eye, or I will take it myself!" He shouted. In a flurry of movement unsheathing his dagger and rushing towards Lucerys. Panicking and reaching for his sword, the brown-haired boy fumbled with his shaky hands and couldn't grip the pommel in time. Aemond had tackled him to the floor, leaving the guards to stand all around them in stunned silence.

Borros stood from his seat in horror, shouting for Aemond to take the fight out of his halls. Of course, the furious prince didn't listen to a word the man said as he raised the dagger. Daenys shot forward like an arrow, the instinctal urge to stop Aemond much greater than the logic that she was only witnessesing what had already been done.

The dagger shot right through her hand, leaving a sting of phantom pain as she fell forward to the floor. She was forced to watch as Lucerys' eye was stabbed straight-on and her little brother screamed in agony.

Daenys didn't know which was worse: Luke's scream or Aemond's gleeful laugh.

It was deranged and mad—all the abominable things she'd been called her entire life were instead manifested in her uncle. Tearing the dagger out of Lucerys' eye socket after the climax of the moment was over, Aemond sat back on his haunches and his face shifted yet again. The cat-like grin of satisfaction disappeared, and it became straight once again. While Luke writhed on the floor in pain and clutched his bleeding wound, Aemond finally stood up and sheathed the weapon.

Then, and only then, did Borros Baratheon speak up. With a cowardly look of desperation, his voice treambled as he spoke. "Escort the Prince out of my hall." He was pale-faced and tight-lipped. He knew that the second Lucerys reported Borros' competency in his assault Rhaenyra Targaryen herself would come flying for retribution.

Luke was dragged up roughly by his elbows by the guards. Daenys winced with every yowl that left him as he jolted around like a pup, manhandled like he was a beggar on the streets. Even though her greatest desire at that moment in time was to chase after her brother's image and aid him—Daenys was yet again trapped in place.

As Aemond watched on in eerie silence, Borros grabbed onto his arm. Muttered in a fast and flighty manner, "let this nary make itself a problem for my House. If the Princess hears word of what happened in this hall...House Baratheon and the Stormlands will be forced to neutrality in the upcoming war." Although vague his words were easily understood.

Aemond shoved the man off, scoffing at his casual touch. "The King expects your forces to be rallied within the moon." With a swish of his long hair, the Targaryen left the hall, leaving the Lord silent and his youngest daughter in tears.

Daenys raced him outside, met with the worst storm than she'd ever witnessed. It was wild and untamable, no end point in sight. Beyond the Baratheon walls lay the sea between the Stormlands and Dragonstone, which was equally as wild in nature. Still struggling, the Velayron boy was shoved to the floor in front of an ornery Arrax. Although the white dragon was known for his pleasent temper and protective nature, he looked more like his heart sister Morningstar at that moment: all bared teeth and ear-spliting roars. He could not breathe arrays of fire on the guards lest Luke also be burned, but the intimidation was more than enough to send them running back into the safety of the hall.

Daenys nearly stopped in her own steps, frightened at the sight of Arrax's new demeanor. The little dragon nudged a sobbing Luke on the floor, comforting him in the only way he could. He felt his pain just as the boy did, as joined souls often did. She knelt in front of him slowly, touch ghosting through him as she cupped his flushed cheek. Daenys did not yet realize that Aemond had slipped past the three of them to mount Vhagar, ready to take to the skies yet again. Her attempts at soothing were for naught as Luke sniffled and clutched onto Arrax's neck. He was helped up by the dragon's strength and nudged onto the saddle. With only one hand able to clutch the prongs, Daenys instinctively corrected him.

"It may seem fun to make dragonriding more thrilling, but a loose grip is all it takes to go flying off your saddle. Arrax can't catch you, issa valonqar." Daenys scolded, though the glint in her eye gave away her mirth.

Lucerys rolled his eyes and dramatically placed his hand back on the grip. "You're no fun, Dae." He groaned.

"That's my job. To suck the life out of my little brothers." She laughed.

Her hand shot to the one covering his own. Lucerys froze in his hasty seating, good eye shooting around like he'd seen an apparition in the corner of it. After a long moment, his hand left the wound, slowly moving to the saddle, though it pained him to do so. "Take me North, Arrax." The boy managed, squeezing his eyes shut and hugging himself to the saddle. Daenys could only watch on as the little dragon took its last flight.

The storm would take her brother that night, only minutes later, after he thought he was finally safe. She watched as Vhagar took flight soon after, a silent predator in the dark.

When she was finally released, Daenys found that no time had passed. Corlys was still steering his way out of the port and mass of cliffs surrounding. Cregan was still standing vigil over her, a permanent wrinkle between his set brows. "What did you see?" He asked in a hushed tone.

"Lucerys." She answered immediately. "Aemond took his eye before he took his life. He got even—in every way he demanded. But he still wasn't happy." She slumped backward onto Sunfyre, who seemed to be more content with the familiar company though he was nowhere near off his high alert.

Cregan was quiet for a few beats. "I thought these only came to you in your sleep."

"Me too." She whispered, feeling a wave of defeat wash over her. "It's been happening since we got to Rook's Rest."

"Daenys," he started, moving a stray strand of hair out of her face. "Don't think of this as a setback. I think it's quite the opposite."

"Opposite?" She asked, bleary.

"The daydreams." He said. "Seem quite different than the ones at night. You knew you were having one."

She nodded, taking the warmth of his presence in gratefully. It was like an anchor on the rocky ship, pulling her down to the earth. In the back of her mind, Vhagar's rumbling roar encompassed her thoughts. "It wasn't much different otherwise. Although..."

He raised a brow for her to continue.

Clamorous flapping of ripped wings.

"It's all the same. I'm seeing the past happen through my own body, though my interference does nothing. Every dream except that of my cousin's death—when Helaena saw me. Perhaps there is something I have not uncovered." Her voice was mellowed and low, speaking quickly and more towards herself than to Cregan who was patiently intaking information.

"You think you can choose what glimpses of the past to experience? Or, say, the future?" He trailed, thoughtfully looking on over the railing to the soft waves.

"Only the Gods know." She said, watching the man known as Addam approach. The corners of Cregan's mouth lifted at her jest, but his eyes landed on Addam, too, both wondering what the man wanted from them.

Addam dipped his head slightly toward Daenys, eyes flitting unsurely between the Lord and Princess. "Lord Corlys has scheduled a detour."

Daenys' jaw clenched, annoyed at her grandsire's lack of urgency. "Does he know there is a dragon boarded upon his ship?" She asked. Of course, he sent his crewmate to tell her such news rather than himself.

"Eveningstar is your vessel, to my knowledge, your highness." Addam said, a gleam of amusement in his deep brown eyes. "Lord Corlys said so himself when he ordered it to be maintained. Ser Laenor's ship passes to his eldest child."

Daenys' heart panged. Traditionally, it should have gone to Luke, heir to driftmark after Corlys. Even if Lucerys were alive to become heir, she suspected the ship would have ended up in her possession still. By gift of Laenor or Luke. It had her dragon on it, after all, and none could refute the fact that the knight held his daughter's bond closer than his sons'.

"If that is true, then should we not prioritize my task of bringing Sunfyre to Dragonstone for safe keeping?"

Addam looked bashful, unsure of how to answer on behalf of her grandsire. "We are en route to Stone Dance. Lord Gormon Massey gifted the Queen his finest smithy's and fishermen. For what purpose exactly, I am unaware."

Stone Dance, house of the Masseys. Elinda, Rhaenyra's head Lady in Waiting and trusted friend, was the daughter of Gormon, who sat upon the Black council. It made sense that Rhaenyra tasked two things to Corlys instead of just fetching Sunfyre alone.

That didn't make the situation any less vexing. Sunfyre should be the top priority, not a group of working men who could easily travel by the Massey's own ship.

"I see. Thank you, Addam." Daenys muttered dismissively. As much as she wished to plea to Corlys to turn course, even she knew that her mother's word was above her own in the eyes of this crew. To everyone else, perhaps even her grandsire, Daenys was a spoilt and odd girl who had no place being outside of Dragonstone in a time of war. Cregan took her hand in his own, looking down past his straight nose at her.

"I know it's bothersome, but at least it gives Jacaerys some more time with the Freys to plead our case." He offered.

Daenys shook her head lightly, smiling at his comfort. "Indeed. Perhaps my brother can induldge himself in two cups of wine instead of one during his visit."

Stone Dance was in sight quicker than Daenys expected. The time passed easily when Cregan kept company at her side as they watched waves and cliffs pass them by together. As the island grew in size, so did the visibility of that surrounding it. She squinted as she watched two large boats heading past the island's port and towards them.

"I thought we were sent to board the men." She murmured. "Why has Lord Massey changed his mind?" Was it supplies and cargo on those ships instead, perhaps?

Cregan stood eerily still and quiet. After a long pause, he tensed as his sharp eye finally caught sight of what he was searching for. "That isn't from House Massey." He said, clutching the pommel of his sword. "Get to the hold."

A shout came from the front of the ship, a scouter and navigator, "it's House Baratheon's ships!"

Daenys looked to Corlys, who's grey brows furrowed deep and his jaw set. Looking to Daenys immediately, he repeated what Cregan said. "Get down to the navigation room." At the reaffirmed order, Cregan moved to guide her when she stood still at the sight of the bright yellow banners.

"Cregan." She grit out, resisting his tug although it easily overpowered her own.

He stops in place, turning to her, and for a moment she swears that fear was deep in his eyes. In a flash it is gone and replaced by determination and zeal. "Daenys." He says, just as seriously. "There is no telling how many men are aboard those ships compared to our own—or what the Baratheons want with a Velayron force. If they see you—"

"I'll handle myself," she spoke, frowning at his rushed words. The yellow banners drew closer as they stood idle and the crew moved to defensive positions around them.

"There are less than ten men on this boat. The moment Lord Borros finds out the Princess is with us, he will engage without a doubt. If he only sees the dragon, he might be wise enough to leave the matter."

Cregan was totally out of his element. On the open water with no allies but those of Velayron-loyal shipmates, he was alone in his experience, and they were alone in theirs. This crew had likely seen many battles against raiders or pirates or other such naval fleets and dealt with them accordingly—the Starks did not fight in the sea but instead on the mountainous land of the North. His fear was not for himself but instead for her, who he swore to protect with his life only moons ago.

She nodded with a hesitant finality. Placing a swift kiss on Cregan's cheek, she squeezed his hand before rushing under the deck and into the navigation room thar Corlys instructed her to be in. From the small port window, Daenys could see the two ships approach with an aggressive speed. Yelling and stomping feet were all she heard above the planks, specks of dust falling onto her as the bustle increased. Sunfyre grew more anxious without the familiar comfort near him, and his shifting nearly drowned out the men's footsteps. Suddenly, that stopped, too, and the dragon settled to a perfectly still position—yet none could stop the ornery roars he let out. She felt immense guilt for practically abandoning the beast all on his own when he was already frightened.

Finally, the two ships were flank-to-flank.

The space was quiet for a time, murmurs that were indecipherable to her ears coming from men of both sides.

Vaguely, Daenys was able to recognize the cadence of Borros Baratheon, apparently conversing peacefully with her grandsire at the edge of his own ship.

"King's dragon...return...Targaryen history..." Borros Baratheon's words were more recognizable than Corly's with his louder tone. Having to practically shout to feel above the veteran Lord, Borros sounded quite pathetic next to him.

It wasn't possible that House Baratheon was sent to fetch Sunfyre. If the Greens already found out about the kidnapping, Aemond would have been directly sent before the ship could make it to Dragonstone.

But he was not.

Borros wasn't sent for Sunfyre. So then, what made him take two of his valuable ships all the way up to Stone Dance instead of readying them for war? Was Aegon's council really foolish enough to attempt to gather their naval fleet into the gulf of Blackwater Bay? It would be all too easy for them to cage themselves between two pieces of land, and for the Velayron fleet to corner them in that bay, even a man foreign to war strategy would know that.

Two ships.

Daenys' heart raced as time continued to pass. She was missing something here, but what?

A sudden 'thud!' made her retreat from the window, startling at the fright. Yells started soon after, and the unmistakable sound of iron scratching against its shealth filled the air by the tens. Swords clashed against one another, the heavy scent of iron stung her nose and seemed to flow around her as much as the salty water did.

Daenys rushed to the room's door, sealing herself against it as she debated her actions. How many men were there? If the Baratheons ended up overpowering the ship's force, they would take whoever was left alive as hostages and bring them straight to King's Landing. It felt like she had walked into her own prison by sending for Rhaenyra's aid. What kind of dimwitted soldiers jumped right into the jaws of a dragon? More angry roars and stomping limbs thumping on the ceiling nearly convinced Daenys that Sunfyre would come falling through a hole in the deck.

Pained screams came after each roar periodically, most likely the dragon biting whatever fool approached him or got cornered between a crewmate and the beast.

Under ten men plus a dragon, Daenys mused triumphantly. She regretted not ordering Morningstar to hover over the ship, but could not dwell on such frivolities. Daenys held her breath as hurried footsteps rushed down the hatches steep staircase and knocked into the navigation room's door. She winced at the heavy force, but pushed her entire weight stubbornly against it.

The body stilled and huffing breaths paused. A slow slice of metal met the wood of the door as a voice called lowly, "come out of 'here and I'll make this easy."

Borros.

He got past Sunfyre and Cregan in the frenzy upstairs. It was impossible that he knew exactly who was in the room, only that there was someone. Daenys squeezed her eyes shut, still as a statue and unwilling to even exhale to make a single sound. Cregan, where are you? Was everyone dead? Her bethrothed, her grandsire?

A bang on the door. "Get out, you coward!"

Daenys released a heavy breath, knowing that it wouldn't be hard to knock down the door. Even if she revealed herself before he could, would mercy be granted?

Nay, she'd face the same watery grave her brother did.

A spell of nausea overcame her, the same feeling that she'd begun to familiarize herself with. Not now. She couldn't afford to leave her body without her consciousness.

Daenys decided to take her chances with the door. She kept herself firmly against it, using her weight as countermeasure to his own shoulder barging into the other side. Her eyes frantically searched the small room for any weapon better than the dagger at her waist. Nothing but maps and compasses that she could possibly reach.

She ripped herself from the door, allowing it to be shoved open with a loud crash against the wall. There stood a heaving Borros, face red and hair russled. He looked like a rabid animal, all instinct and no humanity.

Shock gleamed in his eyes as he paused, "princess?" Came through his lips in a confused murmur. As if she was the last person that he expected to find on this ship.

Without wasting a moment, she shouldered past him and ran upstairs. Sunfyre was her best bet with his intimidating appearance and massive set of jaws. He was smart enough not to use fire for now—but that could only last so long before he grows desperate enough to take risks.

Above the deck was a worse sight than below. Men in yellow and black were fighting with men in plain clothes. The crew held much better than Daenys expected—perhaps more trained than she had given them credit for. Near the top of the ship where the dragon carvings were, Addam was parrying two Baratheon soldiers with a fluidity that nearly had her stopping to admire.

Cregan was nowhere to he seen. Daenys forced herself to remain optimistic about his safety, ever trusting in his capabilities. Corlys was at the opposite of Addam, staggering back as a man cornered him. Daenys' heart dropped at the sight, flashes of her grandmother reminding her of the tragedy that happened so recently. She couldn't lose both of them in the same place.

Sunfyre unfortunately had to wait.

Daenys surged forward to her grandsire, taking her dagger and thrusting it into the back of the soilder. As easy as it was to insert, it was ten times harder to take out, her grip failing her as the man shouted in pain and turned to face her in a flash. The knife still in his back, she was now weaponless. There was no time to think as the man raised his bloodied sword to strike her.

His head was promptly removed from his shoulders. As the body limply fell to the floor, staining it ever more, Daenys saw a panting Corlys behind gripping his sword tight mid-air. He was sweating profusely, pain evident in his eyes as he relaxed his arms and dropped the sword. He clutched his side, old wound bothering him as he leaned back against the railing.

They shared a mutual nod of thanks, Daenys working to grab her dagger back from the soldier's body and sheathe it again as she helped Corlys stand strong. From her perspective above most of the ship, she could make out blurry forms of men fighting and much clearer forms of the two Baratheon ships. The one that carried the soldiers was anchored next to Eveningstar still, while the second had long past them.

"Where is that one headed? Why have they come to Stone Dance?" She asked hastily. Her eyes searched for Cregan still, to no avail.

"Not for us. For Rook's Rest. That boat carries supplies for the men stationed there—or previously stationed there—in order to secure a perimeter to protect it against us. This one was backup."

Wrong place at the wrong time.

She was relieved to know that it wasn't another assassination attempt. Though war moves were not so different from that.

"How do you know all of that?"

Corlys coughed out a bitter laugh. "The Stag has a mouth bigger than his brain. He thinks he won already."

"Where is Lord Stark?" She finally asked tentatively, scared for the answer he might provide.

"Last I saw, he was protecting your dragon."

Daenys' heart raced at the knowledge. Cregan protecting Sunfyre even though he held no obligation to; it made her heart squeeze with affection. On the other hand, the middle of the ship was the most exposed and unprotected area. Enemies could come from any side. She could only pray that the dragon protected him, too.

"I can't bring you downstairs, grandsire. Borros found me there." She said, frantically searching for a hidden place to leave him.

Corlys slowly stood by himself, stubbornly leaning down to grab his sword from the ground. "Leave me, child. All I need is my sword—" Daenys did not hear the rest of his words.

She was harshly shoved against the railing, back angrily protesting as her tailbone was bent over it awkwardly. She gasped, grasping at the attacker's collar to steady herself. Borros found her quickly, leaning over her with a deadly grip on her biceps. His ragged breaths hit her face and assaulted her senses as he brutishly berated her, "mad girl, intruding where you do not belong! Your bitch mother sent two of her bastard spawn and thought she could convince me to back her cause?!"

Daenys stumbled over her words, feeling her consciousness waning in and out as he shook her like a ragdoll. The worst possible time. She fought against herself, pleading internally to stay in the moment. With the tight hold on her arms, she felt the blood begin to stop its flow to her forearms and fingers, feeling them grow cold by the second against the salty chill surrounding them. Behind her was the Baratheon's own ship with a strip of space between them, leading down into the sea.

"I didn't know—!" She plead her truth to the man, shaking her head wildly as he seemed to only grow angrier. At the mere sight of her—a stranger whom he had never laid eyes upon— Borros was resentful of her. Mayhaps, due to the trouble the Targaryen war had brought the Great Houses or the anxiety that dragons may come to burn his Keep down for allowing Lucerys to be murdered, she did not quite know.

His dark eyes were blown wide and nearly black. "She thinks she can negotiate her way out of everything. Your dragon won't save you now, it cannot even walk!" He chortled roughly as if he'd just told the most amusing jest of his life. Leaning in, he bit: "Your brother's certainly couldn't save him."

His hands clamped around her throat.

The brutal truth and realization that Daenys was not nearly as capable as she thought herself to be without Morningstar brought terror deep in her stomach and reduced her to pure adrenaline. All her actions were pure animalistic instincts, slashing at the man's throat and eyes with wretched gasps for air. When her vision spotted and Borros' snarl of fury turned into a triumphant grin, he released her.

With a shove, Daenys was pushed off the side of the ship. She barely registered her fall before she was submerged in ice-cold water. It was dark and suffocating between the shadows of the two boats, and Daenys felt a flaring pain in her back rip through the surface of her skin. She screamed out in pain, quickly growing to regret it as she sucked in a deep gulp of salty water. Daenys forced herself to swim up and up to breach the surface, stopping when she realized her dress' skirts had been caught on something.

Dizzy and running out of air, Daenys tugged with all her might. The sunlight seeped in between the boats only enough to give her some visibility. The silver of the anchor glinted back at her when it resisted her tugs. That's right. The anchor was never able to be pulled up all the way earlier. It was left at the bottom of the boat, hanging right below the surface of the water.

Another oddly shaped gleam caught her eye within the chains. It was long and silver, too, stuck between two chain links and tangled into it. A sword?

In a flash decision, she grabbed the steel, feeling it cut into her hand as she tugged it out of the link. It only took a moment to cut the edges of her skirts off and ascend to the surface. Daenys gasped for air, choking on the leftover water in her lungs and clinging to the slippery side of the ship. She held onto the chains hanging from the side, catching her breath as the waves continued to lap at her chin.

When she steadied herself, she finally looked down to see what saved her. A short sword, perhaps made for a shorter man or young squire. The blood on its blade had already been washed off by the water, leaving the only trace of her stinging wound on her hand. The salty water burned her back and palm in a searing heat, but Daenys forced herself to cling on even so. She caught footing on the anchor, managing to stay on after a few slips.

Taking a deep breath of relief, Daenys cursed aloud. What happened to Corlys and Cregan? The entire Velayron crew?

Glancing at the weapon that had saved her life from drowning, Daenys turned it this way, and that as it gleamed back up at her. On the base of the blade was engraved, "āeksio hen tide."

'Lord of the tides.'

Luke's sword. It had caught on Eveningstar's anchor when it docked at Rook's Rest. Rhaenyra's gift to the boy when Laenor first 'died' and Luke became desolate in his anxieties of becoming the Lonely Lord of the Tides. Luke was never a good swordsman, even as he grew older, always being easily best by Jace in every spar they partook in. But he never seemed to mind his lack of skill with the sword. Nor his tendency for greensickness.

He was a linguistic and a scholar.

Better in High Valyrion than even Daenys and more knowledgable in the histories than Jace, Luke was attuned to literature and language like he was born to be a Maester rather than a high Lord. Before he died, he had just started his studies in the Lhazareen language. She remembered well the long nights spent staying by his side in the Great Hall quietly drawing an imagine of her past dreams while Luke studied until the hour of the wolf.

Those days were long past, and now all that hadn't been burnt in his furnural pyre was locked away in his room, gathering dust and spiders.

Except his sword.

Daenys smiled faintly at the bittersweet irony of the situation. He still found ways to nose himself into the situation—even in death.

CHANGING the person who saved Corlys. Yes it was Alyn but I feel like it's more fitting to be Addam since he's the dragonrider and involved in the story a lot more, though in the book we know who the heir becomes and what not but this is not the book 😇 Technically this is me merging Alyn and Addam into one character like the show did to Rhaena and Nettles.

Hastily made key of Luke's journeys to and from Storm's End to kind of make sense of it. He obviously could not see or make direction in the storm so he just went as far up as he could and eventually died right between Dragonstone/Driftmark and Rook's Rest.

I talk about Luke A LOT. But honestly he really haunts the narrative of the show and this story (and my mind obv) Rhaenyra would never have fought so fiercely if none of her children were lost; especially two in the span of a day.

tags: @purple-1995 @itsaslaminak @beebeechaos @pedro-pascal-love @thelastemzy @moonymoo1 @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997 @reyndaisy @saintkittykat @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 @iv7867 @yentroucnagol @geeksareunique

[burnin0akleaves]

Ranger Gathering Day 16: Game

Maddie had learned the game as a child and had taught it to Will, after instructing him in the construction of the board and pieces. Now she was somewhat miffed that he had rapidly overtaken her in the skills of the game. When they played, he usually won.

I love that Maddie teaches Will how to play chess in book 16, I want to think they keep playing back at the cabin with an actual board and pieces.

Will is holding a knight and Maddie is holding a queen because I like making things deeper than they have to be. The knight jumping around the board strategically reminds me of the way Will's thinking style and planning has been described in the series; and other than the queen being a literal queen, the piece being able to act as both a rook and a bishop reminds me heavily of Maddie's two roles as a ranger and a princess.

It would also make sense for Will to take the "less important" pieces seriously and plan around making the best use of everything available to him while Maddie - in an effort to win as fast as possible - would overuse her most powerful piece.

Don't take what I'm saying too seriously though, I played chess like 6 times this year and lost every single match. (In my defense I taught myself chess and my opponent used to play it professionally, coughing baby vs hydrogen bomb you get it)

[serensama]

I think we’re getting low on onions again...

Ooooh- how did I think I’d get away with writing only one thing for my favourite First Talon?! Stupid. Amateur move, truly. So to satisfy my need, I’ve crafted 25 mini prompts for me to write alongside my other DA fic, picked at random whenever I feel the need. Which is apparently… now.

Please note that these prompts will range from G/PG to explicit.

Read on Ao3

Prompt 16 out of 25 - Scent

Normally he would have urged her to bathe before slipping into bed after a long trip, but Rook had been gone for weeks. Isabella had told them two weeks, at the maximum, but she had been gone for five. If she hadn’t already sent the raven to tell him that she was on her way home, he would have found her, thrown her over his shoulder and carried her the whole trip back to Treviso from Rivain. Damn the consequences with the Lords of Fortune.

Home didn’t feel right without her. It didn’t matter if it was back in the Lighthouse or in Villa Dellamorte or her little apartment filled with gold in Rivain, if she wasn’t there, it wasn’t home. It was just a building he kept coffee in (or many buildings in the Villa’s case).

She had dragged herself in at an ungodly hour, her gaunt face and dark circles under her eyes told him that the poor woman hadn’t slept or rested well in days, likely to get back to him as quickly as possible. Rook tore away at her armour and managed to find one of her cotton slips to wear before collapsing. “M’home,” she yawned as she snaked her arm under his to spoon him, letting herself surrender to sleep, with him quick to follow.

He woke up a few hours later and found her dead to the world, her simple cotton dress bunched around her waist. Lucanis smiled at the sight, quietly delighted that she was home and everything was right in the world. He pulled himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen to begin his morning ritual.

The Crow walked back to their quarters and relished the warmth from his cup, the same one from the Lighthouse, the only thing apart from his tea set that he made sure to bring back. He had every plan to send word to Caterina, Teia and Viago that he would not be available for the rest of the day, no, the rest of the week. He was going to spend every second of that time showing Rook just how much he appreciated her coming back to him, safe and whole.

That was- of course- until he walked in on Spite, on all fours astride the sleeping woman’s frame, caging her between his limbs. Rook was asleep with her arms stretched above her head and legs sprawled out underneath him. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, his nose tracing the smooth expanse of skin across her collarbone and down her sternum.

Lucanis watched on in shock as the demon made his way back up and sniffed up her arms and into her hair, an odd expression on his face. He shuffled backwards taking long breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. He was about to plunge his face directly in between her parted legs when Lucanis barked an unintelligible noise of panic, startling Spite.

“Mierda! Spite! You do not…what are you... just get away from Rook, would you?” he hissed, ushering the demon to his side like he would a naughty pet. Spite narrowed his eyes and ignored him, inhaling deeply down her legs and to her feet. Lucanis could only imagine Rook’s reaction if she were able to see Spite; she'd electrocute and burn them both to a crisp without a moment’s hesitation.

“Spite! Quickly now, Rook will not like that.”

“She smells funny,” Spite rasped back, his nose scrunching after taking another whiff of her. Lucanis almost threw his cup of coffee at him however he did not think Rook would take kindly to waking up from being scalded.

“Do not say that Spite,” he warned, walking closer to the bed, “you know she has been away for a long time and has not had time to bathe and smell the way you always know her. She is fine, do not let that be the first thing you say about her after she’s been away from home for so long.”

“But she does smell funny Lucanis,” the demon insisted, pounding his fists into the mattress, his will so strong he managed to jostle her without physically controlling Lucanis. “Smell her!”

“That is enough Spite!” he growled as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake his lover from a petty argument between him and his winged passenger. The demon bared his teeth in frustration and leapt upon him, his nails digging in like talons at the sides of his head.

“Not enough! Smell her! She smells different. Like not Rook-”

“Are you saying that she’s not Rook?”

“No. She is Rook. But not Rook. She smells like more. More Rook,” he grinned at him, excited to get his thoughts out, though they made no sense to the assassin.

“I do not understand-”

“Like more Rook, more Lucanis! More of you both!”

Lucanis followed the finger the demon pointed at his beloved, still asleep and snoring softly. He was gesturing directly to her stomach. Could it... no... no... maybe?

“Are you... are you saying she is?-”

“More!”

Lucanis pushed the demon’s face away with both hands, uncaring to Spite’s offended scoffs as he fell to the floor. He reverently made his way to her side of the bed, his large brown eyes taking in every curve and line of her. She looked the same as when she left, no Spite must have been mistaken. The idiot didn’t even know what coffee was, how could he know that of all things...

“Hmmm, morning love,” Rook murmured, still half asleep and stretching languidly.

“Good morning,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to falter as he recovered from Spite’s would-be revelation.

“I’m right. Rook smells, tell her! Tell her!” he chanted as he hopped around them excitedly, Lucanis’ gaze following him.

“How come I feel like I’m competing with Spite again?” she smiled, reaching for her favourite Crow.

“Never,” he crooned, carefully crawling up the bed to greet her with a soft peck on the lips.

“Lucanis!”

“Mierda! Stop it, Spite!”

“Wait- is he giving you trouble again after all this time?” she asked, concern furrowing her brow. Lucanis shook his head and stole another kiss from her. “As much as I am loving this, tell me what’s wrong Luca.”

“Nothing, he’s being stupid.”

“Not stupid. You’re stupid.”

“Oh no, that one hurt. You’ve gone too far Spite,” he replied, staring at the demon with an unimpressed glare.

“I’m missing out here,” Rook pouted at Lucanis. “It almost feels like I’m back at the Lighthouse when I’d pass some of you talking and then you’d all look at me like I had rudely interrupted you from talking about me behind my back. Then you’d all stare at me as if expecting for me to join in!”

“You’re not missing out on anything, Spite is just being-“

Spite pushed Lucanis into the background, who was taken by surprise, not expecting the demon to forcefully take over.

“Rook. You’re preg-prenga… pregi- baby!”

“What?!”

“I smell it on you. In you. Lucanis said you would be upset if I said you smelled.”

“Well… context is important. I guess,” she said sitting up. “Are you sure?”

Spite nodded excitedly, nuzzling his face into her stomach and taking another breath in.

“Also smells of… Spite.”

“Well, shit.” Chapter 2

[explorer-of-art]

my speculation for twst x nightmare before christmas

My thoughts based on what I've observed based on summaries. I am bad at connecting my words to my thoughts and can only hope to telepathy-osmosis the thoughts to you after this. Everything is under the cut or else you'll have to do a ton of scrolling.

Part 1 from what I'm seeing in tweets before full translations and more story parts come out: The gang gets isekai'd because plot says they must and lose their shit over getting isekai'd (this isn't Yuu's first time getting isekai'd lmao). They meet Skully J Graves who might be really physically affectionate and is the odd one out in his town. They meet Jack Skellington, Zero, and Sally. Skully fanboys over Jack. Halloween is in 3 days, Jack has a problem where he wants to celebrate Halloween in a new way, Skully opts to help (ominous great Halloween sentence and all), Sally has a bad feeling, a town meeting is called.

Skully J Graves

Skully idolizes Jack Skellington and wants to show others Halloween by celebrating (possibly in his way) like how Jack wanted to show others Christmas by hijacking it. In Nightmare Before Christmas, the town also looks up to Jack but are oblivious to his feelings about Halloween (Jack's Lament), but Sally isn't.

Unlike Jack who is beloved in Halloweentown, Skully is alienated from his peers back in his town. His schoolmates don't share his interests so he brushes them off. Idia was already an SSR in Glorious Masquerade but if he were SSR here, he'd end up calling himself out for going "us vs them" (Idia vs normies) when it comes to "if we don't have the same interests, we have zero common ground and will never see eye to eye" during the climax. Malleus shares his interest in gargoyles with Yuu who unconditionally accepts and befriends him, and he was alienated because top 5 most powerful mages, status, and *insert book 7*. Jade likes mushrooms, Azul likes networking and going "helping you will be helpful for me", Riddle is a voice of reason (kind of), Trey handles Riddle's temper (Labwear vignette) and has a dentist thing, Epel and his dislike for being called cute, Vil takes feedback from Rook and can impose on others, Jamil has to put up with Kalim who was oblivious to his plight, Leona and Book 2. All that is just me connecting the NRC boys with either Skully or the plot and characters of Nightmare Before Christmas. Skully is a type of separate from the NRC boys, not being in NRC while everyone else is, greeting the gang via kiss, being very full of whimsy (let's hold hands and walk in the woods!), being the youngest (just turned 16 so he's baby), and looks up to Jack while the others don't know him at all. Yuu is alienated by being magicless in a magic school and being from another world but they grow less alienated as they make friends and accustom to being a student (part of your worlddddd). Too bad Rook isn't here. I want to see how Rook and Skully would interact. Rook, Cater, Kalim, and Lilia can't be in the event to make Skully even more alienated in the group.

Isekai and Escapism

The NRC gang get isekai'd and until the rest of the story comes out to confirm or deny, Skully may have been isekai'd too. One thing that came to mind is that there's a lot of isekai stories in anime/manga. There's a lot of escapism in anime and isekai is one of them. The protagonist could have a miserable life or a dream they want to achieve before they get yeeted into another world. What direction the isekai goes varies but they can go into wish-fulfillment, power fantasy, playing around with the concept of people getting thrown into another world, anything. The author/protagonist might project onto the setting. I don't want to make the paragraphs longer than necessary so I'll leave it at that.

There's western isekai (portal fantasy) like The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, Narnia, Peter Pan, Infinity Train, The Owl House, or Amphibia. I haven't seen Infinity Train, Owl House, or Amphibia, but I know Infinity Train is the "you need therapy" isekai where even though they get to go home for a specific reason, time still passed and everything that happened still happened. No memory wipe, no dream, that person was missing for who-knows-how-long. From what I've picked up about Owl House, Luz is on a completely different wavelength from everyone, peers and adults. And something about wanting to be understood if I recall correctly? I know she comes off as neurodivergent to viewers (idk if she's confirmed to be ND) which is why this tangent about western isekai is here. In my head, there's a connection with Skully's character because alienation from others and having interests that others don't.

Anyway, escapism. Remember Skully's idolization for Jack and Halloween? Now throw in Jack's problem being an opening for Skully to indulge in his interest. Eliza from Ghost Marriage had a goal to marry a Prince Charming which is unrealistic while being inconsiderate of others (kicking out everyone on campus for her wedding, kidnapping Idia), Skully will likely do something selfish while carrying out his fantasy. How far that goes, we'll find out eventually. Will this event story have something to say about escapism in isekai? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Based on Nightmare Before Christmas

Film summary: Jack, a beloved figure of the town, is bored of the repetition in Halloween (Jack's Lament) so when he sees Christmas (What's This?), he is interested and wants to share that with others. He tries to explain it to the town and recreate/celebrate it despite not understanding the meaning behind the holiday (Town Meeting). Halloweentown is about harmless but fun frights ("that's our job but we're not mean, in our town of Halloween"), Christmas has to do with presents and wintry cheer. Sally tries to warn Jack that it won't work out but he disregards it. Jack hijacks Christmas by kidnapping and impersonating Santa, sends presents that bring scares instead of cheer which warrants him getting shot down. Jack reflects that he messed up (Poor Jack) but had one heck of a time ("And for a minute, why, I even touched the sky! And at least I left some stories they can tell") and sheds the Santa costume, returning to being himself ("That's right! I AM THE PUMPKIN KING!"). Jack saves Santa and Sally, Santa calls him out for his actions, Santa restores Christmas, Jack and Sally reach the romance stage. Jack is the anti-villain of the story and Oogie Boogie is there because Santa has to be held somewhere and having a worse villain would make Jack look less bad in comparison. Jack wanted to have fun, do something new! He was just oblivious and inconsiderate of others! (looks at Kalim) What is the moral of the story? What did Jack learn? Listen to others instead of getting overconfident, hear what they have to say, be open to feedback.

If the event story is going to be a rehash of the film's plot like the Stitch event recreating Stitch vs Gantu or how the Books recreate the films' plot beats, Skully will probably hijack the holiday into his image that doesn't see eye-to-eye with Halloweentown's version or comes at the cost of others. You've heard of "never meet your heroes" because their true self is not the exact same as their public persona, this case could go in the direction of "PARASOCIALLLL PARASOCIALLL YOU NEED TO LOG OFF" or some kind of compromise. The ending might have a "that was sick but NEVER do that again" moment.

I want Yuu to be active in this event, even as the "Sally" who tries to reach out to Skully and voice their concerns, but I know the SSRs will be given more focus so I'm half-expecting Yuu to get sidelined. Glorious Masquerade had an opportunity for Yuu, the immune one and foil to Rollo's hatred for magic, to be proactive and directly confront Rollo but got nerfed or else the story would be cut short. Also, Yuu is not an SSR (yeah the SSR gang can confront Rollo BUT LET YUU DO THAT TOO, THERE WAS A VERY INTERESTING DICHOTOMY BETWEEN THEM)

[shivunin]

and if it's okay to request two 👉👈 or if you want to pick whichever one suits you more atm!

16. Letter from Rook to their love interest

Yesss thank you, Mer! I will do the other one next, but this was too delightful to not open with c: Here's a post-game letter:

From the Grand Necropolis

(Lucanis/Rook Ingellvar | 603 Words | Minor spoilers)

A letter written in green ink on creamy white paper. Its seal, the symbol of the Mourn Watch beetle, is as yet unbroken. 

Lucanis, 

It feels strange to be writing you an actual letter. I’m used to knowing you’re within walking distance, that I can just stand up and find you when I need to. How strange it is to know that I will have to try to be patient and wait for a response in the usual way. 

I’ve taken up residence in my old quarters. It is soothing to not have illusory fish swimming around my room, and I’ve missed the company of my old wisp friends. I played for them at length this evening and it brought me joy to watch them dance. We are the reason they are still here, that this room and its bed and books are still here. The books, by the way, are in a very disheveled state. I can’t recall if I left them like this or if the wisps have been playing while I’ve been away. 

I hope all is as well as it can be in Treviso. I’m sure there is plenty to restore there, and plenty more to plan to fix in the future. They will need you for it. There is nobody more dedicated  determined  You are one of the most capable people I have ever known, and there is nobody better suited to setting things right. I know you will look out for the people beyond the Crows, and they are all very lucky to have you. 

It has just occurred to me that this is the sort of thing I should probably write in a cipher. I hope this isn’t some sort of liability for you. The only ones I know are based on tomb script and it would take you ages to learn. I will put more thought into it. Unless I am overthinking this. Scratch all of that

I went to the market in Nevarra City today. I don’t think I ever had a chance to show you when we visited. I shouldn’t have gone today either, as it seems the van Markhams are still holding a grudge. I suspect they have not connected Rook to the loathed Ingellvar or they would have sent more assassins. I’d been hopeful that having helped dispatch two (three?) gods would prevent that sort of thing, but, well. Here we are. It is fortunate that I've spent so much time fighting lately. I am used to a higher caliber of assassin now. 

It has just occurred to me that  Lucanis, I do not need any help dealing with the van Markhams. Please leave them to me. I am perfectly capable of handling this and Nevarra is especially disinclined to Crow intervention after all the attempts on the king’s life. They are my burden to bear.

I wish I could just talk to you about this. So much is lost in a letter. 

My candle grows low. I could make my own light, but I ought to go to sleep. There will be things to sort out in the morning, my books foremost among them. 

I miss you. 

I love you. 

Yours always, 

Lenore

P.S. I miss you. I do. I keep turning to tell you something and you aren't there. Somehow, it's so much harder that you're only a mirror away.  

The letter is tucked inside the inner pocket of a deep green cloak. The cloak itself is discarded on the floor in a pile, side by side with a second pile of black and violet leathers.

[mercars-musings]

Hey! Rook Codex Writing Prompts ask: 13 ,16 and 25?

Omg Hi!! Tysm for asking :3 Sorry for the delay {IRL has been BUSY this week} {Answers Under the Cut} So, I already answered 13 & 16 which is posted Here !

25 is such an interesting idea, I know Az's younger backstory but haven't had a chance to write it yet so this was a super awesome chance to start that process with some of Az's journal entries! {1 is from when he was 12 and the 2nd from when he's 15} 25. Notes taken by Rook when they were young/in training!

12, Cassus, 9.38 Dragon: So, I'm not allowed to mix the potions together for a while again. We'd got off to a good start this time too, mum was telling me all about the herbs we needed and why. She said that she thought if she explained it to me slower that I would start to get it, and I did!!! But when everything was mixed she told me to get another potion off the shelf so we could mix them because, I guess doing that makes this one stronger, or something? Anyway, I did, but then the pot boiled over and the stuff all over the floor, and a bit on her I think. She said I picked the wrong bottle but I was SURE I got the right one! Now I'm not allowed to mix potions for a fortnight! I'm only allowed to help her with gardening stuff again. It's not fair! I know I got it right, I'm gonna check tonight when shes asleep so I can prove it to her. Update: Why do all the potions have such weird spelt names? It's not my fault that two of them have like all the same letters! 1, Parvulis, 9.41 Dragon: Today was my first day at the circle, it's… weird. Dad said it would probably not be nice here y'know with the horns n stuff - but I thought he was probably just being dramatic like he always is. I think he might have been right though… I've tried saying hello, like mum said I should but… everyone just stares at me. I'm around other people for the first time in like ever? But, it still feels as lonely as my bedroom, but like worse? At least my bedroom was my own, and I didn't have every Altus asshole acting like I wasn't welcome here. I'm a mage just like them! I'm Tevene! So why does it feel like this is about to be the longest 6 months of my life? At least I get to go home for a week in Pluitanis I guess. ~ Tysm again for the question! Sorry it took so long, it's been and continues to be a busy week IRL for me so I've not been able to post half as much as I wanted to this week!! D:

If anyone wants to find out more about Az please feel free to ask me anything from this ask game!

[eiluned]

Hi! 8 or 16 for the Rook story time prompts, if you want !

Ooh! I'm going to do 8 this time, but I'll circle back around to 16, because it's a scene I've been meaning to write anyway. Thank you for the prompts!

8. A time Rook argued with someone they care about.

This is part of the rookanis novel I'm apparently writing, featuring my Crow Rook, Wren de Riva, who has history with Lucanis. This scene is set after Bloodbath.

---

“I’m fine. I can handle this on my own,” he said, clearly stonewalling her; he crossed his arms over his chest and turned slightly away.

It was defensive and a little dismissive, and that part made Wren so frustrated that she could scream. It was always a pull and a push with him, reeling her in with little smiles and genuine interest, like he was still the man she knew before the Ossuary. But the second she got too close, he pushed her away, closed himself off, retreated into the brooding, broken abomination he had become, and it hurt to get jerked around like that. 

“Maker’s balls, you’re so damn stubborn,” she growled, hands balling into fists at her sides. “You don’t have to do it by yourself! You’re not a fucking island, Lucanis. I want to help—”

“Stop pushing, Wren!” he snapped, glaring at her. “I don’t need your help!”

That hit like a dagger to the chest. She hadn’t wanted to put pressure on him, at least when it came to sorting out the complicated tangle of what they were to each other. But she wasn’t just pushing her help on him, was she? She wanted to go back to what they were a year ago, before he was tortured and she lost her home and family and the whole fucking world fell apart. It was selfish of her because he clearly didn’t feel the same way. Maybe those feelings were buried deep underneath all the pain in him, but he didn’t want to deal with them, and she had been pushing him. 

To her horror, tears stung her eyes. She pressed her lips together for a second, trying to tamp down the shame and pain and fear roiling inside her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, because her voice wouldn’t go any louder than that. “I’ll go.”

Turning on her heel, she reached for the door handle, but to her surprise, he caught her hand in his. “Rook, wait—” he began, but hearing him use that name instead of her own just twisted the knife.

“I’ll let the matter drop,” she said stiffly, shaking out of his grasp and mourning the loss of his touch. “Now please, just... let me go lick my wounds in private.”

His eyes flashed violet for a split second, but she didn’t stay to see if Spite would take over. She left the pantry, resolutely staring forward, willing herself to keep it together until she was in the sanctuary of her room.

[tiredfairywings]

[Applications CLOSED.] Wҽʅƈσɱҽ ƚσ Tɯιʂƚҽԃ Rҽʋҽɾιҽ~

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❀﹋﹋❀﹋﹋❀﹋﹋❀

My name is Mafuki and I run an art group for twisted wonderland! I am looking for twst yume artists who are also looking for friends!

The goal of our group will be to collaborate to create artpieces together (ex. art style challenge), and collab with each other (ex, 2 artists one base)! Something I'd love is for us to create a video with our ocs and their love interests together! All of this is non-profit so no one, including me will be gaining any monetary gain (unless you wanna post YOUR own pieces online aka not the other members unless you get permission). This is all for fun and you own the pieces you draw! We don't gatekeep pieces lol

We would love to make a group-home for people who just love twst and are passionate about it! The goal is for us to become a really close group of friends who just…love twst. If you have any questions, feel free to comment/pm me!

I've been put in a bind due to a missing member so if someone can start a prompt right away I would be very appreciative!

p.s. currently most members like to rp if youre into that

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❀﹋﹋❀﹋﹋❀﹋﹋❀

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓

Just because you reply and fill in an introduction does not mean you'll automatically get an invite link to the discord group.

Due to the intent of the group, I would like to stay as far away from Drama as possible but also allow for there to be a safe space for anyone to vent and feel accepted. The goal is to operate similarly to Nightcord@25 [a project sekai reference].

As the person who decided to create the group, I hold all responsibility for anything that goes wrong and as such, I'll be speaking to each potential member first through chatting. There is nothing you need to do except be yourself. This is simply a vibe check. I'm looking to foster a safe environment for all those involved and will not tolerate extreme personas.

❀⌇Guidelines Before Applying:

➼ Must be between 16-25 (if you're slightly older, it's still okay! Around 20's is preferred but vibes are the most important aspect) ➼ Your race, gender, sexuality of both you and oc WILL NOT eliminate you. The goal is for this to be a safe space and as such, the only thing that matters is personality. Timezone also does not matter! ➼If you have a mental illness that is okay!! As long as you won't let it effect/use it as an excuse to hurt other members it is alright. Everyone I've recruited (including myself) has experience with various mental illnesses. ➼Even though this is an art group, art ability does NOT matter!! The goal is for us to have fun, and all that matters is that you're passionate about twst. And that you actually draw lol No need to know how to edit videos! As long as I have the assets I can edit the videos for the group! Bases are also okay with credit. ➼Since we're all making yume art, I'd like to try to keep to different characters per person ➼ Remain Relatively: Drama free, generally will have a good vibe aka not being judgmental, and is alright with criticism. Communicates well with other members and does not belittle.

Current taken characters: Azul, Malleus, Epel, Ruggie, Idia, Rollo, Rook, Lilia Potentially Taken characters**: Riddle, Jade, Leona, Kalim, Trey, Deuce

**DISCLAIMER: I accept people on a first come-first taken basis. It's purely on vibes so if I like someone's vibes then they're accepted along with their Yume choice. If I don't like their vibes, then I'll let someone else take that yume for the group.

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

If you're cool with everything, feel free to fill out this form and dm it to me! I'll speak with you shortly :3

TEMPLATE: ❀⌇Name (preferred, not irl obviously): ❀⌇Age or Age range: ❀⌇Timezone: ❀⌇Yume Interest: ❀⌇MBTI and Enneagram (not necessary --> I know psychology quite well so I can usually tell your top 3 so don't worry if you're mistyped or don't know your type [This is just for me to keep in mind so I can be mindful of you as a person]): ❀⌇Other interests: ❀⌇Important things to note (ie. accommodations): ❀⌇Triggers: ❀⌇Extra Info: ❀⌇Art Samples (just so I know you are able to draw! Preferably yume art but otherwise is okay!!)

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Template Credit: https://aminoapps.com/c/templatesand/page/item/soft-welcome-message/jlEV_rbcoIlpdadYbEoNdgelnl55woxdj Document below is linked if you would like info on the others who have joined!

[hyperions-light]

For Rook story time, #5 if you don't mind.

Hey, thanks for asking!

The Rook Story Time prompts are [here]!

I have answered 1, 4, 33, 16, 10, 7, 5 and I have requests for 2, 6, 8, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 18, 23, 35

Content warnings: discussion of illness

5. Rook being seriously ill.

“I never get sick. My constitution is simply too robust; there hasn’t been a single day of my life when— well, there was that one time.

“In my defense, I don’t remember most of it, so you can hardly blame me for forgetting. There was some kind of plague in Treviso— that happens once every couple years, or so, but that one was particularly bad. The healers were completely swamped, and the Drowned District got left high and dry— ironically.

“Viago told me to stay away from there, but I just had to have some of that nasty pisswater they call beer at the tavern. So I went, a couple times, and wouldn’t you know it— I caught something. Unbelievable— just my luck, to get sick the one time Viago expressly forbid it.

“So I was avoiding him a little. I thought I’d just wait it out, in my room, but the Crow next to me was a god-damn snitch, and he went and got Viago around the fourth day— just because I couldn’t walk and was slightly delirious! Can you believe it? I would have been fine!

“Anyway, I’m not really sure what happened, after that. Except I know Viago went and got a healer, because he wouldn’t shut up about how much it cost him, after I was better. He still brings it up, sometimes, when he’s trying to guilt me into something— ‘Vìbora, do you know how much it cost me to save your life? And you won’t even go to the magistrate’s dinner for me?’

“I got better like a week later, or something. And I was fucking glad to get out of there, let me tell you, because Viago spent the whole time I was laid up complaining, and lecturing me, and talking about poisons, and Teia— well, that part was fine. But he was so annoying. I couldn’t wait to go on my next contract.”

[mythals-whore]

Bhahahaha my turn 13, 23, 39, 45, 76 FOR HUNTING DAYS

A barrage of questions lmao ily <3

Questions HERE

If anyone is interested, I've answered 33 & 70 HERE, 3 & 16 are HERE, 23 & 68 HERE 35, 36 & 45 HERE (:

13. What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Show don't tell!

I think I run into this the most when it comes to communicating a character's feelings. I love to conclude, big drawer of conclusions here. So sometimes I've found when going back over my work that I show and tell. I'll come across paragraphs where I've done the showing (her eyes are darting around, hands fidgeting etc) and then I conclude by going "she seems nervous" So I'm trying to be better about not drawing conclusions for my readers.

23. Best writing advice for other writers?

Answered this already, but more advice:

Find other writers! It's so useful to have someone to encourage you and cheer you on but it's ALSO really cool to have other people to bounce ideas off of and tell you to take a break when you need it((:

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

For kicks, I'll share something from the Cullavellan fic sitting idle.

“Rough morning?” Dorian asks lightly, that ever-present smirk on his face. Lyria only sighs heavily as she sinks into the seat opposite him, pulling one of the ancient tomes from his pile, black leather bound, gold edging. “The commander certainly does enjoy having his way with you, doesn’t he?” Lyria glances up, bewildered at the salacious tone, and he waggles his eyebrows at her, “I admit, I didn’t understand why you’d inquire after a combat instructor given the nature of your unique power. But after watching the two of you play…I can certainly see the appeal.” “Commander Cullen doesn't play,” the Inquisitor grumbles, “He seems rather inclined to throw me on my back every chance he—” she looks up to find Dorian’s blue eyes sparkling with mischief and immediately she closes her mouth, already feeling the heat rise to her face. She lowers her eyes to the book in front of her, but the damage is done. “Su an'banal ima,” she mutters under her breath, though loud enough for him to hear.

and you may have that with no context (((:

76. Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut?

Thank you so much for asking this actually. A lot of my cutting room floor is odd lines or short bits of dialogue I hoped to work in somewhere but didn't end up fitting.

“Here.”  Rook frowns into the teacup he’s presenting her. He just looks rather exasperated and extends it again.  “It’ll help you sleep.” Davrin insists impatiently.  “Help me sleep?” She repeats, finally reaching out to close her fingers around the warm cup. “Lucanis usually just keeps making coffee.”  Davrin rolls his eyes when all she does is sniff disdainfully at the cup. It smells floral, and perhaps a little minty as well. Admittedly she’d never been much for tea, but this is not at all off putting. “Yeah, and that’s just going to run you both into the ground—Neve too.” he scolds The first sip is actually even more pleasant than she imagined. It's peppermint, she thinks, but sweetened with something—honey, maybe.  ”It's nice” she admits. “Warden special.” He huffs as he settles into his chair by the fire, whittling knife in hand. She doesn't know why it amuses her, the hypocrisy of trying to put her to bed while he very obviously plans to stay up for a while. “Wardens specialize in tea?”  “Wardens don’t sleep well. The taint, our connection to the archdemons, the darkspawn. Bad dreams come with the territory.”  She waits a moment, but he doesn't go on, absorbed by his work. The firelight casts his skin with a warm glow. Someone really should carve his likeness, but she doubts he would ever be so narcissistic. It would be better out of stone anyway.  “And the tea?” She prompts finally, and he glances up to the cup in her hands. “Helps you fall asleep. It's supposed to help with the nightmares too.” He shrugs, returning his attention to the work in hand. “Sometimes it works.” “The Wardens dedicated time to finding a tea concoction to cure your nightmares?” “Of course not.” He snorts, “It was Antoine who perfected the recipe. Evka still hates it but she’ll never admit it.” a sneaky little smile curls his lips, “But she does say it helps her sleep.”

[seaglassmelody]

10, 14, 16 for the Rook asks please!!!

Thanks so much for the ask!! It's been...a very long time since I've done any fanfic so here goes!

All are for my main Rook, Mourn Watch elf Sabriel "Sabi" Ingellvar (she/they, demiromantic asexual)!

Prompts from the Rook Story Time Asks

I actually did all 3 so this got pretty long. All under the cut:

10. Rook attending a funeral-

Sabriel released a shuddering sigh as she anxiously adjusted the burial shroud on the corpse before her.

Fine embroidery, elegant weave…this was a family of some means, I suppose.

Not for the first time, she found herself wondering if her parents had the dignity of even a rough-spun shroud.

She shook her head quickly to shake the thought out. “Can’t get distracted now.”

This was far from her first time preparing a body for the Necropolis, but it would be her first time performing the burial rite on her own.

She mouthed the words to herself silently as she finished preparations. Everything was perfect. Everything had to be perfect. The man on the table left behind a beloved family and a mourning community. They deserved her best work.

For how can one truly grieve without a proper chance to say goodbye?

With one last deep breath, she patted the hand of the corpse in front of her.

“Well ser, shall we go say our farewells?”

-----

14. Rook attending a celebration-

“Hey Lucanis, finally decided to stop lurking in the pantry for once?” Davrin’s question was goading as he climbed up the stairs from the Vi’Revas chamber.

“Rook kicked him out of the kitchen.” Taash’s reply came before Lucanis could respond, and he gave them an exasperated look.

“Rook has kicked us all out of the kitchen for the foreseeable future.” He retorted, before turning back to Davrin, “So don’t even try going in there.”

“She said it was for a surprise!” Harding chimed in from the couch, looking up from the book she was reading - The Count of Bloodhill Manor. Emmrich had scoffed at it when he found it on the shelf, but still kept a hold of it for Harding anyway.

Davrin’s face turned skeptical. “Should I be worried about that?”

Neve’s laugh came from the stairs behind Davrin as she entered the room behind him. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Rook’s not that bad of a cook!” Bellara spoke up, her legs crossed in front of her in Rook’s usual chair. “She’s pretty good when she actually makes something instead of…eating the ingredients individually…”

“I did see Rook and Taash bringing in quite a haul from the market yesterday,” Emmrich supplied from the upper balcony, having just exited his room to investigate the hubbub.

Taash nodded. “Dunno what she needed all those potatoes for, but it sure was a lot of em.”

“So how long has she been in there?” Neve asked, coming around to take a seat on the couch next to Harding.

“3 hours and 23 minutes.” Came Lucanis’s prompt reply, spurring a laugh from Neve.

Davrin sighed deeply. “Guess there’s nothing we can do but wait then. C’mon Assan, let’s go preen your feathers.”

The young griffon trilled in joyful assent before bounding off towards the door.

~~~

It was another several hours later before everyone was summoned to the kitchen by a few wisps that had been coaxed into Sabriel’s service by offering them a few curious notes from her personal desk (and potentially one of Neve’s. Not that Neve needed to know).

The group entered to a table sprawling with a variety of foods - fresh cut fruits, some sort of stuffed mushroom dish, a few pots of what appeared to be sauces, cups filled with drinks and in the center of it all- 3 large pies lovingly decorated with dragon motifs.

“You made all of this yourself?!” Harding exclaimed as Sabriel wiped her hands on her apron.

(She played it off as getting off some stray flour but really her palms were sweating. Were they going to like it? Was she going to give everyone food poisoning? Only time would tell.)

Setting aside her anxieties, Sabriel smiled broadly at her team. “I found my old recipe notes from when some of the other elves in the Watch gave me some cooking tips.” She pointed at each pie in succession. “This one’s a fish-based one, this one is root vegetables with herbs, and this one at the end is an extra spicy curried vegetables.” She smiled at Taash. “Hopefully it’ll be to your taste.”

Taash’s responding toothy grin helped settle her nerves enough to explain herself.

“I just figured…we’ve killed an archdemon. We took down two dragons. And we’ve even drawn blood from Ghilan’nain. I wanted to do something to thank you guys for all your hard work and…celebrate how far we’ve made it.” Her courage faltered a bit at their stares and her smile turned a bit nervous. “So umm…bon appetit?”

The silence that threatened was immediately broken by Assan noisily crowing and bounding the table, followed quickly by Manfred, who picked up a stuffed mushroom and began poking at the cheese mixture in the middle.

As both skeleton and griffon received a sound scolding for lack of manners from their respective fathers, the group laughed and took their seats, happy chatter echoing through the kitchen as everyone discovered that Bellara was right.

Turns out Rook is a pretty good cook when she tries.

-----

16. Rook falling in love for the first time-

Love was never an easy thing for Sabriel to understand.

Attachment? This she knew. She had her friends in the wisps and spirits, in her fellow Watchers and the friendlier undead.

Obligation? Certainly, she had her duties to the Watch, to the living, to the memory of the dead.

Affection? More difficult, but still known. She watched her agemates form bonds, experiment with public displays, experienced friendly nudges and hair ruffling.

It was the sum total of these parts that eluded her.

What was it that drove others to write entire operas about the passion of romance? What spurred heartbroken poetry and the lovers’ suicides that she had heard rumor of in the Necropolis? How overwhelming was this experience of seeing and being seen?

Was it joy? She had seen it described as a feeling of floating, of wanting to burst into song.

Was it pain? She had heard tales of excruciating attachment, so strong it hurt more than helped.

It was a question she had resigned herself to never fully receiving an answer, no matter how hard she tried.

It felt like a wall she could never break through— A glass barrier where she could watch everyone on the other side experience transcendence. She was never bitter, but a bit confused, and very resigned to her fate as a companion of only spirits and the dead.

And yet, when she sat at the Lighthouse’s table, cup of cioccolata calda made especially for her in her hands, watching Lucanis’s face light up with silent laughter at something Harding said-

The glass began to crack.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Hey i really liked your headcanons for rooks family! I’ve been obsessed with the idea of his parents being hoarders and I was wondering if you had any more to add? If not that’s alright!🙏

Finally got to this, so sorry for the wait!!

Random HC's I Probably Overexplain - Rook Edition 1

TW: Hoarding (obviously), health issues, parentification of his older sister, dead (exotic) pet First things first, Rook is the youngest of seven. His mother has always been one who stays home, enjoying the art of taxidermy and studying the physiology of animals, where his father has always been more of a hunter. Like I mentioned in my Family HC's, Rook is very close with his mother, as she taught him to appreciate the sacrifice of death in order to sustain the circle of life. However, that 16 year gap between Rook and his siblings made her realize just how much stuff she had gotten rid of over the years that were testaments to her kids childhoods. As her kids started to move out and leave home, panic started to set in and she couldn't bring herself to get rid of any of their things that really, should have been thrown out. She tried to keep it all organized, but when her husband gently suggested they start going through it all, taking photos of what they didn't need, she broke down and refused, telling him it wasn't the same as having a physical copy of it all. Her husband backed down - after all, he was barely at home. He could deal with the mess for the few days he would stay home for the sake of the comfort of his wife, and his time out in the woods meant that his kids had another place to be as the house seemed to squeeze them out...even though that was the last thing his wife wanted.

Rook was a surprise, to say the least, but once his mother was pregnant with him, her nesting only went to 11 and it was the snapping point for one of the two kids still living at home. The elder of the two packed their bags, left a note tacked to one of her taxidermy animals, and went no contact, leaving their 16 year old sister and baby brother behind.

Rook's older sister couldn't bear the thought of Rook growing up in the environment her mother had made for him, and decided that at least until she was 18, she would stay and try to clean, as well as keep record of what the house used to look like so that maybe one day, she could restore it completely. However, when her mother caught her trying to clean the kitchen enough to try and cook, her mother broke down in tears. Her father told her that if she stressed her mother out too much, she would be solely responsible if the baby died. Because of this, she stopped cleaning, but vowed to stay to try and be a buffer for her brother, as well as get him his basic education if nothing else.

Postpartum depression ended up hitting Mrs. Hunt really hard, and once her husband confirmed his daughter was comfortable taking care of Rook for a few hours at a time, he spent his time trying to take care of his wife.

Rook and his sister ended up spending a lot of their time outside or in her room - which, she had finally been allowed to get rid of things she didn't want anymore as she was able to reason with her mother that the baby should at least have a cleaner area to crawl as he got older. This ended up being even more beneficial, as his crib was in her room and she became the primary caretaker for him. During this time, her parents were just trying to keep her mom from giving up on everything.

When Rook was about two, their mother finally tried to reach out to a company that would help her clean, however, because the family lived off the grid, they had some money, but not enough for the job that was required. Rook's sister gently volunteered to start cleaning, but at this point, her father had also gotten used to the "cozy" feeling of having his kid's belongings all around him and struggled with the idea of having anything change, especially as his wife was just starting to get better, he thought changing her environment wouldn't be beneficial for her.

So Rook's sister respected her parent's decision and continued trying to take care of Rook to the best of her ability, however, she did so outside as often as possible, so in the winter when she had to stay inside with him, they would both get incredibly ill from black mold exposure. Her parents wrote it off as a cold, so her tipping point was when he couldn't breathe, even when she wrapped him up and took him outside. She swaddled him as best she could and trekked on foot to the nearest town, knocked on the first door she could get to, and begged for assistance for him. The people in the home drove them both to the hospital, where he was treated for his symptoms, and she was treated for frostbite. Her dad ended up tracking them down, acting glad to see them, but on the way home reprimanded her for pretending to be Rook's parent and for not letting the family handle it themselves, and making sure she didn't tell anyone about the situation at home.

As Rook got older, his sister took on the responsibility of getting him into school, as well as teaching him how to hunt/fish and general survival skills, the way her father had taught her. This type of influence kinda snapped her dad out of his agoraphobia and he started trying to get more involved with Rook and raising him, still out of the house. When Rook was about nine, his sister and mom got into a huge argument, and her mother blamed her for being the reason she wasn't close with her son. Rook then de-escalated the situation by showing his mother he had been reading her old research journals. While it wasn't a lot, it was enough for his mom to get her workspace back. His sister helped her clean and organize that space to the best of her ability, his father started to hunt more often again, and his mother started to lead him through the importance of the circle of life. As balance started to seep back into their lives, his older sister started feeling more comfortable leaving Rook in the care of her parents and really get to start her own life. She still feels guilt for leaving, but she promised Rook to stay penpals and they did! She would regularly send him trinkets from her stays wherever she was, and often sent photos of her visiting with their other big siblings, telling him one day she would come back for him and bring him to see the rest of the world. That was all Rook had to hang on to as his parents started to spiral again now that another child had left the house.

When Rook was about 12, his father brought home a hyacinth macaw for him, (yes by unethical means, but you knew that), and he found it absolutely gorgeous. He loved that bird more than anything, so when it went missing one day, he was absolutely heartbroken. He ended up finding the poor bird weeks later, stuck behind some books on his mother's bookshelf. His mother saw it as an excellent opportunity to brighten up the home with a splash of colour by getting Rook to taxidermy his beloved pet. After that day, he decided pets were overrated - animals were meant for food, for study, or for trophies and that was it.

It's not that he doesn't have good memories of his parents, there were certainly really high highs, but there were also very low lows. His parents haven't gotten much better in the house they live in, and he's gone minimal contact with them. He's still trying to get over the feeling of abandonment his sister left him with, but doesn't blame her for leaving. Overall, talking about home and family is just painful for him, so he'd rather not. He likes to watch people because he fantasizes about what his life could have been like if he were in their shoes instead.