#noble journey conquest

[pinkyberet]

Your Darkness Won’t Rise

Yasahiro Ready To Face Nozaka To Make Her Normal Again And Stop The Darkness From Rising.

[whencyclopedia]

Perdiccas

Perdiccas (d. 321 BCE) was one of Alexander the Great's commanders, and after his death, custodian of the treasury, regent over Philip III and Alexander IV, and commander of the royal army. When Alexander the Great crossed the Hellespont and threw his spear onto the shore of Asia Minor, he and his loyal army began a ten-year journey that would take them to the far reaches of Asia, amassing an empire unlike any that had existed before it. However, the young king's sudden death in 323 BCE left a vast kingdom leaderless and in disarray; there was neither an immediate heir nor appointed successor. Perdiccas stepped to the forefront to offer a solution. With the king's signet ring in his hand, he attempted to keep the empire intact. Unfortunately, others loyal to the king maintained a different opinion. In the end, the various commanders took possession of their small piece of the territorial pie, leaving Perdiccas with only a slim chance of rebuilding what had already been lost.

Early Career

Perdiccas stepped to the forefront to offer a solution. With the king's signet ring in his hand, he attempted to keep the empire intact.

Much of what history knows about Perdiccas is not flattering, clouded by the hostile account in Ptolemy's history of Alexander and his conquest of Persia. Ptolemy I and Perdiccas had been constantly at odds with one another since Babylon, a conflict that would eventually lead to Perdiccas' death. However, other than Ptolemy's history, most dependable versions maintain that he was about the same age as Alexander (possibly a little older) and was the son of Orontes, a Macedonian noble from the House of Orestes, a royal family that had once ruled a small independent kingdom in the Macedonian highlands but whose power had been stripped by Philip II, Alexander's father.

Initially, Perdiccas was a page in the imperial court at Pella, but in 336 BCE he became a member of Philip II's elite infantry, a shield-bearer or hypaspist. Later in the same year, serving as a king's bodyguard, Perdiccas was one of many who pursued Pausanias, Philip's murderer. The reason for the murder: Pausanias believed the king had betrayed him and sought revenge. When the assassin's boot caught on a vine as he hopped onto his horse, he was immediately slain by his pursuers. History still debates whether or not Olympias, Alexander's mother, had anything to do with the death of his husband. Many still believe she encouraged Pausanias to kill Philip to ensure Alexander's ascension to the throne. One of these was Plutarch who wrote in his The Life of Alexander the Great,

… when he found he could get no reparation for his disgrace at Philip's hands, watched his opportunity and murdered him. The guilt of which fact was laid for the most part upon Olympias, who was said to have encouraged and exasperated the enraged youth to revenge… (11)

Continue reading...

[blakeswritingimagines]

Waiting (Kinktober)

Word Count: 2.8k

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

In the vast and ancient lands of Westeros. Aegon the Conqueror, a man of great power and ambition, had been waging war and conquering kingdoms. As he traveled through his realm, he came across a young healer known for exceptional skills and a compassionate heart. You had earned a reputation for helping the sick and injured with your innate ability to heal. The renowned healer, was in the midst of tending to a patient one day when word reached you that the fearsome Aegon Targaryen, the self-proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms, was asking about you. A mixture of curiosity and trepidation washed over you. Rumors of his fearsome battle prowess and ruthless demeanor were renowned throughout the realm, making it hard to imagine why such a powerful king would take an interest in you. Upon hearing news of your existence, Aegon felt a spark of intrigue. It wasn't often that someone captured his attention, especially given his focus on matters of state and military conquest. Still, something about this healer intrigued him. He dispatched messengers to invite you to court, where he hoped to learn more about you and perhaps discover if there was a deeper reason he could use you.

As the messenger arrived at your modest abode, you were initially taken aback by the summons. You had spent your days quietly tending to the sick and injured in a small village, and the prospect of being called before the King himself was daunting. However, your curiosity and the desire to understand why the king would seek you out prevailed, and you accepted the invitation. The journey to King's Landing was long and treacherous, but you eventually arrived at the grand city and its imposing Red Keep. As you approached the castle, you could see the imposing structure rising high above the city, a symbol of Aegon's power and dominion. Nervously, you presented yourself before the King's advisors, requesting an audience with Aegon. They led you to the throne room, where you were greeted by the sight of the formidable conqueror seated atop his mighty throne. Despite his intimidating presence, there was something about his piercing gaze that made you feel like prey. "Ah, so you're the famous healer." You swallowed hard, trying to gather your courage as you stood before Aegon. His gaze was intense, and it was difficult not to shrink under the weight of his authority. Still, you managed to nod, your voice steady as you replied. "Yes, Your Grace. I am a healer renowned for my skills in treating the ill and injured."

Aegon studied you closely, taking note of your calm demeanor and your apparent sincerity. "I've heard much about your talents," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "It seems you possess a gift that many lack—the ability to mend bodies and souls alike." He paused, leaning back slightly on his throne. "Tell me, what inspires you to tend to the afflicted? What drives you to help others?" You took a moment to consider his question, your eyes meeting his gaze without flinching. "I…I believe that it is our duty as healers to alleviate suffering and bring comfort," you said, choosing your words carefully. "When I see someone in pain or in need, I cannot turn away. It is as if a force within me compels me to act, to use my skills to bring hope and healing to others." The king nodded slowly, a rare sign of contemplation crossing his face. "That is a noble cause," he acknowledged, his tone carrying both respect and a hint of admiration. "And it seems you have found your purpose, just as I have found mine through conquest and rule." He leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto yours once more. "But tell me, do you ever tire of the burden you carry?" You furrowed your brow, taken slightly aback by the unexpected nature of his question. Rarely, if ever, had someone asked you about the emotional toll of your profession. "Yes…" you admitted after a moment of hesitation. "There are days when the weight of it all feels overwhelming. When I see suffering that I cannot alleviate, or when the healing process is slow, it wears on me. But the gratitude in their eyes, the relief on their faces when they feel better — it is a reminder that what we do is crucially important. It gives me strength to carry on."

A flicker of understanding passed through Aegon's eyes as he listened to your response. "Strength," he mused aloud, "is a commodity that can come from many sources. In combat, it comes from physical might and strategic cunning. For you, it appears to stem from compassion and dedication." He paused, then added, "Perhaps you can help with a personal matter then." Your curiosity piqued, you regarded the king with a mixture of caution and interest. "Of course, Your Grace," you replied, your voice steady. "If there is something I can do, I will gladly offer my assistance." You said with a soft nod. "Everyone else may leave," Aegon commanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the throne room. His guards and advisors exchanged glances, some looking uncertain, but they obeyed without question, leaving the two of you alone in the vast chamber. As the room emptied, leaving you alone with Aegon, a mixture of unease and anticipation settled upon you. The king's commanding presence filled the space, and you couldn't help but wonder what he wanted to discuss in private. "There is a personal matter I wish to discuss with you," Aegon said, his voice low and serious. "A condition that plagues me, one that few know about." He hesitated for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "I require your discretion. Will you hear me out and keep what I say in confidence?" You regarded Aegon with an even gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. Taking a deep breath, you replied with a firm nod. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand the importance of discretion, especially with matters of personal health. You have my word—whatever you tell me will remain confidential."

Satisfied with your promise, Aegon leaned back in his throne once more, his gaze distant as he began to speak. "As you know, I am no stranger to conflict," he started, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "Yet there is a wound that does not heal, a pain that persists despite my best efforts at recovery." Your interest was thoroughly piqued now. A wound that would not heal, a pain persisting despite the king's best efforts—it was an intriguing mystery. You leaned forward subtly, listening intently as Aegon continued. "The pain manifests itself in my joints, particularly in my shoulders and hips," Aegon explained, rubbing at the affected areas unconsciously. "It comes and goes, sometimes worse than others, but it has plagued me for years now." He looked up at you, his expression grave. "I fear it may worsen over time, impacting my ability to lead effectively." The gravity of his predicament struck you, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. The idea that the mighty Aegon himself was plagued by a mysterious illness was surprising, to say the least. You ran through various possible conditions in your mind, trying to piece together what could be causing such pervasive joint pain. "Have you sought the aid of healers before?" you asked, your voice soft and compassionate. Aegon let out a dry chuckle, though there was little humor in it. "Healers have attended to me," he confirmed. "They have prescribed remedies, applied poultices, even performed blood magic rituals. Yet nothing seems to provide lasting relief." He sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his words. "I seek new perspectives and fresh ideas. That is why I brought you here—to consult with you, a healer of renown."

The weight of his words sank upon you, and your mind went into overdrive as you began considering possible diagnoses. Joint pain, persistent despite many treatments—it was a challenging puzzle to solve. After a moment, you spoke, your voice steady and thoughtful. "If traditional methods have proven ineffective, we may need to explore alternative explanations. Tell me, has there been a particular incident or event that preceded the onset of your symptoms?" Aegon's gaze drifted off again, lost in thought as he recalled past events. "There was a battle… near Storm's End," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was thrown from my horse and landed badly. Perhaps that was the catalyst." He shook his head, clearly frustrated with himself for not being able to pinpoint the exact cause. Your mind latched onto his words, and you nodded slowly. "I see…an injury during a battle could certainly be a potential cause for your current symptoms. It's possible that you may have sustained some form of internal or joint damage during the fall." You paused for a moment, your thoughts racing. "Would you mind if I examine you? It may help me get a better understanding of your condition." Aegon considered your request, his face a mask of uncertainty. Exposing his body to someone, even for medical purposes, was not something he was accustomed to. But the need for answers seemed to outweigh his reservations. "Very well," he agreed, standing up from his throne. "Let us proceed." You nodded gratefully, appreciating his trust in you. "Thank you, Your Grace. If you would, please remove your tunic so I can examine your shoulders and hips more closely."

With a heavy sigh, Aegon removed his ornate tunic, revealing the muscular torso beneath. Despite his age, he still carried the strength of a man who had spent much of his life in combat. You noted the way his muscles tensed slightly as he revealed himself to you, a sign of both discomfort and reluctant submission to your examination. Observing Aegon's exposed skin, you gently palpated his shoulders and hips, feeling for any signs of tenderness or deformity. Your touch was light yet firm, and you paid close attention to each area where he reported pain. "Your muscles seem strong enough," you observed. "But there might be underlying issues within your joints themselves. We'll need further testing to confirm this." As you finished your examination, your fingers lingering perhaps a bit longer than strictly necessary on certain sensitive areas, Aegon's breathing grew heavier. There was a glimmer of heat in his violet eyes as they met yours. "Is there anything else you require, my lady?" he asked, his voice low and suggestive. Your touch lingered just a tad longer than necessary, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Pulling away reluctantly, you stood up straight and turned to face him. "For now, Your Grace," you murmured, your own breath quickening at the proximity between you. "However, I believe we should consider a more thorough evaluation to fully understand the extent of your condition."

Aegon's gaze held yours, his purple eyes dark with a simmering desire. "And how would you suggest we conduct such an evaluation?" he asked, his voice thick with suppressed longing. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until you could almost taste the air around him. The king's closeness sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. "Perhaps…a massage," you suggested your voice barely above a whisper. "To relax your muscles and assess the depth of the issue." Your hands instinctively moved to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. Aegon's response was immediate, a deep groan escaping his lips as your hands pressed against him. "A most… unconventional approach," he breathed out, his own hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you ever so slightly towards him. "Yet one that holds promise." The sensation of his hands on your body ignited a fire within you, and you leaned into his touch, your breasts pressing against his bare chest. "Unconventional, indeed," you replied, your voice husky with arousal. "But sometimes, the unorthodox path leads to unexpected discoveries." With a growl, Aegon pulled you flush against him, his hard length pressing against your stomach. "Then let us embark on this uncharted journey together," he murmured into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. "Who knows what secrets our bodies may reveal?"

The heat radiating off Aegon was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze. "As you wish, Your Grace," you whispered back, your hands sliding down his sides to grip his buttocks firmly. You pushed your pelvis against him, grinding lightly against his throbbing member through the fabric of your clothes before slowly kissing down his body until you were on your knees before him. Aegon's breath hitched at the sensation of your lips trailing over his skin. "By the Seven," he muttered, his fingers tangling in your hair as you descended. The sight of you on your knees before him, looking up with those sultry eyes, was enough to make his knees weak. "Be gentle," he commanded, though his tone belied the fact that he craved nothing more than your rough ministrations. Your tongue darted out to lick across the head of his manhood, tasting the salty essence of his arousal. Moaning softly, you wrapped your lips around him and began to suckle, taking him deeper into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. One hand reached up to fondle his balls while the other stroked his shaft, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer squeezes. The pleasure surged through Aegon's body like wildfire, his hips involuntarily thrusting forward to meet your movements. "Gods…" he moaned, his grip on your hair tightening. Every flick of your tongue, every pull of your lips sent jolts of pure bliss coursing through him. "More," he gasped, his command punctuated by a sharp intake of breath.

Encouraged by his reaction, you increased the pace, sucking harder and bobbing your head faster along his length. Your free hand roamed over his thighs, kneading the muscle as you worked diligently to bring him to the edge. You felt a strange satisfaction in knowing that you, a common healer, could elicit such reactions from someone as powerful and revered as Aegon. The sensations were overwhelming, and Aegon could no longer hold back. With a roar that echoed throughout the room, he came undone, his seed spilling into your welcoming mouth. His entire body shook with the force of his release, and he swore under his breath, a string of oaths that would have made a sailor blush. After swallowing every last drop, you released him from your mouth and gazed up at him with a satisfied smirk. "Quite the potent draught you possess, Your Grace," you teased, licking your lips clean of any remaining traces of his essence. Licking his length clean before taking him into your mouth once more. Aegon's legs trembled, and he had to brace himself against the wall behind him to stay upright. "By the old gods and the new," he panted, "you're quite skilled with your mouth." His hands guided you, urging you to continue although he knew he shouldn't allow himself to succumb so easily. Your eagerness to please him was evident in the way you eagerly took him back into your mouth, sucking and licking with renewed vigor. The sound of your wet noises filled the room, and you reveled in the knowledge that you were responsible for the ragged sounds coming from the mighty King.

Aegon's control snapped completely, and he let out a string of curses as he reached his second climax, pumping his seed down your throat once again. This time, however, he didn't hold back, letting go with a primal intensity that left him panting and shaking. When it was finally over, he slumped against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion. "That was…unexpected," he admitted, his voice hoarse from shouting. Rising gracefully to your feet, you pressed yourself against Aegon's still trembling form, your curves molding perfectly against his hard planes. "Unexpected but pleasurable, I hope," you purred, nipping playfully at his jawline. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles as if committing them to memory. "Did it help you feel better, your grace?" Aegon nodded slowly, still trying to catch his breath. "It did indeed," he confessed, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something about the way you looked at him, so confident and full of desire, that stirred a hunger within him. He reached up, cupping your face gently in his large hand. "And now it is my turn to repay the favor," he said, his voice low and intense.

[assortedvillainvault]

I have a question that pops into my head all the time. What would happen if Lord Shen found love after dominating Gongmen City…

type. a beautiful young peahen with enchanting beauty appears in the city, and Shen decides to make her his servant... and then he feels something he has never felt... and that leaves him with more kindness in his heart

Always good to ponder that would happen if ‘toning it the fuck down for love’ was an option in these films! I’ve left this one on a bit of a cliffhanger, because I...kind of forgot the whole 'more kindness' thing in my enjoyment of Shen being a creepy powertripping asshole...

Lord Shen x Beautiful!Reader

- You’re a noble who is here to pay your yearly city respects, as per tradition. You’re part of the ruling family in a province that supplies much of the food to Gongmen city in exchange for military protection in case of invasion, and are well acquainted with the ruling council after the abdication and death of the previous ruling family.

- When you arrive, instead of the usual warm greeting at the gates – it’s to legions of wolves and new decals of stark white and crimson peacock feathers emblazoned over the city walls.

- With a sinking heart, you meet your guards wide eyes and swallow as the head wolf barges through the doors to shunt your convoy through the occupied city, straight to the palace.

- Lord Shen received you in his throne room, the decorations stripped bare down to the wood and metal, his cannon standing proud on the dias with the albino bird himself looking boredly out of the window at the city below. You couldn’t help but shiver as cold red eyes scanned the streets – knowing that he was calculating the worth of everything he could see not in the value of lives, but money, materials and conquest.

- Said red eyes widened considerably upon turning to face you.

- He was, infuriatingly, dismissive of the length of time your two families had had your alliance, but upon examining the treaty down the most minute of details he agreed to keep your agreement for protection.

- The fact he insisted you discuss this in person with him, instead of your clerks, alone except for your most loyal guard as Shen stood a shade too close to you and even dared to brush your feather train with his own… you were sweating fit to enough to mimic a run in the rain when all was said and done.

- You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath as he declared the alliance to still be beneficial, swanning about his throne room with a great sweep of his tail. Politeness dictated that you bow as you thanked him, but not before you felt his gaze trace your form like a physical weight.

- With a snap of his steel tipped claws he called for your entourage to get packed and prepare for the journey back home.

- You fight not to sag in relief and turn to follow your servants – only to be met with two gorilla guards, spears clashing as they cross in your path – your guards crying out in alarm as the small rams couldn’t gat back to you, the wolves jeering from the guards posts.

- Shen coughed, chuckling as he strode forward. “Apologies my dear, I’m afraid I might have misspoken.”

- He leaned forward and gently tucked a stray feather of yours away, crooning. “I said your servants can leave. You, my dear, will be staying for a Very. Long. Time.”

[pradnyesh1008]

Embark on a journey to the heart of Veridonia, an empire shrouded in tradition and mystique. The Golden Throne stands as the symbol of power, yet beneath its gilded exterior lies a realm of political intricacies and hidden secrets, waiting to be unveiled. In a world where politics, intrigue, and war are the norm, you must navigate your way through the complex web of alliances and enemies that surround you. This game is for those who love adventure, drama, and intrigue. It is a game where every decision matters and every outcome are different. It is a game where you can shape the fate of an empire and make history.

“Dive into the epic world of ‘The Golden Throne’ with its first book, ‘Crown of Conquest’. A journey you won’t forget!”

In the vast continent of Veridonia, a great empire stands on the brink of uncertainty. Emperor Varian III, the revered ruler who has led his empire with wisdom and strength for decades, finds himself facing a devastating reality.

As his health deteriorates, the absence of a suitable heir threatens to plunge the entire continent into chaos and ignite a destructive war between the kingdoms. Now, facing his own mortality, the emperor grapples with the realization that his thriving nation could crumble without a clear successor.

News of the Emperor’s failing health spreads like wildfire, reigniting ancient rivalries. The various kingdoms, each vying for power and control, sense an opportunity to assert their authority. Fear murmurs within the hearts of the people, and trepidation blankets the land.

Whispers of an impending civil war pervade the corridors of power, and tension begins to mount as rival factions strategize and secretly forge alliances in anticipation of the emperor’s demise. Drawing upon an elite advisory council, composed of trusted ministers, scholars, and military strategists, the emperor endeavours to explore all possible avenues to secure a peaceful transition of power.

Noble houses assert their claims to the throne, while whispers of treachery and deceit echo through the corridors of the imperial palace. A sense of urgency fills the air, as the emperor’s condition deteriorates, and time becomes the most precious commodity.

As the final days of the asserting claims and authority draw near, a solution begins to emerge from the chaos. King Aric, the king in the north, your/MC’s father, emerged victorious, chosen as the heir to the Golden Throne. In this epic tale of power, loyalty, and betrayal, will you succeed in helping your father preserving the legacy of his predecessor, or will Veridonia descend into a dark age of war and destruction? Are you ready to claim your destiny? Will you follow your father’s footsteps and become a worthy successor to the throne? Or will you carve your own path and challenge the established order? The fate of a continent hangs in the balance, and only time will tell. This is the thrilling saga of “Crown of Conquest”.

 A rich and immersive setting inspired by real medieval history, culture, and geography.

 A branching storyline with multiple endings and consequences based on your choices and actions.

 A customizable character with four different personality options and various traits that define your skills and abilities.

 A dynamic stat system that reflects your character’s growth and development throughout the game.

 A diverse cast of characters with their own backgrounds, motivations, and agendas.

 You can befriend, romance, or antagonize them depending on your choices.

 Violence and Gore: The game frequently depicts gory, brutal battles and graphic acts of violence.

 Frightening/Intense Scenes: There are many intense scenes that can be frightening for some readers.

 Graphic Deaths: Characters often meet violent, graphic ends.

 Torture Scenes: There are scenes depicting torture.

 Sexual Content: There will be many scenes with sexual acts.

 Dark Humor: The game contains dark humor, which may be unsettling or offensive to some viewers.

 Sadistic Behavior: Some characters exhibit sadistic behavior which can be disturbing.

 Substance Abuse: Characters are shown consuming alcohol excessively.

Demo:

Forum:

https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-the-golden-throne-60k-words/142838/59

RO's

Male RO's

Female RO's

[birdie123au]

The Dragon's Third Head

In the year 355 AC, half a century after Queen Daenerys I's conquest, Lady Sansa Arryn, Princess Rhae Targaryen, and Septa Anya Massey join together with a common purpose: to record the truth of Queen Visenya Targaryen's life from the moment of her birth in 29 BC to her death in 49 AC. Their journey begins with Septa Anya’s discovery of Visenya's personal journals dating back centuries. With Westeros under the rule of House Targaryen once more, the trio navigates through the limited primary sources at their disposal. In their quest for historical accuracy, they unearth secrets that challenge the perception of a historical figure whose story has long been clouded by deception and lies.

Note: This is NOT a retelling of book canon. In this version, Alyssa Velayron is the daughter of Visenya and Aegon Targaryen. Visenya also lives longer than she does in canon.

For over three hundred years, speculation has run rampant about the true history of noble House Targaryen. Conflicting accounts of events and biased men planting evidence to further their own agendas have long clouded whatever truth there may have been. 

I have studied extensively the texts of Archmaester Gyldayn as well as several other prominent historians of the faith and have come to realize much of our known histories are nothing more than hearsay and speculation. After spending much of my childhood closely examining all written accounts of the first century after Aegon’s Conquest, I came to accept the fact that some parts of the history may never be known.

It wasn’t until I received a frantic letter during the first moon of 350 AC, from my dear niece, Princess Rhae Targaryen, detailing something extraordinary. 

Princess Rhae, born during the great spring in 336 AC to the second son of Queen Daenerys I, showed little to no interest in the history of Westeros as a child. Her Septa, the former Lady Anya Massey, would share the stories of Old Valyria, Robert’s Rebellion, and the Long Night to deaf ears. It wasn’t until Septa Anya’s discovery in 349 AC of these magnificent historical records that the Princess began taking interest in her heritage. 

I arrived from the Vale to the Red Keep in the Spring of 350 AC in which I found my stay short lived. For as soon as I arrived to verify that these accounts were true and not falsely planted, the three of us swiftly traveled to the Citadel of Oldtown. Septa Anya tore through all records from the time in which her discovery occurred. From the southernmost sands of Dorne to the icy wall of the North, we three traveled to seek out as much knowledge as possible from as many different perspectives as possible.

I, Lady Sansa of House Aryn, collector of histories and seeker of the truth, put forth a crucial first hand account of Aegon Conquest, that has been crossed examined by several other notable primary sources from the time, in order to piece together the most accurate telling of Queen Visenya’s life with the information available to us.

As always, births, deaths, battles, and any other events will be dated as either BC (Before Conquest) or AC (After Conquest).

Section One: Valaena Velayron

As the saying goes, in order to truly understand the story of any woman, one must begin with a different one: the story of her mother. Lady Valaena Velayron was born in the winter of 45 BC at Driftmark, the seat of her lord father’s house, to Vaemond Velayron and Daenora Targaryen. 

It is unfortunate that many of the first hand accounts we discovered lacked a great bit of detail about the Lady Valaena. However, it was known she possessed a rebellious nature in her youth. Sharp with her tongue and quick to hold grudges, her mother’s Targaryen blood ran deep. Valaena Velayron had the look of Old Valyria: silver blonde hair and pale purple eyes. An arrest record dating to 31 AC found in an attic of an old jail cell seemingly confirms this alleged attitude of the young lady as she was held on the charges of fighting a drunkard of the local inn. 

Vaemond Velayron had little patience for his daughter after this event, as within the next several moons he had shipped her off to marry her first cousin: the eighteen year old Lord Aerion Targaryen. This arrangement was not uncommon as Velayrons and Targaryens had wed one another for centuries. Their union would serve as a consolidation of their Valyrian bloodlines.  Lord Aerion, already commanding respect as a dragonrider, seemed an ideal match in terms of power and prestige. Yet for Valaena, the announcement was nothing short of a prison sentence. Testimonies of close friends reveal that Valeana was aware that her betrothed had already fathered a bastard upon a low born woman in Dragonstone. Her refusal to accept the betrothal publicly strained the relationship between father and daughter, culminating in heated confrontations that became the stuff of household gossip.

In a rare act of desperation, Lady Valaena appealed to her own lady mother, Daenora Targaryen, for intervention. Lady Daenora was a woman of quiet strength who had endured her own share of familial drama. She offered her daughter advice, the exact nature of which is unknown, but it was said to persuade her daughter to no longer publicly denounce the engagement. Within a fortnight, House Velayron had raised their sails and began their travels to Dragonstone.

Lady Valaena’s resistance, although quelled, continued to the engagement feast itself. Even as the guests gathered in the great hall, tales spread of how she refused to don the silks her father had commissioned and instead appeared in a simple riding dress.

Despite her protests, it was Lord Aerion’s unexpected approach that was the fire that burnt down the ice wall between them. At the feast, he presented her not with jewels or fine gowns, but with a dragon egg. 

“If you will not look forward to being my wife,” he reportedly said, “perhaps you may look forward to being a dragonrider.”

According to a letter written by Lady Daenora to her sister, when he invited her to ride atop his dragon, the future Lady of House Targaryen raved about the gesture as it “spoke to her deepest desires”. For the first time, she saw not just a husband, someone to shackle her down, but a partner who could offer her freedom in a way no one else had. 

Old diaries from kitchen staff contained an intriguing conversation between Lady Valaena and Lord Aerion shortly after they had wed. Lord Aerion had invited his lady to roam the great halls of Dragonstone with him late in the evening. As they wandered, Valaena’s usual fiery demeanor had vanished. Her fingers twisted anxiously through her silver hair, her steps hesitant. When offered a goblet of wine, her trembling hands betrayed her unease, the glass slipping and shattering at her feet. A serving girl rushed forward, concern etched on her face, but Valaena waved her off, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Lord Aerion then brought her before the centuries of scrolls and books located in the cellar of the castle. Before he could speak, Lady Valaena interrupted him, voicing her anxieties about a betrayal. Instead, Lord Aerion took her hand and told her about Orys Baratheon, the boy he had fathered in his youth on a girl of Esos. He had been born before their engagement was finalized. 

“I could not forsake my blood,” he admitted, his voice steady. “He is my son, and I will see him provided for, but he will never stand between us. That is a promise.”

The next morning the lady was found alongside her lord husband, laughing and sharing a drink. The sorrows Lady Valaena had once felt over her marriage had long disappeared, as it was said the only person who could tame Valaena’s fiery temperament was her lord husband himself.

When her dragon egg hatched on during the fifth moon of 33 AC, Valaena bonded with a small-grey scaled creature who she called Meraxes. 

Section Two: Visenya’s Birth and Early Years

In 29 BC, Visenya Targaryen was born, the first child of Lord Aerion Targaryen and Lady Valaena Velaryon. Not nearly as much is known about Visenya’s early life, as no verifiable accounts of the queen’s childhood exist beyond fragmented records not written within the household.

What is known, however, is that Visenya was born with the features of Old Valyria. She shared the same silver blonde hair and pale purple eyes as her mother. 

Visenya commanded respect, even as a child. Her great beauty was often described as intimidating, as sharp as a blade of Valyrian steel. 

She was soon an older sister to two siblings. Aegon Targaryen, who was born in 27 BC, and Rhaenys Targaryen, who was born in 26 AC. 

The birth of her third child had weakened the Lady Valaena, as she spent the last few years of her life confined to her chambers battling illnesses and poor health. 

Visenya’s own story begins in 22 BC shortly after the death of her mother. The discoveries made by Septa Anya were centuries old journals dating back from before the Conquest that belonged to the queen herself. The oldest journal entry dates back to the very year of her mother’s passing.

The very first entry included a glimpse of the bond between Valaena and her eldest child:

“She was my warmth, my shield, my sail amidst a storm. Without her, I am lost, uncertain whether I sink or swim. My father has no more love left. He gave it all away to her and now she is dead. My siblings wail in the night, and I comfort them. I take the babe in my arm while the other grasps at my legs, red in the face. I sing to them. I make them forget to cry. Who will wipe my tears now that she is gone?”

Lady Valaena Velaryon and Visenya were as close as a mother and daughter could be. Seeing herself in her daughter, Valaena spoiled her firstborn with gifts, attention, and love. Despite Visenya’s interests in wielding a sword or riding a dragon, the girl seemed to hold her mother above all things. “You are my fire,” Valaena would say, “Your flames should burn brightly without recklessness.”

Very early on in her account, Visenya makes note of her and her father’s strained relationship.

Visenya described him as “A stern, unforgiving old man. My father is distant and prefers my brother to me. He praises him for little things and makes him stand by his side. Now I am left alone. Mother saw me for who I truly am. She understood me better than myself.”

Septa Anya tells us that it is likely Lord Aerion’s coldness towards his daughter after the death of his wife stemmed not only from the fact that they were similar in nature, but because he desired his firstborn child to be a son rather than a daughter. Early accounts for the Starry Sept confirm that, as per old Valyrian custom, the firstborn children of the family are set to inherit the land and titles through their parent regardless of gender. Visenya writes several times herself how she was set to be the next head of House Targaryen, something she discusses with utmost pride.

“I am the blood of the dragon,” she wrote, “Dragonstone is my birthright. My father wishes it otherwise, but this land will be mine. Just as mother willed it to be.”

The nature of how Visenya came to write journals is answered several entries after the first. A nameless Septa, who Visenya affectionately refers to as ‘the hag’, was responsible for gifting the young girl with a journal as an outlet for her grief following the death of Lady Valaena:

“The hag gave me this book to write in. She says it will be best for me to practice my penmanship and write my feelings. Today when she was dressing the babe, she asked me how I was enjoying her gift. I told her it is foolish. My mother is dead. The stranger has taken her from me and I will never see her again. 

‘I wish you had been the one to die,’ I said, ‘Mother would never have given me such a stupid book.’

The hag became angry and placed a bar of sour soap used for washing the body in my mouth. ‘You made your sister cry,’ she lectured, 'You will sit here until you learn to mind your tongue.’

The hag then left with Rhaenys to find my brother. This did not anger me. I can finally be left alone.”

Despite her sharp, cruel words, Visenya was seen to be a kind, gentle young girl at times. Especially when it came to the care of her younger siblings, it is clear from the texts that Visenya played a maternal role following the illness and untimely death of her mother:

“Mother has been dead for an entire twelvemonth. My father is angrier today. During dinner he stormed out of the room. Rhaenys began to cry as she ran after him as fast as her little legs could take her. He locked himself in his bedchamber, sobbing and yelling curses at the Gods. It was me who carried the babe away, Aegon trailing at my heels. It was me who helped bathe them and dress them for sleep. It was me who told them stories and sang them songs until their little eyes grew heavy. It was me who lay with my father as he cried, his breath stinking of wine.

‘Valaena,’ he cried, grasping my face, ‘Oh my Valaena.’

I petted his hair and massaged his shoulders until he too slept. When I returned to my own room, it was already daybreak. Rhaenys was awake, screaming my name. She had woken Aegon who was sitting patiently on the floor near my bed, waiting for my return.”

Although Visenya had a slew of responsibilities thrusted upon her at a young age, she recounts childhood stories rich with adventure. Her love of swordplay and sparing was unmistakable.

“My brother, Aegon, can run fast. Still, I am stronger than him. My arm is steadier with a sword, and I can lift heavier burdens. Yet, lately I find it harder to best him. He is quick, and when we spar, it seems he knows my moves before I make them.

When we play in the fields or the woods, he darts through the tall grass like a hare, and I must chase him. At times, I am able to catch him, dragging him to the ground amidst shouts and laughter. Other times, he is too fast, weaving through the trees until I can no longer see him. It makes my blood burn to lose. 

Only yesterday, we sparred in the wheat fields. I had him cornered– or so I thought. I struck his blade from his hand, but before I could advance, he swept my legs out from under me. In an instant, I was on my back, his wooden sword pointed at my throat.

‘You are beaten, sister,’ he said with a grin.

Despite my anger, I could not help but laugh. ‘Enjoy your victory while it lasts,’ I told him, ‘for it shall not last long.’”

“Today Aegon and I went down to the old graveyard along the coast. The sky was grey with clouds and the winds from the salty sea would tug at our coats with each step we took. The grounds were damp and moist– the trail was far overgrown. Each step I took would cause my boots to sink further and further into the mud.

We played a game of pirates as we often do, the graves serving as our mighty fleets. Aegon claimed the darkest, tallest grave of all and declared it unsinkable. We picked stones and shells from the sands by the shore and used them as our cannons. 

‘You will not take me alive, sister!’ he yelled, briefly poking his head up behind the grave and hurling a fistfull of shelves at me. 

‘Surrender your ships or my men and I will send it to the bottom of the sea!’ I said in return, using my arms to dodge his attacks. 

When we finished our play, we took to reading the names upon the graves. Targaryen’s do not bury bodies– we bury ash. Some were too weathered to make out, but others remained clear. We took turns sounding out the unfamiliar letters, imagining who these people had been. As I traced the names of the dead with the tips of my fingers, I could not help but think of mother. She was a Velayron made of salt and sea. When our grandsire traveled from Driftmark for her funeral, he insisted we did not burn her. She now lies in a stone coffin at the bottom of the sea. 

Aegon was the first to be silent. I knew he was thinking of her too. He then began to weep, shielding his face from me with the sleeves of his coat.

‘Aegon, you must not cry,’ I said, taking him into my arms, ‘Mother always hated to see us cry.’

I wiped the tears from his eyes, but they kept coming. Not knowing what else I saw, I turned to play.

‘Come,’ I said as I pulled his face away from my chest, ‘Let us see who can race home the quickest. Surely you won’t lose to your elder sister, will you?’

With that Aegon smiled again, wiping the last of his tears on his sleeve before darting away. By the time we arrived home, he seemed to forget he had been crying in the first place.”

“We spent this morning sparring in the wheat fields. Orys was there too, sitting cross legged in the grass watching us play. He was only a few moons older than I, but he was much taller and slender. He had no features of Old Valyria– his eyes and hair were both black. Orys had visited our home for years. Mother was never bothered by his presence, in fact, before she passed my half-brother had come to her to say his goodbyes. She kissed him upon the brow and called him ‘son.’ It was strange since he was a bastard, but if my mother would not fault him for that then neither would I.

Orys refused to fight either of us, instead he would criticize our skills each time we made a move. Our father arrives shortly after with Rhaenys at his side. My sister sat on Orys’s lap, beckoning him to braid her silver hair while my father stood back, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was unyielding. I find that I grow nervous when he watches me spar. My movements are slower than they should be and my grip on my sword is uncertain.

Aegon and I faced each other, our swords drawn. He was the one to make the first move, his motions quick and unforgiving. I barely had the time to dodge his attack. The spar lasted for several minutes as the sound of clashing metal filled the air. Finally, Aegon had dropped his weapon, yielding his sword as I stood over him.

“Your handiwork is sloppy, Visenya” Orys said as he ran his hands through our sister’s hair, ‘But you did well. You need to go on the defensive, Aegon, or she will always prevail.’ 

I looked for my father, foolishly searching for a change in his cold expression. It did not waiver. There was no time to dwell on my disappointment as we reset for a second round.

The weight of my father’s stare wore on me like a heavy stone. I could not shake his judgment as evident in my less than stellar swordplay. I pressed forward but rather than retaliate, Aegon stood defensively, blocking my every move. We continued in this standstill for what seemed like an eternity until Aegon kicked out my legs from underneath me and my back slammed against the grass. The sun blinded me as I looked up to see Aegon standing over me. 

‘You let him have that one,’ Orys said to me, leaning down to offer me a hand.

‘I most certainly did not!’ I shot back as he laughed, hoisting me onto my feet. He then went to Aegon, placing a hand on our younger brother’s shoulder, congratulating him. Rhaenys was hardly paying any attention to the scene before her, instead she braided the wheat. 

When I looked to my father once more I found him smiling, though it was not directed towards me.”

As Visenya grew older, her bond with her younger sister Rhaenys transformed from that of a caregiver to a true sister. Where Aegon’s interests lay in swordplay and horse riding, Rhaenys preferred the arts– poetry, music, and dance. Visenya did not protest this and instead embraced them, spending much of her time crafting dances with her.

The two sisters were especially captivated by the dances of Old Valyria, with their movements being inspired by tales of dragons in flight. Their favorite pastime was to pretend that they themselves were dragons, mimicking the creatures agility and grace.

“When Rhaenys dances,” Visenya wrote, “She moves with a lightness I could not hope to replicate. It is as though the music itself flows through her veins like dragonfire. When we move together we become one: she is the flames and I am the storm.”

Section Two: The Claiming of Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar

Aegon Targaryen claimed Balerion the Black Dread sometime around early 19 BC, an event that would change the trajectory of House Targaryen for centuries to come.

“Yesterday my father took Aegon and I to the Dragonpit. The sight of the beasts was overwhelming– they were both beautiful and terrifying. Even though it was dark within the cave, their scales still shimmered as if they were radiated with light. I was most desperate to touch one, to feel the heat of its body and the weight of its stare. When I asked my father if I could approach one, he refused me.

His focus was entirely on Aegon. When my father brought him before Vhagar, the second largest of the dragons, and encouraged him to claim her, my brother refused. Instead, he focused his attention to the greatest and most fearsome of them all: Balerion. Mother would always refer to him not by name but rather as ‘The Black Dread,’ something she had learned from her own lady mother. Balerion loomed like a shadow come to life, his black scales as dark as molten lava. 

As Aegon approached the beast, his confidence was unnatural. He had no hint of fear in his eyes. I felt my breath catch in my throat as he went to touch the creature– never in my life have I been so afraid. Aegon spoke to the dragon in High Valyrian, but I was too panicked to comprehend his words. My father placed a hand on my shoulder, something he had done to soothe me when I was a babe. I looked up to him, but his focus was squarely on my brother.

When Balerion finally bent his head down and allowed my brother to mount his back, I felt a strong sense of relief. At the age of eight, my brother is a dragonrider– he is good at it too.

Earlier this evening he offered me a ride on top of the beast, but I refused.”

By 17 BC, Visenya and Aegon’s travels began to expand beyond Dragonstone. The two siblings’ journey to Old Town has been documented in great detail as it was the first ever sighting of the conquerors on Westerosi soil.

“Over the past few days, my brother and I have traveled to the land out east [WESTEROS]. Though I begged the young Rhaenys to join us, she refused, too preoccupied with perfecting a dance she and I had been working on for the past several months. 

‘We will practice it when you return, sister,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘And then you can tell me all about your travels to the Arbor.’

The Citadel of Oldtown was my least favorite part of the journey. Its walls were dark and menacing, difficult to see in. It is filled to the brim with books of old and new where scholars and septons stare strangely at Aegon and I. The home of House Hightower is grand, albeit peculiar looking and devoid of a certain charm.

The Arbor, however, was far more enjoyable in comparison. Its bustling vineyards and warm air gave me a sense of belonging. Lord Edric Redwyne was as charming as his homeland, a man of stories, song, and quick wit. His dark chestnut hair was curled and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. I find myself drawn to him in ways I do not fully understand. The two of us could speak for hours and never grow bored.

Aegon, of course, disapproved.

‘He is nothing but a minstrel playing lord,’ Aegon said, his brow furrowed, ‘What would he know of swordplay or honor?’

‘He is a man of culture and wisdom,’ I argued, paying little mind to his childish tantrums, ‘And who is to say he cannot wield both a sword and a lute? I myself enjoy dancing with blades as much as with people.’

‘Yes,’ Aegon said flatly, ‘but you are a girl.’

His words did little to dampen my spirits. Upon our return to Dragonstone, a letter arrived from Lord Edric. He extended an invitation for me to return in a fortnight for a festival of celebration at the Arbor. There would be music, dancing, and jousting– he says I will enjoy it. Rhaenys urged me to attend while Aegon stayed silent, my father agreed so long as my cousin, Lady Maegella Targaryen, would accompany me. I am beside myself with excitement.”

Septa Anya was the first to raise question about the mysterious cousin of Visenya, Maegella Targaryen. Born in 38 BC, Lady Maegella was nearly a decade older than the rest of her cousins. What is peculiar is that there are no records indicating Lord Aerion to have had any siblings, nor that his father, Lord Daemion Targaryen, had any other siblings beside his sister, Lady Daenora Targaryen [Mother of Valeana Velayron]. Princess Rhae suggests that Maegella was surely a bastard born to Lord Aerion prior to his marriage with Lady Valaena. However, this would mean he would have had to father the child at the age of twelve. While not entirely impossible, it is also convincing that Lord Daemion and Lady Daenora may have had another sibling who slipped through history’s grasp.

Regardless of Lady Maegella’s legitimacy, Visenya writes that the two shared a close bond. Alongside Rhaenys, the three viewed themselves as sisters. Visenya also noted that Lord Aerion shared a similar disdain for Maegella as he did for her:

“Maegella and I have only grown closer as we have continued to age. When I was small, she did not care much for the company of infants, but now that we have both grown, I find the two of us share much in common. Maegella enjoys playing the harp and dancing with Rhaenys and I. She also possesses a startling sense of humor that some would say is unbecoming of a lady.

Lord Aerion has been dismissive of my cousin her entire life. I feel as though Maegella understands a part of me that my siblings may never.”

In 17 BC, Visenya attended Lord Edric’s festival at the Arbor, accompanied by Lady Maegella. Yet, despite her cousin’s presence, she spent much of her time in the company of Lord Edric. Though she was but ten and two and he nearly twenty years her senior, their affection for one another was unmistakable. Over the next two years, Visenya was spotted frequently visiting the Arbor alongside her cousin, though the absence of her siblings did not go unnoticed. 

While we were reading the next segment of the Queen’s journal, Princess Rhae screamed aloud in surprise, startling both the Septa and I.

In 15 BC, Lord Edric Redwine visited Dragonstone. As evident in her writings, Visenya had fallen deeply in love with him. She described his visit in detail:

“Lord Edric arrived at my home by ship bearing gifts of silver and gold for my siblings, Maegella, and I. He placed a delicate necklace in the shape of a dragon around my neck himself, his warm breath against my back sent shivers down my spine.

‘Silver is your color,’ he whispered against my ears, his breath rugged and handsome, ‘It brings out the violet in your eyes.’

As he tucked a strand of my loose hair behind my ear, a throat cleared behind us. I turned around to see we had an audience with my family. Maegella’s face was as ripe as a tomato, Rhaenys bore a mischievous grin, and Aegon scowled darkly.

I was overjoyed, certain that Lord Edric had traveled all this way to ask my hand in marriage. We waited outside my father’s great hall– me, Maegella, and my siblings– as the two men spoke privately. 

At first we stood outside the vast doors, but as time continued to drag on we sat. I was nearly as nervous as I was the day my brother had mounted his dragon for the very first time. Noticing my apprehension, Rhaenys took my hands in her with a sweet smile to which I kissed them lightly. Maegella massaged my shoulders and braided my hair, telling me words of encouragement. Aegon, however, was more agitated than usual, refusing to meet my eyes.

When my father finally called us into the hall, I felt an overwhelming sense of both dread and excitement. Father’s expression was not one of joy. Standing beside him, Lord Edric offered me a sheepish smile before quickly lowering his gaze. 

‘Lord Edric has brought forth a most delightful proposal’ my father’s voice boomed as he announced for all to hear.

Rhaenys placed a gentle hand on my back so I would not fall to the ground.

‘A proposal that will strengthen all of House Targaryen, solidifying our alliances to the East and see that our line branches beyond that of Old Valyria,’ My father continued, approaching us. But instead of taking my hands, he reached for Maegella’s.

‘You will make an honorable wife, my dear niece,’ he said, his stern expression softening into a rare smile, ‘The Lady Maegella Redwine. The two of you shall be wed in a fortnight.’

Maegella looked to me, then to my father, then to Edric, then to me again. She bursted into tears.”

While her cousin wept bitterly, Visenya flew into a heartbroken fit of rage. She did not wait to hear another word, nor did she glance back at her father or Lord Redwine. Instead she took off flying from the great halls and towards the hills of Dragonstone, a place she and her brother had often explored as children. 

The path, once filled with the laughter of childish, carefree days, now felt cruelly unfamiliar under the weight of her grief. She stopped for nothing, her lungs burning with each breath that she took, until she reached the peak of the hill overlooking the dragon pit. There, the winds whipped around her, carrying the salty sting of the sea. She collapsed to her knees, pulling at her hair as she screamed into the void below.

Tears blurred her vision, though she tried her best to contain them. Once she could no longer fight them back, her body trembled as sobs overtook her, shaking and convulsing with each breath she took.

It was then that a sound broke through her misery—a roar, deep and guttural, cutting through the silence of Dragonstone like the cries of a newborn babe.

Visenya wrote:

“I froze, my breath caught in my throat as though time had ceased to continue. The roar came again, louder and sharper this time. I finally rose to my knees, turning to face the source. 

She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Her scales were a deep, shining green of a size almost indescribable. Her eyes glimmered like that of emeralds, reflecting the setting sun. Vhagar, the second largest dragon in all of Dragonstone, towered before me. My heart was consumed by awe and anticipation: from the second I laid eyes on her, I knew she was mine.

‘Vhagar,’ I called to her softly, almost like a prayer, ‘You have found me.’

Her great head turned to face me directly, I could sense the apprehension in her eyes. I approached her slowly, my arms stretched out as though I was beckoning her for a hug. My steps were as light as the air and I felt as though I was gliding towards her.

‘We are the same, you and I,’ I said as I choked back a sob, ‘Both the unlucky daughters of Dragonstone, casted aside in the favor of others. It is why we are destined for each other.’

Vhagar raised her head, no longer growling defensively. She lowered her head, waiting for me as I grew closer and closer. When I finally placed a hand upon her harsh face, I felt a surge of power I had never before experienced. It was as though the bond between us had always existed, only waiting to be awakened.

I was no longer Visenya, daughter of Lord Aerion, cast aside and overlooked. I was Visenya Targaryen, rider of the great she-dragon, Vhagar. 

I took mount to Vhagar for our first flight just in time for my brother, Aegon to witness it.

‘Visenya!’ he called, his voice panicked, ‘What are you doing? You cannot just–’

But his words were lost to me as I shouted to Vhagar in High Valyrian, commanding her to fly just as he had years ago. Her great wings stretched wide and we took to the sky. The wind tore through my hair and stung my cheeks, but nothing could dull the excitement of that moment. There is nothing I would not do to experience my first flight again.”

When Visenya returned to the grounds of Dragonstone after her short first flight, she did so as a dragonrider. The entire household awaited her at the dragonpit, their faces a mixture of awe, horror, and pride. She approached the group with Vhagar looming behind her like a ginormous shadow and without hesitation she struck Lord Redwine across the face. 

Her father retaliated swiftly by striking her back. Yet Visenya said nothing. She locked herself in her chambers, refusing to speak with anyone, until Lord Redwine retreated back to the Arbor to prepare for the wedding. 

The first person she spoke with after his departure was ensured was the bride herself:

“Maegella threw herself onto her knees before me, tears streaming down her face as she clutched my hands. She pressed kisses into them repeatedly, begging for my forgiveness. 

‘I knew nothing of your lord father’s plans,’ she sobbed, ‘I do not wish to be wed, least of all to a man such as Lord Redwine.’

I could feel every ounce of anger I held towards her dissipate in that moment. I knew she was not to blame. She was just as much of a victim to my father’s scheming as I had been myself. I knelt beside her and together we wept.

‘You are strong,’ I said to her, ‘Stronger and more beautiful than I could ever be.’

Maegella said nothing, overwhelmed by grief, but simply shook her head as she held onto my tightly. Her embrace reminded me of my mother’s– warm, protective, and relentless.”

Word about the engagement between Lord Redwine and Lady Maegella was scarcely mentioned again. 

In 15 BC, Lord Edric Redwine wed Lady Maegella Targaryen upon the beach of the Arbor. Visenya was notably present for both the ceremony and feast that occurred afterwards. She was even said to have taken part in the bedding ceremony. 

When Visenya departed for Dragonstone she would not see her lady cousin again for many years. Visenya focus then shifted from that of her cousin’s to her sister’s:

“It was a bright, windy day in Dragonstone, much unlike the stormy gloom typical of this time of year. Rhaenys, Aegon, and I traveled to the large wheat fields where our dragons would often bask. I stood near Vhagar’s side, feeling her warm breath as I clutched my hands together. It was Meraxes who would have our focus.

The great golden-silver beast spread her wings, the shimmering sunlight reflecting off her scales. Her roar echoed across the cliffs, powerful yet there was a hint of mourning, as though she was a lonely creature . Meraxes had always been our mother’s dragon– even after her death, the she-dragon remained a symbol of her.

‘Are you ready?’ Aegon asked, his voice steady. He stood beside Rhaenys, his hand firm on her shoulder. She nodded, her mouth contorting into a determined smile. Her long, silver hair was loose around her shoulders with rings clasping at certain pieces. 

‘I’ve been ready for years,’ she said, her pale-purple eyes shimmering with excitement. 

As Rhaenys stepped towards the dragon, her arm stretched outwards, I noticed a boldness I had never before seen in my little sister. A determination that reminded me of my mother's each time she took flight on Meraxes. The more I looked at Rhaenys standing next to the she-dragon, the more sullen the realization became: she was the spitting image of Valaena Velayron.

‘Rhaenys,’ I called out to her before I could stop myself.

She paused, turning to look where Vhagar and I stood. Her expression softened and, for a moment, she no longer looked to be the determined young woman fulfilling her destiny as a dragonrider, but as a little girl who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms. 

‘Visenya?’ 

I was unsure what to say. There was a mixture of emotions stirring within me: pride, grief, envy.

‘I…’ I began, pulling at the end of my braided hair, ‘Be careful.’

‘Always,’ she said as a wide smile stretched across her entire face.

The dragon watched her approach, the beast’s eyes narrowing in uncertainty. For a moment I worried Meraxes would growl again– or worse, try to roast Rhaenys alive. But as soon as my sister extended her arm once more, her palm lightly kissing the dragon’s face, that fear melted away.

She whispered to her in High Valyrian as the she-dragon lowered her face to be leveled with Rhaenys. The connection passing between them was unmistakable. 

Aegon let out a low whistle, clapping his hands as he praised our sister. ‘Well done!’ He cheered as Rhaenys mounted Meraxes.

I said nothing.

As she took to the sky, the thought of my mother was inescapable. I clenched my fists, the cold air unable to calm the fire that was beginning to rage within me. I was proud of my sister, yes, but I couldn’t feel as though I had lost something important to me.

‘Visenya,’ Aegon said quietly. I was startled, unaware he had been approaching me, ‘She is your sister.’

I swallowed hard, yet the lump in my throat remained. ‘I know.’”

Section Four: The Engagement

Two moons after Visenya’s fifteenth name day in 14 BC, Lord Aerion summoned her and her two siblings to the great hall:

“The great hall of Dragonstone felt heavier than usual, its tall stone walls looming as though they had ears of their own. My father’s chair, carved from hardwood to mimic the form of a dragon, dominated the room, and before him lay the painted table he had commissioned for Aegon’s thirteenth name day. Its intricate carvings of Westeros glowed in the flickering candlelight, a detail Rhaenys insisted be added to the gift. 

We stood before both the table and my father as he sat upon his throne. Rhaenys stood to the left of Aegon and I to his right. The three of us stood closely together, united in our anticipation of the news he would share with us.

My father’s gaze was cold, as it often was, his fingers tapping against his wooden armrest. ‘I have something of the utmost importance to share with you, my children,’ he began, ‘A matter that will shape the future of our house.’

A knot grew within my chest. I had long known this moment would come; I’ve heard the whispers. My father’s ambitions have long been transparent, though I felt myself falter under his gaze.

‘For many years now,’ he said as he turned towards his youngest child, Rhaenys, ‘you have been betrothed to Aegon, my sweet girl.’

Rhaenys smiled, her joy radiating like the summer sun. She turned to Aegon who returned the gesture with a soft yet intimate smile.

I felt a twinge of discomfort in my chest as though I was witnessing something I shouldn’t have. 

My father continued, his tone taking a sudden shift. ‘However, there is another matter that has been weighing upon my conscience. One that concerns you, Visenya.’

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to face his scrutiny.

‘I cannot see to marrying Aegon and Rhaenys so long as you remain unwed,’ he said, ‘It would be unbecoming of our nobel house.

The heat of their stares burned through me. Everyone's eyes were on me. At five and ten, I had known marriage would soon come for me, though I had expected that my father would allow me to choose my own suitor– seeing as he word be the future Lord Consort of Dragonstone. 

‘Father,’ I began, ‘I appreciate your concerns, however–’

‘Let me finish,’ he interrupted. His voice carried the authority of a man long decided on his stance.

I turned towards my sister, Rhaenys, a girl of only twelve. Despite this, she was of great beauty. Her long, silver hair reached a length far greater than mine. She enjoyed wearing beads in her hair which matched the colors of her fine silks. The most stunning part of her beauty was her kindness– her soft facial features emulated her personality.

Although we were close together, we stood slightly more to Aegon’s side than he did my own. Aegon was now practically my own height as we stood several centimeters taller than our younger sister. His hair was a golden blonde and naturally curled. He looked more akin to my father than either Rhaenys or I with his sharp jaw and menacing stare. He never wore robes of any color other than black or red. Today he was dressed clad in black, his gaze uncertain.

My father’s words came out slow, though not cautious. ‘In custom with our Valyrian heritage, you will wed your brother, Aegon, as well as your sister, Rhaenys.’

My breath caught, my eyes widening in disbelief. ‘Pardon me?’ The words came out quietly. My usual demeanor which emanated strength and demanded respect was nowhere to be found.

‘It is the way of our people,’ he continued, ‘Through this union, our house will grow in strength. Aegon’s succession will be secured with you as his second wife.’

‘So that is what this matter is truly about,’ I spat, my anger rising after having found my voice, ‘You will marry me off to secure his succession? I am your heir!’

‘Aegon is my heir!’ my father screamed, rising from his chair, ‘And he will be because it is I who willed it so! You will do your duty and marry him.’

‘This is outlandish! This isn’t right!’ I shouted, though my voice began to tremble, ‘Mother would have never desired this!’

It seemed as though for a moment my father hesitated. That quickly vanished the moment he came towards us. ‘Aegon. Rhaenys. Leave us.’

Rhaenys glanced at me quickly, her expression filled with worry, but Aegon placed an arm on her shoulder and guided her from the room.

As the doors closed behind them, I turned to my father in tears, my voice low and furious. ‘Do you truly think this will strengthen our house? Or is it only your pride that demands it?’

‘Enough,’ he said, his tone final. ‘This is not up for discussion, Visenya. It is your duty. It is your duty to your father and to the future lord of your house. The wedding will take place within the next few years.’”

Following a close analysis of Visenya’s previous journal entries, it is safe to assume it had been Rhaenys who enticed her father to betrothe Visenya to both her and Aegon. It is clear that she had always had a special adoration for her elder sister. Princess Rhae, however, puts forward an alternative belief that it was Aegon, who had been jealous over his sister’s romantic prospects for many years. 

In the weeks following Visenya’s betrothal, Aegon and Lord Aerion spoke little with Visenya, and so she spent her time wandering the halls of Dragonstone with her sister:

“Rhaenys had suffered most from my anger. I had been cold and cruel, blaming her for my misfortune. It was easier to resent the sister who would share my unwanted husband than to direct my anger at the father who had promised me to him.

‘Visenya,’ Rhaenys began as we walked hand in hand along Dragonstone’s hills, ‘Did you hear the rumors about Septa Maeve? My serving girl said the kitchen staff claim she’s with child and that our father intends to dismiss her.’

‘Is that so?’ I replied coldly, my voice devoid of interest.

Rhaenys stopped, pulling us to a halt. Her delicate face, framed by sunlight, was contorted in a mixture of hurt and frustration.

‘Why must you still be angry with me?’ she demanded, ‘We’re to be married soon, and I only want us to be as we once were.’

I dropped her hand, my words cutting like a blade. ‘Indeed, sister, you will marry the man you’ve been betrothed to your entire life, while I am forced to wed the one stealing my inheritance.’

‘Our father’s will cannot be undone,’ she pleaded, her voice trembling as she fell to her knees. She clutched my hands, pressing kisses upon them. ‘Aegon is our brother. We both love him. We must show each other goodwill, if not for our own sake, then for Mother’s memory–’

‘Do not speak of her to me,’ I snapped, yanking my hands away. Rhaenys stumbled, collapsing backward into the grass, her skirts tangling around her legs.

She rose swiftly, ‘Why must you be this way?’ she cried, her voice rising. ‘I have been nothing but kind, gracious, and understanding! You do not wish to wed– fine! But you are not the only one suffering.’

She stomped her feet in anger, pacing across the grassy field. ‘I have endured just as much as you, if not more. I’ve been promised to Aegon since I was a child. Yet here you are, a thorn in my side, mistreating me while seeking his attention.’ She turned sharply toward me, waving her arms in frustration, ‘Perhaps if you behaved like a proper lady instead of parading about like some lordling, none of this would have happened. Even Father says no man desires a woman who cannot act as she ought.’

‘So, I am to blame?’ I asked, my voice low and trembling.

‘Perhaps you are,’ she said, stepping closer, ‘I see how you act around Aegon, flaunting yourself shamelessly. Do you think no one notices?’ Her eyes narrowed, ‘You are a sorrowful, manly version of me– stern, cruel, and devoid of grace. Aegon knows it.’

‘What do you mean to imply?’ I demanded, our faces mere centimeters apart.

‘I believe you seduced him,’ she said, planting her hands on her hips, ‘You prude bitch.’

‘You whore,’ I interrupted, my voice calm as I struck her. Once. Twice.”

From that day forward, Rhaenys and Visenya were no longer seen together. Maids prepared separate meal times, and guards patrolled the halls, their vigilance ensuring the two sisters did not cross paths.

Section Five: The Prophecy

During the final moon of 14 BC, Aegon met his sister Visenya in the fields upon Dragonstone after months of shared silence:

“It was cold and dark out when I had finished my ride atop of Vhagar. Instead of returning home to sup with my family, I laid in the grass, allowing the dewy blades to stick to my skin. The world was sound save for the distant cries of dragons and the faint chirping of grasshoppers. 

Until Aegon called my name.

I lifted my head but remained where I was, face pressed to the damp earth. His voice came again, closer this time.

‘Visenya?’

‘I’m over here, brother,’ I called, ‘What do you need?’

He emerged from behind the rocky ledge dividing us, his blonde hair catching the faint light of the moons. ‘I wish to speak with you. May I sit?’ His tone was as detached as ever, but there was a certain weight in his words.

I nodded, jesting him to join me.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked, staring at my dirt covered clothing and face.

‘I rode Vhagar,’ I simply replied, ‘Then I laid here.’

‘Interesting,’ he muttered, his gaze drifting to my hair, ‘It’s undone.’

I reached up instinctively, feeling the snarled mess that had once been a braid. Flying and sparring often left my hair in such a state. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Let me fix it,’ he offered.

‘No need,’ I responded quickly, but Aegon moved closer to my side, taking my hair into his hands with surprising care.

His fingers worked methodically, detangling and then braiding the silver strands. When he finished, he placed it neatly over my left shoulder.

“Rhaenys told me about your fight,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’ve been cruel to her, Visenya. 

He paused, resting closely by my side. ‘But she was cruel to you as well.’

I scowled, ‘Yes, yes she was.’

‘You should speak with her,’ he reasoned, ‘Make your peace before we wed.’

I turned to face him, growing irritated. ‘Is that why you came? To lecture me on Rhaenys’ behalf? We’ve barely spoken in months, and now you choose to intervene for her?’

‘No,’ he said as he began to fidget at the frayed edges of his rope sleeves, ‘It twas only a suggestion.’ 

He paused, his eyes fixated on the ground, ‘Visenya, I had a dream.’”

It has long been speculated that King Aegon I was a dragon dreamer. Unique to House Targaryen, dragon dreamers possess the ability to experience prophetic dreams. These visions are rarely straightforward, often cloaked in metaphor, leaving their meaning open to interpretation.

Throughout history, several Targaryen have been confirmed to be dragon dreamers including Daenys the Dreamer, who foresaw the Doom of Valyria, King Viserys I, whose dreams motivated his decision to continue producing children, Queen Helaena, whose cryptic visions warned of dark times, Daemon II Blackfyre, who dreamed of his future glory and defeat, and Queen Daenerys I, whose dreams warned of the Long Knight.

In her journal entries dating back to 14 BC, Queen Visenya confirmed what had long been debated: Aegon I was undeniably a dragon dreamer. His visions foretold the Long Night, the invasion of the White Walkers, and the Frozen Days that would follow. He believed the survival of the realm hinged on a Targaryen seated upon the Iron Throne.

But the dreams Aegon shared with his sister that night were not one of doom but of destiny:

“‘I dreamt it as clear as the summer sky. I was myself, dressed in my nightgown, but I stood in a strange room. Before me was a throne. It was a monstrous chair forged from thousands of swords. I was staring at myself, though. Older, stronger, and clad in armor I have never seen before. Sitting atop the throne.’

‘The elder version of yourself sat atop a chair of swords?’ I repeated with a laugh, entertained by my brother's imagination.

‘This is of the utmost importance, Visenya!’ Aegon’s voice was loud and serious, sharper than I’d ever heard it. He caught himself and softened. ‘Forgive me, sister. I didn't mean to yell.’

I looked upon his purple eyes, studying each minor shift in his facial expressions. ‘Aegon, what troubles you?’

‘I dreamt I was the king,’ he said at last, ‘King of all Westeros, sitting upon a throne of bloodied swords. A steel crown shrouded in rubies atop my head.’

‘King?’ I asked in disbelief, ‘Of all seven kingdoms?’

‘Yes,’ Aegon said with a certainty in his voice, ‘It sounds mad, I know. But believe me, sister. There is a fire in my chest– this incredible sensation. This is my future. Just as Valyria met its doom as Daenys dreamed. I will sit upon that throne.’

His voice was certain. If Aegon were to be king, then I would be his queen.

‘I've never seen you so distraught, Aegon,’ I whispered, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear, “Are you certain what you have seen is the truth?’

Aegon fell silent, deep in thought.

‘Who else have you told?’

‘No one,’ he admitted, his voice still soft, ‘Should I tell Father?’

‘You will do no such thing,’ I said firmly as I rose from where I sat.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To speak with Rhaenys.’”

The conversation with Rhaneys began with an air of uncertainty as each sister still possessed ill will towards one another. But as Visenya relayed Aegon’s vision, the tension slowly began to disappear. Rhaenys listened, at first with displeasure, then with curiosity, and finally with a mischievous excitement:

“‘This is incredible!’ my sweet sister said, excitement evident in her voice, ‘We will be queens of all Westeros!’

‘Yes,’ I said with caution, ‘but we must first convince our brother to seize this opportunity.’

‘Does he not want it?’

‘He seems uncertain.’

Rhaenys gripped my arms, her face full of confusion, ‘What shall we do?’

‘I have an idea,’ I said slowly, whispering into my sister’s ear. 

Her eyes lit up, a brightness I had not seen in months. In her excitement, she threw her arms around me and pressed her lips square unto my own– a gesture so sudden it left me dizzy.

I stumbled back in shock, a bright blush spreading across my face. Rhaenys, ever unbothered, was already fleeing from her chambers, still dressed in her nightgown.

“Rhaenys!” I called after her, but either she had not heard me or she did not care to listen.

Unable to process all that had transpired, I gathered my skirts and ran after my sister:

Section Six: The Wedding of 6 BC

“The castle’s halls were dark and moist, as they always were. Rhaenys was not bothered, as she needed no light to guide her forward. She continued running, her silver hair loose and undone, whipping through the halls.

When we reached the outer courtyard, Meraxes was there waiting, her golden eyes gleaming in the dark. The great she-dragon lowered her head as Rhaenys approached.

Rhaenys turned her head to me as she mounted her dragon. ‘Let’s fly, sister. Just for a while.’

‘And leave Aegon to wonder where we’ve gone?’ I said, pretending to protest her words.

‘Let him wonder,’ Rhaenys replied with a smile, pointing towards the direction of Vhagar.

Without much consideration– I followed her lead. Afterall, what harm could come of a simple night ride? Together, she climbed onto Meraxes’s back while I Vhagar. Our dragon’s rose smoothly, side by side as they took to the night sky. 

‘Aegon dreams of a far away land. But up here, I feel it’s already ours,’ Rhanyes shouted as she soared through the air. Although I had been a dragonrider for longer, she had a special liking for it, spending hours a day in the sky.

I hesitated, the weight of her words sinking in my chest. ‘Do you truly believe his vision to be true?’

‘I believe in him,’ Rhaenys said, her voice soft, ‘And I believe in us. I believe in you, my dear lady-wife.’”

During the spring of 6 BC, as the warm winds blew across the hills of Dragonstone, the wedding of Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys took place. 

The wedding was intimate, attended only by a small number of lords and ladies who were close allies to the Targaryens. Although customs of polygamy, polyamory, and incest were common in Old Valyria, yet these practices were outlawed in Westeros. 

Visenya stood alongside her sister in their father’s hall, their gowns shimmering in the dim candlelight. Both wore the traditional attire of Old Valyria, though Visenya’s tan and red dress was looser, with a silver dragon pendant resting against her collarbone– a gift from her mother. Rhaenys, in contrast, wore thick rings of silver jewelry upon her wrists, fingers, and neck. Her hair fell loose, resting around her waist.

“‘How much longer will father keep us here?’ Rhaenys asked, riddling with the rings of silver around her wrists.

I glanced towards the door, but there was no sign of anyone let alone our father. ‘I do not know,’ I said.

Rhaenys’s gaze softened. She knew the weight of the day bore heavily on Visenya’s shoulders. The marriage—this union—meant the passing of Dragonstone’s title. The inheritance would no longer belong to her sister, but to Aegon’s children, even if they were not of her blood. There was a bitterness that lingered in Visenya’s chest at that thought, though she masked it with stoicism.

Rhaenys’s gaze softened. She recognized the weight of the day bore heavily upon my shoulders. The moment we were married in fire and blood would mean the passing of Dragonstone’s title. The inheritance would no longer be mine, but rather pass to my lord husband. His children would then inherit them, even if not by my blood. 

My sweet sister, ever optimistic, refused to let such a stale sentiment spoil the festivities of the day. Instead, she tossed her head back, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. ‘Visenya, let us go to your bedchambers,’ she said playfully, ‘We can place beads and rings into our hair.’

Although I was beside myself, I looked at my sister in amusement. ‘There will be a septa waiting outside. She won’t allow us to leave.’

‘Then we simply won’t let her.’

With a quick shove, Rhaenys flung open the doors. The old hag, in her confusion, began to yell at us, beckoning us to return immediately.

When we arrived at my bedchambers, Rhaenys was quick to find my box of jewelry upon my vanity. The two of us took turns helping each other place jewels, rings, and beads into our hair. 

‘There,’ Rhaenys said as she placed the Valyrian head piece back onto my head, stepping back to admire their work. ‘We look like true queens.’

I met Rhaenys’s gaze, my heart pounding with something deeper than a mere sisterly affection. ‘We are preparing for our future,’ I whispered, taking her hands into my own as I pressed a kiss onto them.

Our moment of peace was interrupted by the old hag’s voice calling from beyond the door. ‘Girls! It’s time to head to the hills!’

‘Wench,’ I whispered.

‘Deplorable whore,’ Rhaenys rolled her eyes, a giggle managing to slip out, ‘Let us go, sister.’”

The marriage ceremony took place under the gaze of a few loyal guests, and its proceedings were as traditional as any Valyrian union. Blood was drawn– lips and hands cut by shards of blackened ember– sealing the marital bond of the three siblings. Though this was a wedding, it was unlike any Westerosi ceremony. There was no public recognition towards the gods, no declaration of faith. Only fire and blood.

Septa Anya was exasperated. She had witnessed many marriages throughout her years of service to House Targaryen, but nothing quite as  peculiar as this. Polyamory was not unheard of in Old Valyria, though its practice had faded over the centuries since the Doom. Still, she had assumed, as most have throughout history, that the siblings’ marriage was that of polygamy. 

Following the ceremony, the crowd spilled into the grand hall, where food and drink were laid out in abundance across the great, long wooden tables. It was a feast fit for a king, yet none of the guests seemed to eat with true hunger. Their glances drifted toward the siblings, who sat at the table at the end of the hall alongside their father, bastard half-brother, and maternal grandparents, as if awaiting something more. 

As the night continued, music filled the hall. Yet the songs that played were not that of Old Valyria, but rather the unfamiliar tunes of the Westerosi court. Visenya couldn’t help but feel the weight of it. Rhaenys, ever the optimist, smiled and leaned toward Aegon;

“‘I am enjoying this music quite well,’ she said to Aegon, smiling. Then she turned to me, ‘What say you, sister? Or should I now address you as wife?’ Rhaenys teased, her voice light.

Visenya's gaze wandered over the guests, her fingers absently tapping the table. ‘Do what you wish,’ she replied, her voice soft and distant. ‘In all honesty, I would prefer music of our culture. But, it seems I was not consulted on the matter.’

As Rhaenys continued to speak, Aegon rose from his chair, offering his hand to Rhaenys for a dance. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, and with a smile, Rhaenys joined him on the dance floor. Visenya, left alone, felt a strange emptiness gnaw at her chest. Her father, who had barely spoken during the feast, leaned toward her:

“‘You have done your duty, Visenya,’ he said softly. ‘Now is the time to celebrate. Do not let this day pass without embracing what comes next.’

Visenya did not answer. Instead, she stood, her gaze following the movements of Rhaenys and Aegon, as the dance around her continued.

My gaze was upon our guests, my fingers absentmindedly tapping the table. ‘Do what you wish,’ I murmured, my voice low and distant. ‘I would have preferred music from our culture. But it seems no one thought to consult me on the matter.’

As Rhaenys continued speaking, Aegon rose from his chair, offering his hand. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, and with a small smile. My wife took it graciously, a pleasant look upon her face. Left alone, I felt a strange emptiness. It was only my father and I, who leaned towards me. 

‘You’ve done your duty, Visenya,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘Now is the time to celebrate. Do not disturb the joy of my children on such an important day in their lives.’

I didn’t reply. I had no desire to bicker with my father, not at this moment. Instead, I stood, my gaze following Rhaenys and Aegon as they moved together. 

‘Daughter,’ my father said, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to find him standing by my side, our eyes nearly level. ‘Dance?’ he asked with a rare softness in his voice.

We shared a brief dance, one I was not familiar with. It twas a quiet, intimate moment between the two of us until Aegon appeared. He extended a hand towards me and, although I was hesitant, I could not refuse. Rhaenys, having danced with our husband for quite some time, had returned to our table to rest. This left Aegon without a partner and so he sought me. 

At first, dancing with my brother was rather awkward and enjoyable. The two of us struggled to find a rhythm, his weight crushing my feet more than once. But then the music shifted from that of a traditional northern tune to that of something distinctly Dornish. While I had never fancied the music of the Dornish, its lively tune made it easier to move as we jumped, swayed, and spinned. Aegon and I danced in circles, occasionally spinning the other around.

Our guests formed a circle around us, their singular claps ringing through the air each moment we joined hands. 

‘This dance does you well, wife,’ Aegon said, spinning me with his left arm, ‘I remember the last time you and Rhaenys danced before me. Twas long ago.’

‘You used to mock us, husband,’ I replied as I spun him in the opposite direction, ‘I’ve outgrown such pastimes. I have found little joy in dancing since Maegella left Dragonstone.’

His subtle smile faltered, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but quickly closed it again. He seemed at a loss for words. Moments later Rhaenys found the two of us, eager to join. 

‘Always the center of attention,’ I joked as we continued our dance. Rhaenys smiled as she grabbed my hand, swinging it violently over both of our heads. It was difficult and awkward due to our height difference, though my sister seemed not to notice.

Suddenly, a loud shout erupted from one of the few guest tables. The noise was so startling that the dancing ceased and music slowed to a halt. 

‘Gentleman! Beloved relatives!’ Lord Velayron drunkenly shouted, staggering to his feet, ‘I would like to extend my heartfelt congratulations to my grandchildren on their marriage!’

A wave of cheers swept through the small crowd as our grandsire pressed on. ‘What a day of celebration! But a wedding without a bedding ceremony would be nothing short of a tragedy!’

The crowd erupted into cheers, louder than before. My brother and I were torn from each other’s grasp. Rhaenys and I were dragged away by a group of lords who wasted no time as they began to grab us and strip us of our clothing, propelling us towards the bedchambers.

I had long dreaded the bedding ceremony. To me, it was a cruel Westerosi tradition, meant to humiliate both bride and groom under the guise of celebration. 

As the group of men carried me, my discomfort saw its peak. I tried to catch a glimpse of Aegon, but he had been swept away by a group of women. Rhaenys too had been swept away and I couldn’t help but notice that the size of the group of lords who had been carrying her was larger than my own. My anxiety swelled as the situation became all the more intrusive.

Still, I took the moment to focus on the content of the drunken men’s chatter and I found that my perspective began to shift. Despite their dialogue being lewd, most of their words were lighthearted quips anoint what was to come. Their jests seemed to be more directed to each other than to myself. Surprisingly, their antics brought a smile to my face and I couldn’t help but laugh.

When we finally approached Aegon’s bedchamber, one of the lords gave my backside one last squeeze, offering a mischievous grin as he bid me to ‘enjoy my stay.’

Inside, I found Rhaenys already seated on the bed, her cheeks a bright pink as she smiled. Her clothes were completely removed, her small breasts on full display. Her body was slender and delicate, bathed in the warm glow of the candle lights. 

I approached slowly, removing the last of my clothing from my shoulders. The air was cool against my skin, yet the room felt warm. I sat beside her on the bed, our thighs touching lightly. Rhaenys was first to reach over, grabbing my arm before kissing my hands lightly. I could feel her arms tremble.

‘You’re nervous,’ I whispered, placing a hand upon her naked chest. Rhaenys giggled, turning her head away from mine. ‘Don’t be.’

I grabbed the side of her face, turning it back towards my own. Her pale-purple eyes glowed, shining like the great stars. I could feel her gentle breaths against my face as I pulled her closer into a kiss.

Beginning soft and shallow, I deepened the kiss, pulling Rhaenys’s naked body against my own. Our lips moved together furiously, as I pulled at her loose hair, gripping it into a ponytail. Her lips fell away from mine with a soft moan.

‘Visenya,’ she said softly. 

‘Shhh,’ I whispered into her ear, shifting slowly so that I was on top of her entirely. Rhaenys pulled me into another kiss, hungry with desire. I pulled away, decorating her neck with kisses as I slowly made my way down to her chest. 

Grabbing one of her breasts with my hands, I pinched at her small, pink nipples, earning a whimper from my wife. As I took her breast into her mouth, she began to moan, her breath growing rapidly. Placing both her hands into my hair, I grabbed her other breast, lightly squeezing it as my tongue lapped the other. The chorus of moans and grunts was cut short as the door opened once more.

I raised my head, glancing towards our guests. Dressed in nothing at all, Aegon stood at the door with his eyes wide.

Rhaenys began to laugh, brushing a piece of loose hair from my face. ‘Would you like to come join us, husband?’

‘You are interrupting,’ I said, my voice low and dangerous as I turned back to Rhaenys, ‘Perhaps our husband would like to watch?’

Aegon nodded as a crimson blush spread across his face. He sat on the opposite end of the bed, silently observing. 

I returned to Rhaenys chest as the sound of moans once more filled the room.

‘Don’t stop,’ she said breathlessly, thrusting her hips upwards. I moved my head back, giving her breast one last lick. Rhaenys sat up on her elbows, her eyebrows lifting in both suspicion and amusement. 

I dropped down off the bed, planting myself firmly on my knees. Grabbing Rhaenys’s ankles, I pulled her body close towards mine until I was eye level with her sex.

I let my hands trail up her thighs, feeling the soft tremble in her muscles as I drew closer to her core. Rhaenys watched me with eager eyes, her breath coming in short bursts. I placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her thigh, never taking my eyes off her own.

Her hands found their way to my hair again, tangling in the strands as I pressed my lips against her most sensitive spot. Rhaenys gasped, her body arching towards me as I explored her with my mouth, my tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Her hips bucked slightly, urging me on.

Behind us, Aegon remained quiet, though his presence was a palpable heat in the room. His gaze was heavy, but it was Rhaenys’s reactions that commanded all my attention. I was intent on drawing every ounce of pleasure from her.

Rhaenys’s hands tightened in my hair as her moans grew louder, her body trembling beneath my touch as I inserted a finger inside her. I could feel the tension building within her, each movement bringing her closer to the edge. With a final, desperate cry, she tensed, her thighs quivering around my head as she succumbed to the waves of pleasure washing over her.

I pulled back, placing one last kiss on her inner thigh before rising to meet her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with satisfaction. 

Aegon shifted slightly, drawing our attention. His expression was a mix of admiration and desire, his body tense with anticipation. Rhaenys glanced at me, her classic mischievous smile on her lips.

‘Shall we invite him fully, sister?’ she whispered, her voice still breathless.

I nodded, my gaze locking with Aegon's. 

He stood from his seat, his arousal evident, and approached us with deliberate steps. I climbed back atop Rhaenys, pressing my lips to hers in a lingering kiss, savoring the moment before Aegon would claim her. Suddenly, I felt his strong hands grip my hips, spreading me apart. A shiver ran down my spine as he positioned himself and entered me.

I gasped, my body tensing for a moment as Aegon pushed into me, his movements slow and deliberate. The sensation was overwhelming. The pain was evident, but as Rhaenys cupped my face, her eyes filled with concern and desire as she kissed me softly, it began to dissipate.

‘Relax, Visenya,’ she whispered against my lips, her voice soothing. ‘Let him take you.’

I nodded, exhaling slowly as Aegon began to move, his rhythm steady and deep. His hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding me as he found a steady pace. The room was filled with the sound of our shared pleasure, the sound of soft moans and slaps blending together.

Rhaenys reached between us, her fingers finding the sensitive spot on my breasts. I clung to her, our bodies pressed together as Aegon continued to move behind me, his pace quickening.

Seconds turned to minutes as the three of us continued. Aegon groaned behind me, his grip tightening as he found his release. A strange, warm sensation filled me as his body stiffened before he collapsed against my back.

We lay there, entangled and breathless, the weight of our shared passion settling over us like a warm blanket. Rhaenys stroked my hair gently, her touch soothing as we caught our breath.

‘That was… beautiful,’ Rhaenys whispered, as she encompassed the two of us in our arms.

‘And yet it is not over,’ I said, pushing Aegon off my back and breaking away from Rhaenys’s grasps. ‘Well, go on then.’

Aegon stared at me wide eyed before moving his gaze to Rhaenys. She laughed as he let out a tired grown, rubbing his hands across his face as he took in a deep breath. He then rose again, looking towards our wife with purpose.”

Following the wedding of Visenya to both Aegon and Rhaenys, there are not many events of great historical interest prior to the Conquest.

… Besides a final visit to the Arbor in 4 BC. 

Section Seven: The Death of Lord Aerion Targaryen

“Visiting the Arbor once more was an awkward and unwanted decision on my part. Throughout my childhood, my travels were left up to my father’s jurisdiction, but following my marriage, those decisions now fell to my husband. Despite my pleas to remain home, Aegon could not be swayed.

Rhaenys had long desired to visit our cousin, Lady Maegella, a wish her lord husband had consistently denied. When Lord Redwyne finally opened his home to us once more, Aegon decided it best for all of us to go. His distaste for Lord Redwyne was an open secret, perhaps the reason he insisted on my presence– either to endure the visit together or to remind me of our past relationship.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted by the entire Redwyne family. Maegella, heavily pregnant with her second child, caught Rhaenys in a heartfelt embrace. Tears streamed down my lady wife’s face, overwhelmed with joy. I too offered a greeting but without such theatrics, aware of Lord Redwyne's piercing glare.

Much of our stay was spent in Lady Maegella’s chambers, where her condition confined us. We gossiped, played games, and watched Rhaenys dance. Occasionally, Aegon and I joined Lord Redwyne and my father for rides along the Arbor's expansive beaches. Despite the overwhelming beauty, Edric and I spoke little to one another, our mutual discontent difficult to deny.

One morning, after a ride, we rested on the beach, allowing our horses a break from riding. While Aegon and my father engaged in serious discussion, I sat in the sand, only for Lord Redwyne to join me.

‘Visenya,’ he said, sitting beside me.

‘Lord Redwyne,’ I replied, disinterested, ‘Is there something you need?’

‘No, but we must have a discussion,’ he said, turning to face me, ‘I must speak to you about that day on Dragonstone.’

‘I do not wish to hear it,’ I said curtly, ‘Let us not dwell on the past.’

‘Visenya, please,’ his voice grew desperate, ‘I asked for your hand, believe me, I did–’

‘Do you wish to irritate me?’ I said, meeting his eyes, ‘My father refused you and offered my cousin’s hand instead. I have long known this, it’s no secret.’

‘Then why do you treat me with such disdain?’ his eyes were wide with shock.

‘Because I do not care to be polite or share the company of ambitious, foolish men,’ I replied, ‘You were not forced to marry her and yet you still did.’

‘I thought you would hate me more if I refused her hand!’ he cried, rising from where he sat.

I laughed, rising too. ‘It seems you never truly did understand me. ‘Tis a shame, I was under the impression that the older you get the more wisdom you acquire.’

‘Visenya– I,’ his voice faltered, eyes full of bewilderment, ‘I love you.’

Before I could react, Edric reached for me with his old, wrinkled hands, pulling me in for a kiss. Thankfully, my hands found my blade before his lips could. With a single slash I had given him a large cut on his left cheek with a scream.

Aegon and my father, alerted by my cry, came running. Aegon's fury evidence on his face. Lord Redwyne, realizing his folly, muttered apologies– not to me, but to them.

That evening, I left on the back of Vhagar, returning to Dragonstone alone.”

The last time Visenya wrote about seeing her lady cousin in person was in 3 BC at Lord Aerion’s Targaryen’s funeral at Dragonstone.

“My father’s health had been deteriorating for years. Ever since our visit to the Arbor, he had been bedridden from his sickness. The maesters had long predicted his emanate demise.

It was during the final moon of 3 BC that I was awoken by not by my brother, whose chamber 

I had fallen asleep, but rather my sister. Rhaenys was sobbing violently, tugging at her hair in distress. Her usual grace and eloquence was replaced by a grief I had never before seen in her. The doors of the bedchamber were wide open, but the usual guards were nowhere to be found, abandoned in the chaos. 

Rhaenys had been shaking my shoulders long after I had awoken. ‘Visenya! Visenya! Wake up– y-you must wake up!’

I sat up, attempting to make sense of her dismay. ‘Rhaenys? What has happened?’

‘It’s father!’ She choked in between sobs, ‘Septa Manary… the hag found him. He’s– he’s gone!’

Any ounce of sleep that had remained within me had vanished. ‘Gone? What do you mean gone?’

Rhaenys threw her head against my chest, her sobs growing louder. ‘He’s dead, sister! They found him blue and lifeless hours ago. Aegon rushed to find him… but he hasn’t returned! Nobody has!’

‘Aegon? Why was I not awoken?’ I questioned, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

‘I don’t know!’ Rhaenys screamed.

In my attempt to calm her, I splashed cold water across her face. This did little to calm her hysteria. 

‘We must find him,’ I said firmly, ‘We need answers.’

I dressed hastily, taking a candle and my sister’s hand as we ventured through the damp, darkened halls of Dragonstone in search of Aegon. As we ascended towards the great hall where Aegon often studied maps, the soft murmur of voices began to grow louder. The hall was a sea of worried faces– maids, guards, septas, maesters, and dragonkeepers alike, each of them wearing the same looks of confusion and fear. As we entered the room, all eyes went to us. 

‘Lady Visenya, Lady Rhaenys,’ one of the maesters approached us, his face pale and weary, ‘Please, come with me. We must speak in private.’

He placed an arm on my shoulder, carefully looking over each shoulder.

‘Why is everyone gathered here?’ I demanded, my wife still quivering at my side.

‘I regret to inform you, my ladies,’ he began in a hushed voice, ‘that your father’s death was not natural. There are signs of… foul play.’

Rhaenys let out a cry of anguish, falling to her knees and her tears began to flow once more. ‘Murdered!’ she cried, her voice echoing through the small room the maester had ushered us into.

The maester nodded gravely. ‘He was found with blood pooling from his eyes and nose, his veins bulging, and bile in his throat. It appears he had been poisoned.’ 

‘I need to see him,’ I commanded, ‘Bring me to him at once.’

Rhaenys stayed behind to help with the questioning, unable to bring herself to face our father’s body. Her tearful eyes followed me as I was led away. The path to my father’s chambers felt longer than ever. Inside, Aegon stood with a grim look on his face. Around him, maesters, guards, the hag, and head guard Ser Myle stood, whispering in hushed tones. 

My father lay still on the bed, his once string frame that commanded respect was now frail and lifeless. I reached out, placing a hand on his forehead. There was no doubt he had been poisoned.”

Maester Kermit had been swiftly arrested, charged, and executed for the murder of Lord Aerion Targaryen. The details relating to his condemnation of the crime remain murky and difficult to pursue, further complicated by the lack of details in Visenya’s account. She does, however, mention a critical piece of evidence: canyon snake venom found beneath the pillow of Maester Kermit. 

Septa Anya, a woman well versed in the effects of various poisons, casts doubt on the validity of this evidence. She explains that the venom of canyon snakes induces rarely fatal hallucinations rather than the bile and blood mentioned in the official account of Lord Aerion’s death. This heavily undermines the validity of the evidence, implying that the poison was planted by someone attempting to deflect blame.

Princess Rhae puts forth the theory that it was Visenya herself who had perpetrated the murder herself, citing her lack of grief following the death of her father. As the future Lady of Dragonstone, she had access to every room in the palace, making her a plausible suspect. Furthermore, Visenya’s own account raises suspicion as she states she was not woken when Aegon was first alerted of the crime scene despite allegedly being within his bedchambers.

Despite these suspicions, there seems to be little cause for Visenya to quicken her father’s death as he was already sickly and unlikely to survive much longer. If she wanted him dead she would have only had to wait a few more moons for him to pass naturally. 

Nevertheless, the funeral for Lord Aerion was held several days after his death. The entirety of House Targaryen, still small in size despite its new lord having two wives, gathered to pay their respects. Among the mourners was Lady Maegella, accompanied by her two small children, though her husband was noticeably absent. 

Balerion the Black Dread set fire to the funeral pyre:

“My brother, clad in somber, black robes, took it upon himself to commence the burning. With a commanding voice, he called upon Balerion to burn our father’s bandaged body. We stood in silence as we watched the flames rapidly consume his body. As I watched his physical body disappear from the lands, I felt a small sense of justice for the pain inflicted by him during my childhood. Still, I could feel the grief coursing through my veins as the smoke rose from the flames. After the funeral burning had finished, Rhaenys and I retired to her bedchambers. I found I could rest easier with her in my arms.”

Several moons passed following the death of Lord Aerion Targaryen before Aegon, the new lord of Dragonstone, summoned his two sisters into the great hall.

“It was late in the morning when he summoned us, though it looked as though he had found no sleep during the night. I couldn’t help but feel irritated as he summoned us without explanation while I was in the midst of my sword training while Rhaenys was riding atop Meraxes.

We found Aegon standing before the great table, his hands gripping its edges as though to anchor himself. His eyes were sunken and his hair disheveled.

‘Are you troubled, dear husband?’ Rhaenys asked softly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him.

I folded my arms, my patience wavering. ‘What is it, Aegon?’

He raised his head slightly, his gaze distant. ‘I have been visited by another dream from the gods,’he admitted, his voice heavy.

‘Another one?’ I stepped closer, my annoyance softening. I lifted his chin to meet his gaze. ‘What was it about? Your steel chair made of swords?’

‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘It was far more important than that.’

He broke away from the two of us, pacing the hall restlessly. ‘Daenys the Dreamer foresaw the Doom of Valyria. And now I have seen the Doom of Westeros.’

His words sent a chill through my spine. Rhaenys, ever the compassionate one, rushed to his side, urging him to continue. ‘Tell us, Aegon, so that we may help you.’

He stopped, taking my sister in his arms before turning to face me, a mixture of fear and certainty. ‘The long night will fall upon us once more. I saw strange, frozen beasts riding atop ginormous spiders that breached the Wall in the North, bringing death and destruction. Thousands perished in the ice and darkness.’

I exchanged a wary glance with Rhaenys, beside myself by the news. ‘And what do you propose we do about this dream, brother?’

‘The realm must unite,’ Aegon declared. ‘Only under the rule of a Targaryen can Westeros stand against such a threat. Seven kingdoms must become one, with a single ruler on the throne. The throne of a thousand swords.’

Rhaenys, her eyes lighting up with determination, seized his words. ‘This is a sign, like the dream you had of becoming king. It is your destiny, brother!’

‘But how could it be?’ Aegon cried, his voice anguished. ‘We are the blood of Old Valyria, bound to Dragonstone. Westeros is a foreign land to us.’

I stepped forward, my voice as sharp as a blade. ‘You fool. How can you be so shortsighted?’

His mouth fell open in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

I struck his face firmly. ‘You are the blood of the dragon, chosen by the gods to rule over a realm not yet forged! Rhaenys is right, this is your destiny.”

Rhaenys placed a gentle hand upon the cheek that I had struck. ‘We have dragons, my dear husband. Foreign or not, we are a force to be reckoned with.’

Aegon extended a hand to me, drawing Rhaenys close to his side. ‘Come, Visenya.’

I stepped into his arms, allowing myself to melt into his embrace. He held us tightly, his voice softening. 

‘What am I to do with you both?’”

[primamchorus]

FFXV: Reimagined :: Table of Contents

"To crown the King of Light is the calling of the Crystal. Only the True King anointed by the Crystal can purge our star from its scourge."

-Young Lunafreya to Noctis

The star teeters on the brink of being under the iron grasp of the Niflheim Empire's conquest. Since the rise of the Niflheim forces, so too has the rise of the daemon threat when night falls grown. Such a prophecy is known and held close to those who wish to see it fulfilled, and to that end, the prophecy must come to fruition lest Eos succumbs to a night everlasting.

Sleepless Nobility :: Introduction to the Nobles

In Good Hands || Ignis Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Eye of the Beholder || Mollis Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Ever Beating Heart || Ros Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Arms Interlocked || Primam & Tandem Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Tempering the Shield || Gladiolus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

A Word in the Ear || The Vox Siblings || tumblr // Ao3

Burning Valor || Cor Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Prologue :: Tales of Loss

When the Rain Falls || tumblr // Ao3

Sendoff || tumblr // Ao3

Sylva || tumblr // Ao3

"You Can Call Me Luna" || tumblr // Ao3

Sylleblossom || tumblr // Ao3

Garden of Fire || tumblr // Ao3

Enemies at the Wall || tumblr // Ao3

The Bonds of Brotherhood :: The Start of a Journey

Good Morning || tumblr // Ao3

Impatience || tumblr // Ao3

Broken Glaives || tumblr // Ao3

Cleaning Party || tumblr // Ao3

Departure || tumblr // Ao3

The Pauper Prince || tumblr // Ao3

Teach Them Boys a Lesson || tumblr // Ao3

Lock and Quay || tumblr // Ao3

A Sky of Ruin Foretold :: The Fall of Insomnia

For Hearth and Home || tumblr // Ao3

Noblesse Oblige || tumblr // Ao3

Bird and Blossom || tumblr // Ao3

Pleasantries || tumblr // Ao3

The Peace Treaty || tumblr // Ao3

Like a Phoenix || tumblr // Ao3

Traitorous || tumblr // Ao3

Succession in Blood || tumblr // Ao3

Night has Come || tumblr // Ao3

The Might of Kings || tumblr // Ao3

Hero || tumblr // Ao3

Light at Dawn || tumblr // Ao3

Power of Astrals :: Following Destiny

Morning After || tumblr // Ao3

The Weight of Duty || tumblr // Ao3

Declaration of War || tumblr // Ao3

Weary Arms || tumblr // Ao3

Burden of Expectation || tumblr // Ao3

Waking the Landforger || tumblr // Ao3

Sword in the Waterfall || tumblr // Ao3

Tumble and Fall || tumblr // Ao3

The Way of Gods and Kings || tumblr // Ao3

Road to the Fulgarian || tumblr // Ao3

Bend the Knee || tumblr // Ao3

Blessing of the Hexatheon || tumblr // Ao3

The Sky That We Look Upon || tumblr // Ao3

Imperial Infiltration || tumblr // Ao3

Red Like Roses || tumblr // Ao3

The Shield of the King || tumblr // Ao3

A Precious Source of Power || tumblr // Ao3

Preparations || tumblr // Ao3

Brave New World || tumblr // Ao3

Into the Fray || tumblr // Ao3

Crumble Into the Sea || tumblr // Ao3

The Hand of the King || tumblr // Ao3

Fading Lights :: The Trail Into Gralea

Laughable Reunion || tumblr // Ao3

Off the Rails || tumblr // Ao3

Express Train for Trouble || tumblr // Ao3

Forever Fall || tumblr // Ao3

The Arm of the King || tumblr // Ao3

Bow Down || tumblr // Ao3

Shut Up and Listen || tumblr // Ao3

[TBP / WIP]

World Without a King :: The World of Ruin

[TBP / WIP]

Ten Years of Darkness :: Fate of the Star

[TBP / WIP]

Stories from Eos :: Mini Stories

First Day of School || tumblr // Ao3

Rubies and Embers || tumblr // Ao3

A Journey in Secret || tumblr // Ao3

Empty Seat || tumblr // Ao3

Shadows on the Wall || tumblr // Ao3

Rose Garden || tumblr // Ao3

Walled-in Concern || tumblr // Ao3

Slingshot || tumblr // Ao3

Baked Goods || tumblr // Ao3

Dogged Runner || tumblr // Ao3

Cold Snap || tumblr // Ao3

Out of Earshot || tumblr // Ao3

Spoiled Brat || tumblr // Ao3

Lands of Ice || tumblr // Ao3

By Another Name || tumblr // Ao3

Sing Me a Song || tumblr // Ao3

A New Direction || tumblr // Ao3

Welcome to Your Life || tumblr // Ao3

Flower Arrangement || tumblr // Ao3

Moogle Magic || tumblr // Ao3

Dark Chocolate || tumblr // Ao3

Ascension || tumblr // Ao3

"I Want to be Friends!" || tumblr // Ao3

The Blacksmith's Song || tumblr // Ao3

Charms || tumblr // Ao3

Nothing is Secret || tumblr // Ao3

Princely Conduct || tumblr // Ao3

Rooftop || tumblr // Ao3

Dossiers :: Information Closely Kept

The Royal Lucian Family || tumblr // Ao3

House Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

House Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

House Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

House Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

House Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

House Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

House Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Regis Lucis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Aulea Viridis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Noctis Lucis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Clarus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Florere Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Gladiolus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Iris Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Gratia Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Atticus Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Primam Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Tandem Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Cor Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Cera Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Aura Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Silex Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Ignis Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Ater Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Rosea Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Mollis Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Aurae Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Arbor Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Ros Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Pax Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Nympha Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Aestus Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Cordia Luti Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Vera Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Lyra Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Nebula Vox || tumblr // Ao3

The Royal Tenebraen Family || tumblr // Ao3

Sylva Via Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Ravus Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Stella Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Ardyn Izunia || tumblr // Ao3

Ideolas Aldercapt || tumblr // Ao3

Solara Aldercapt || tumblr // Ao3

Verstael Besithia || tumblr // Ao3

Aranea Highwind || tumblr // Ao3

Biggs Callux || tumblr // Ao3

Wedge Kincaid || tumblr // Ao3

Titus Drautos || tumblr // Ao3

Nyx Ulric || tumblr // Ao3

Libertus Ostium || tumblr // Ao3

Crowe Altius || tumblr // Ao3

Luche Lazarus || tumblr // Ao3

Tredd Furia || tumblr // Ao3

Pelna Khara || tumblr // Ao3

Axis Arra || tumblr // Ao3

Holidays of Eos :: Celebrations Thereof (Specials)

Fabula Finis et Nova || tumblr // Ao3

Moogle Chocobo Carnival || tumblr // Ao3

Rosebloom || tumblr // Ao3

Moogli Gras || tumblr // Ao3

Golden Day || tumblr // Ao3

Turn of the Tidemother || tumblr // Ao3

Founder's Day || tumblr // Ao3

Ingernian's Fire || tumblr // Ao3

Archaean's Catch || tumblr // Ao3

Crimson Day || tumblr // Ao3

Night of the Fulgarian || tumblr // Ao3

Night of the Slumbering Astrals || tumblr // Ao3

Draconian's Light || tumblr // Ao3

Frostbearer's Blessing || tumblr // Ao3

Quicksilver Dancers :: Prompto x Primam Drabbles

What I Want? || tumblr // Ao3

Smitten || tumblr // Ao3

The Choice is Yours || tumblr // Ao3 [Preliminary writing]

Cordial Triangle || tumblr // Ao3

Shackle Wrought in Ink || tumblr // Ao3

Lucky Shot || tumblr // Ao3 [Alternate Timeline]

Meal Etiquette || tumblr // Ao3

Concerns || tumblr

[denimbex1986]

'Doctor Who executive producer Russell T. Davies warned everyone that the 60th anniversary special episodes were going to introduce some interesting new twists to the mythology of the series meant to set the stage for actor Ncuti Gatwa’s debut as the Time Lord. Some of those changes — especially those specific to the Doctor’s companions and nemeses — have been easy to understand as Davies updating Doctor Who lore to better reflect modern sensibilities. But when it came to the arrival of the newest Doctor — the first leading incarnation of the character to be played by a Black, queer man — Doctor Who’s 60th anniversary special absolutely fumbled the ball by forcing Gatwa to exist in another actor’s shadow.

Regeneration, the transformative process in which Time Lords like the Doctor become new, drastically different versions of themselves, has always been a fascinating part of Doctor Who’s mythology and the BBC’s convenient way of passing the mantle on from one actor to another. Though the Doctor usually recalls the events of their past lives, they’ve always been their own distinct people who go on to have adventures with new companions. The regular casting changes all around are how the series has been able to run for 60 years.

In the post-2005 Doctor Who revival under showrunners Davies, Steven Moffat, and Chris Chibnall, regenerations have been momentous events that gave viewers a taste of what’s to come while saying goodbye to the Doctor’s previous face. But ever since the Thirteenth Doctor (Jodie Whittaker) regenerated into a new form resembling the Tenth Doctor (David Tennant), it’s been clear that something unusual has been going on inside of the Doctor — something “The Giggle,” the third and final of the 60th anniversary episodes, explores in detail.

After finally setting things right with Donna Noble (Catherine Tate) in “The Star Beast” and then spinning off with her on a nightmarish journey to the edge of the universe in “Wild Blue Yonder,” the Fourteenth Doctor (Tennant) returns to Earth in “The Giggle” to do battle with an updated version of classic Doctor Who villain The Toymaker (Neil Patrick Harris). In his original form (portrayed by Batman alum Michael Gough), The Toymaker was introduced as a game-obsessed being from unknown origins whose knack for defying the laws of physics and inventing deadly “toys” made him a unique threat to the universe. In “The Giggle,” the character returns to the small screen for the first time since his initial appearance with a maniacal plan to destroy the world by hiding a secret rage-inducing signal that’s coded into every screen on the planet.

Ahead of “The Giggle” airing, Davies spoke candidly about wanting to use Harris’ turn as The Toymaker to address the context the character was originally introduced in and Doctor Who’s history of depicting him as a distinctly Asian-coded white man. Here, The Toymaker is presented as an off-putting German man who can’t quite keep a grip on his multiple affected accent. And “The Giggle” spotlights The Toymaker’s protean nature as a clever way of emphasizing just how disturbed the Fourteenth Doctor has been by his inability to fully understand what’s been going on with his own regeneration process.

With “The Giggle” being a special episode in which the stakes have to be high, The Toymaker’s plan for world conquest seems poised to work as he prepares to kill Fourteen by shooting him in front of Donna and fellow companion Mel Bush (Bonnie Langford). But rather than dying from being zapped through the chest with a massive laser, the Fourteenth Doctor is left relatively unharmed save for an odd feeling within himself, and when Fourteen asks Donna and Mel to pull both of his arms, his body begins to split in two.

According to the new Fifteenth Doctor (Ncuti Gatwa), bi-generation — a Time Lord simultaneously regenerating into two separate selves — was supposed to have been a Gallifreyan myth. But as Fourteen and Fifteen team up to defeat The Toymaker, “The Giggle” makes obvious that this era of multiple contemporaneous Doctors is here to stay, and while that’s sure to delight the legions of Doctor Who fans who’ve come to see Tennant as the quintessential Doctor, it’s impossible not to read the episode as having stolen a lot of Gatwa’s thunder.

When Gatwa was first announced as the actor who would be taking over the Doctor role following Whittaker’s three-series-long run, it felt like the BBC finally had the common sense to lean more into Doctor Who’s core ideas about imagination, exploration, and discovery across time and space. No matter how vehemently Doctor Who fans might want to deny it, the fact that the Doctor — a shapeshifting alien from a planet full of brilliant time travelers — was almost exclusively portrayed by white men until 2017 was small-minded, racist, and sexist in equal measure.

Despite their being late to the party, Whittaker’s Thirteen and Jo Martin’s Fugitive Doctor both demonstrated how Doctor Who could stay true to its narrative essence while also allowing the Doctor themselves to better reflect the real-world diversity of the fandom that loves the character. Gatwa’s run has seemed poised to do the same. But everything about the way “The Giggle” brings Fifteen into the picture — from the way he’s left standing in his underwear while Fourteen remains mostly clothed to the implication that the two Doctors will seemingly coexist — makes it seem as if Davies is trying to placate the contingent of fans who don’t want to accept a queer, Black actor playing the Doctor role by keeping Tennant in the mix.

Those fans vocalized their displeasure at the idea of a Black Doctor in the same way that people griped about the idea of a Black Spider-Man, a Black Captain America, or a Black James Bond. They’re the same people who’ve lost their minds at the sight of Black April O’Neil and can’t wrap their minds around the concept of Castlevania: Nocturne’s Black vampires. They’re also the people that love Mace Windu but hated it when Finn picked up a lightsaber and then promptly disappeared for much of the recent Star Wars movies. Point is: these fans are an unfortunate fixture in many genre fandoms, and while some aspects of “The Giggle” actually comment on how dangerous their specific brand of rage can be, the whole situation with “bi-generation” plays like Doctor Who catering to the fandom’s less-enlightened desires.

You can tell that Davies means for it to be poignant and touching in moments when Fifteen confronts Fourteen about his need to deal with his emotional baggage or when the companions express their excitement at meeting a new Doctor. But all of that goodwill is immediately squandered when you have characters (who know better from firsthand experience) asking whether the Doctor comes in a variety of colors.

The trappings and optics of “The Giggle” also add an unfortunate kind of magical negro quality to Fifteen’s heart-to-heart talks with Fourteen, which is a concept that seems like it might be lost on Doctor Who’s writers room. The two Doctors defeat The Toymaker together, but the episode’s real emotional climax comes as Fifteen explains himself as the product of emotional healing that Fourteen hasn’t yet done. The concept of a time traveler “doing rehab out of order” certainly sounds cool on the page. But within the episode itself, it frames Fifteen less as his own person living for himself and more as a source of emotional support for Fourteen, who ends up being inspired by Fifteen’s sage wisdom.

What’s most concerning, though, is the way “The Giggle” implies that the Doctors will now coexist, seemingly as Fourteen joins a bunch of the older companions like Donna, Mel, and Kate Lethbridge-Stewart (Jemma Redgrave) as part of a new spinoff project revolving around UNIT, Doctor Who’s answer to Marvel’s SHIELD / SWORD / SABER.

As distinct as each of the 60th anniversary special episodes have been, they each did a fantastic job of digging into the reality of how, after decades of journeying with their ordinary human allies, the Doctor has left more than a few of them behind and feels a profound kind of regret about it. More new stories centering Fourteen and the classic companions could create a way for Davies to dig deeper into that aspect of the Doctor’s psychology, and with Tennant’s tenure as Ten / Fourteen being so beloved by Doctor Who fans, it’s not hard to understand why the BBC might want to keep him around indefinitely.

But part of what made it possible for Tennant’s initial run as the Doctor to become a monster success was the time and space he was given to fully own and make the character his own, independent of his immediate predecessor. “The Giggle” doesn’t wholly preclude Gatwa’s ability to do the same, but simply by making this era one he might have to share with Tennant, Doctor Who has already put him at something of a disadvantage.

Of course, we won’t know until the upcoming Christmas special starts to air exactly how Doctor Who will address bi-generation’s larger ramifications and what sort of figure Fifteen will be on the show. But with the Fourteen still running around, and maybe getting ready to pull everyone’s focus back over to what’s going on in his new life on Earth, it feels like the Fifteenth Doctor might end up having to share his spotlight in a way that the character hasn’t been forced to previously. Let’s hope that doesn’t end up being the case...'

[fortunefooled]

( jack lowden + cis man + he/him ) ⸻ beneath snowfall and darkness, LOREON MARBRAND arrives into king’s landing, a THIRTY year old LORD of ASHEMARK. surviving the conquest is no small feat, only someone so DEBONAIR and COURAGEOUS could do so, yet remain RECKLESS and ARROGANT, will they get through the long night, or become one with the other’s?

born on a balmy spring day, the only son and heir of ashemark craved nothing but adoration from all as a boy. the weight of a legacy rests on his shoulders, but all he has ever desired is to be desired: silver-tongued and charming beyond measure, he knows how to have his audience in the palm of his hands.

over the years, loreon has collected lovers, friends, and experiences spanning far beyond the westerlands. he is well-travelled and a skilled warrior, having trained extensively during his journeys. he is a far better warrior than he is a politician, lacking the patience for diplomacy and taking few things in life seriously that don’t involve life-or-death decisions. 

at his worst, loreon is reckless, arrogant, and impulsive, a liability given what he is set to inherit. however, he also possesses a great deal of courage and effortlessly inspires loyalty and respect in those who follow his lead. he has a good heart and often harbours noble intentions — but the execution of his intentions leaves something to be desired.

ideas for connections: friends he met while travelling (maybe even pen pals), people he trained with, childhood friends, lovers past & present (open to any gender), he likely has a broken betrothal under his belt, too!

[curiousaromantic]

Ghost of Tsushima Fic Recs

Oh boy, this is me coming to save the day. It’s been months since I finished Ghost of Tsushima (+ the lovely Iki Island extra) and as an avid fic reader, ofc I searched through the depths of AO3 to find decent fanfics.

Most are gen, because I loved the vague vibe of friendship within the game. And I think that the beauty in GoT is about reflecting upon everyone’s stories—it honestly gives so much potential for writing. Give me all those character studies in your fics, does it have hopeful romance canon divergence due to the what-ifs implicated throughout the game? great

So here I offer you, my Ghost of Tsushima fic recs, some gen, some centered around ships

GEN FICS

follow the white trees home by boltlightning | 6.3k words, 3/3 chapters, post-game spoilers, jin & everyone having some closure

Through solid and well-structured drabbles, we find comfort in final conversations between Jin and his allies in this fanfic. I personally loved this because we start right after the final duel, and Jin must say goodbye to Omi Village. I think this was written before the author played Iki Island, but still, it is really beautiful. We have so many nostalgic scenes and everyone caring in their own way for Jin—yes, this was the end of a wonderful journey, but as a reader you know (and reassured) Jin will be seeing everyone again.

Political Wisdom by Judopixie | 1.4k words, one-shot, spoilers, pov outsider, bamf jin

A noble from the mainland narrates the events of Ghost of Tsushima. Very soon, he realizes that Tsushima has a guardian, a vengeful spirit. I love how the author portrays Jin determination, nothing can stop Jin at this point. badass motherfucker

brighter shores by boltlightning| 1k words, one-shot, iki island spoilers, yuna & jin friendship

As soon as he returns to Tsushima after completing his quest on Iki Island, Jin reflects upon how he has learned to accept the heavy legacy his father left behind. He also reunites with Yuna and talks about his adventures on Iki.

JIN/YUNA

on sturdy ground, we retreat by penhaligon | 4.4k words, one-shot, post-game spoilers, yuna & kenji & jin friendship

In the aftermath of a failed conquest, Yuna and Kenji talk. Also, Kenji is a clever guy and he does not miss the way Yuna and Jin are sweet on each other. My girl Yuna is in loveeeee

Kitsune by danceswithronin | 4.4k words, 2/2 chapters, fluff, supernatural elements, Inari blessed Jin

Yuna thinks Jin is more than just a mortal man, and Jin finds himself amused by her superstition. Maybe she is not wrong?

KAZUMASA SAKAI/CHIYOKO SAKAI

The Fox Bride by 2kimi2furious | 5.2k words, 3/? chapters, backstory for minor characters, magical realism

Chiyoko, Jin’s mother and Lord Shimura’s sister, was actually a fox spirit. Kazumasa still marries her of course, and although Lord Shimura grows up being skeptical about his sister’s nature he is far too busy to think too hard. This whole fic is endearing, honestly.

JIN/RYUZO

The Gods, Laughing by manic_intent | 10.2k words, one-shot, part of a series, soulmate au of the red string

I don't read much of these two, im not into this ship much, but i couldn't help but read a soulmate au because god knows this fandom needs it. anyways, jin is a sweetheart as always, and i loved the writing here.

[simon-says-nothing]

Wyllstravaganza Day One: Perception

reflection (available on ao3 here)

rating: T

pairing: wyll/astarion

warnings: daddy issues, brief flashback, anxiety

preview:

“Unfortunately, darling, I’m not one of your heroic little conquests. I have standards.” Astarion has always been sharp with his words.

Wyll should be used to it by now. He has faced the fires of Avernus, taken on an entire camp of goblins, and, possibly worst of all, Duke Ulder Ravengard’s disappointment. The word standards shouldn’t affect him.

And yet.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he was young, he loved parties. There was something about the glamor of it, the sparkling wine and glimmering gold walls. There was something about knowing he was accepted there, that they wanted him around. That Wyll Ravengard, armed with his untailored clothes and the hard stare of his father, belonged. That he had a place among the greats. 

When he was young, he would sneak glasses of wine until he was sick. 

When he was young, he threw up into Dillard Portyr’s bushes, and laughed.

When he was young, he was never anything more than Wyll Ravengard, and that, in and of itself, was enough.

Now, he stares at the dusty mirror in front of him, and knows he’ll never belong anywhere again. 

The horns ache. His skin itches from being stretched into fake smiles for too long. The ridges along his cheeks make him look every bit the devil his father thinks he is.

How many days ago was it that he was instructing the children on how to hold a blade? One, two? 

He hopes they’ll forgive his absence. He hopes they’ll remember what he taught them. 

He hopes—

“Brooding all by yourself, handsome?” 

Wyll jumps halfway out of his skin, only to see Astarion standing behind him with a lazy smirk.

There is something simultaneously comforting and frightening about Astarion. He speaks with the same upper class lilt of his childhood, armed with a million passive aggressive words to refute any direct conversation. Wyll knows the language well.

Astarion, however, manages to use it in a way that is infinitely more irritating than any noble. 

“Greetings, Astarion. I hope the party is treating you well?” His father taught him well. He will be damned if he is anything but polite. Even to a vampire that seems to believe no one else has noticed his proclivity towards biting enemies. 

“Oh, if by well, you mean dreadfully boring, exceptionally tame, and overall a waste of time, then, yes.” He drawls, studying his nails.

Wyll grits his teeth. He won’t sink to Astarion’s level. He won’t.

“These people have suffered enough, Astarion. Why not grant them a few hours of respite? Gods knows their journey is far from over.” 

“Don’t you ever tire of the hero facade? I haven’t seen any damsels in distress recently, so your rousing little speech falls on deaf ears.” He’s egging him on, Wyll knows he is.

“No? What about the damsel in front of me?” He smiles, the image of a perfect gentleman. 

“I hope you’re not talking about me, darling.”

Wyll can’t help it. He was taught charm by the best, and mindless flirting is a language both of them seem to speak. If the nobility of Baldur’s Gate have taught him anything, it’s how to flirt. That, and seamlessly destroy your perception of yourself with a few well-placed words. 

“You were carved in the same marble as the statues of damsels that stand in the Gate. Impossibly cold, impossibly beautiful, and yet, made of stone.” Wyll says it out of habit. It’s instinct. 

He remembers days locked in his father’s library, pouring over old romantic poetry when he was supposed to be studying the history of the Flaming Fist. He remembers memorizing the way they spoke, the softness in it, the way it warmed his entire soul to read it. 

Astarion has clearly memorized how to seduce. Wyll has only ever memorized the art of being a romantic. 

“Oh, am I supposed to swoon here? Faint into your strangely muscular arms? Marvel at your blade?” The vampire punctuates his words by pressing his hand to his forehead, and Wyll has to physically resist rolling his eyes. “Unfortunately, darling, I’m not one of your heroic little conquests. I have standards.” Astarion has always been sharp with his words. 

Wyll should be used to it by now. He has faced the fires of Avernus, taken on an entire camp of goblins, and, possibly worst of all, Duke Ulder Ravengard’s disappointment. The word standards shouldn’t affect him. 

And yet. 

His father’s face flashes in front of him, covered in the ash left by Tiamat. 

“You are a Ravengard. Our family is held to a certain standard, now. What will they think of us now? What have you done?” It plays in his mind over, and over, and over.

What have you done? 

What have you done? 

What have you--

A pale hand waves in front of his face. 

“Honestly, it wasn’t that harsh, I’d think a man who has quite literally faced devils would have thicker skin--” 

When he blinks back into reality, he sees Astarion gesturing wildly. If he was in a better mood, it would’ve been entertaining to see him a bit panicked. 

But tonight? With only the reminder of his own reflection, and a thousand memories whirling in his mind? 

Wyll can only feel tired. 

“I don’t need to meet your standards, Astarion. I’d say I always appreciate your input, but that would be dishonest. And heroes never tell a lie.” He can’t help the exhaustion seeping into his voice. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think it might be time for me to go to sleep.” 

Astarion stops moving, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to find what he wants to say. It only lasts for a moment before his strange persona kicks back in, but Wyll notices. 

He’d been trained to notice any cracks in an enemy’s armor. 

“Wait.” Astarion recovers quickly, his voice only a touch colder than normal. “You stole my mirror. Hardly the most heroic thing to do, but even the Blade must have weaknesses.” His words are still a bit infuriating, but it’s the most direct Wyll has seen him. 

A small step is still a step, and Wyll has always been an optimist. 

“I apologize, Astarion. I’ll admit, I was going to ask you, but I didn’t want to pry. I’m sure mirrors can be a bit of a touchy subject.” 

Wyll hears what he said after he says it, and winces. He’s entirely well-meaning, and, as stated above, he is polite. 

But now he knows what it is to be disappointed in your own reflection. 

The elf’s well-crafted facade cracks again. 

Wyll sucks in a breath, and waits. 

“Yes, mirrors can be difficult when you’re as beautiful as I am. Painful, really, to remember all the poor souls who have to look at themselves every day, and wonder what it might be like to be so blessed.” Astarion sighs dramatically, and Wyll breathes out.

A step back, maybe, but Wyll should have expected this. Astarion has more guards up than Counselor Florrick on a particularly stressful day. 

He should just be glad Astarion doesn’t push the issue. He’s dealt with a vampire spawn provoked. He knows what he needs to do, if anything should come to violence. 

But Wyll finds that he doesn’t want to kill Astarion. Despite the voice of his father in his head screaming otherwise. Despite the training carved into the very marrow of his bones urging him to grab the nearest stake. 

It’s the first time denying the will of his father doesn’t feel painful.

Maybe that’s why he says, 

“I already called you beautiful once tonight, Astarion. Don’t push it.” 

Maybe it’s a rebellion. 

It certainly feels like one when Astarion smirks, and it doesn’t feel sharp.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Astarion murmurs, and Wyll waits for the next pointed remark about his blade. But it never comes. 

They stand in a sort of awkward silence, both having run out of their individual scripts. 

For once, Wyll doesn’t mind having nothing polite to say. 

For once, he doesn’t miss Baldur’s Gate so much it hurts. 

For once, he can’t feel the weight of his father’s stare in the back of his mind.

Astarion extends a hand towards him, entirely too cheeky for his own right. 

“Well darling? There’s a party just waiting for their favorite blade to show up and steal their mirrors.” 

Perhaps it was too soon to expect Astarion to feel comfortable in the silence. But who is he to judge someone for their persona? 

Both of them have survived by creating an image for themselves, perfectly crafted, never to break. Astarion’s is just a bit stronger than his, it seems. 

But here, with the sound of his friends laughing, the light of the moon, and a few hefty swigs of terrible wine? 

He finds he doesn’t mind Astarion’s company. 

Wyll takes Astarion’s hand, and for the first time since these horns grew on his head, he doesn’t feel utterly alone. 

Maybe this is what the poetry in his father’s study was written for. The feeling of being with someone who makes you feel just a little less lonely. 

It’s enough to write novels for. 

For now, a simple dance will have to do.  

[pinkyberet]

Overgrown

🌲🌳🌴🌱🌿☘️🍃🍀🎍🪴💐🌷🌹🥀🪻🪷🌺🌸🌼

[whencyclopedia]

The Report of Wenamun & the Perils of Living in the Past

The Report of Wenamun (also known as The Tale of Wenamun or The Report of Wenamon) is an Egyptian literary work dated to c. 1090-1075 BCE toward the end of the New Kingdom (c.1570 - c. 1069 BCE). The piece was originally interpreted as an actual official report, but the use of certain stylistic devices (dialogue and symbolism among them) has led scholars to conclude that the work is more along the lines of historical fiction than reportage.

The significance of Wenamun for scholars is the accurate depiction of Egypt's state at the end of the New Kingdom and the beginning of the Third Intermediate Period of Egypt (c. 1069-525 BCE). The New Kingdom was the era of Egypt's empire when conquest, diplomatic negotiations, and trade filled the royal treasury with riches and elevated Egypt's status to one of the greatest nations of the time. The New Kingdom's decline is characterized by a loss of that status, as well as attendant wealth and military strength, until by the reign of Ramesses XI (1107-1077 BCE) the central government was so inconsequential that the country was ruled jointly by Smendes (c. 1077-1051 BCE) the governor of Tanis and the High Priest Herihor (c. 1080-1074 BCE) of Thebes.

The Report of Wenamun is set during this time when Smendes and Herihor commanded a greater respect than the pharaoh and Egypt was no longer regarded by other nations as a country of very great consequence. Wenamun is a government official sent on a mission by Herihor to procure wood from Byblos to refurbish the great Barque of Amun at Thebes, the ceremonial ship used to transport the image of the god at festivals. The story makes clear how, in the past, the wood was regularly provided without a problem but now, with Egypt's status in decline, the foreign prince is less accommodating.

Wenamun as Historical Fiction

Egypt's decline is clearly depicted through the first-person narration of Wenamun as he describes the difficulties he must endure to complete his mission; a mission which was previously accomplished with far greater ease. Egyptologist Miriam Lichtheim comments on the central theme of the story noting how "the empire had been lost and thus so simple an enterprise as the purchase of Lebanese timber could be depicted as a perilous adventure" (224). Wenamun narrates his journey to make a point of how poorly he is treated as a representative of Egypt when once he would have received only the warmest reception.

It is this aspect of the story which continues to attract the attention of scholars, finding details about the state of Egypt at the end of the New Kingdom, but as a work of literature, it is the style and choice of details which make the work so interesting and enjoyable. Lichtheim writes:

What makes the story so remarkable is the skill with which it is told. The Late-Egyptian vernacular is handled with great subtlety. The verbal duels between Wenamun and the prince of Byblos, with their changes of mood and shades of meaning that include irony, represent Egyptian thought and style at their most advanced. What Sinuhe is for the Middle Kingdom, Wenamun is for the New Kingdom: a literary culmination. (224)

The comparison of Wenamun to Sinuhe is apt. The Tale of Sinuhe is a composition from the Middle Kingdom of Egypt, which relates the story of an Egyptian noble driven into exile, his adventures abroad, and return home. Like Wenamun, Sinuhe reflects the time in which it was written. It accurately describes the power and prestige of Egypt at the beginning of the Middle Kingdom with the same power and skill as Wenamun shows in presenting an Egypt in decline.

It is the stylistic devices - tone, mood, characterization – as well as the skillful use of dialogue which has led scholars to conclude the piece is literature. Official reports, throughout Egypt's history, have none of the flair of the manuscript of Wenamun. The piece is regarded as historical fiction because, although the dialogue and even the events might be made up, the story reflects the truth of Egypt and its emissaries at the time it was written. A 'real' Wenamun would have experienced these same kinds of trials and suffered the same sort of frustration.

The text relies on a reader's understanding of how simple the mission to retrieve wood for Amun's ship would have been earlier in the New Kingdom of Egypt when the country was flourishing and neighboring lands could not do enough to court favor with the pharaoh. This juxtaposition of a dreary present with a bright and shining past is an example of the ubi sunt (Latin for "Where have they gone?") motif in literature. Whether the ancient Egyptians invented this type of story (only dubbed ubi sunt by later scholars) is debated, but there is no doubt they perfected it from the Middle Kingdom onwards, and Wenamun is among the best examples of this kind of work.

Continue reading...

[heinrix]

uhh so i’ve seen a couple other people do this and i rlly wanted to lay out oz’s lore/backstory in a post so that it’s clearer lol, especially considering i allude to it in my fics a lot

general info:

Ozadius Devries (He/They), 27 years old. Levistus Tiefling, formerly Dispater Tiefling. Gay boything, he’s trans but likes to be funky with his gender sometimes Class: Oath of Conquest Paladin lvl. 12, Champion to the Lord of the Hells Stats: STR 20. DEX 8. CON 16. INT 14. WIS 10. CHA 18 Alignment & Background: Neutral good with neutral evil tendencies. Charlatan Proficiencies: Athletics (+9), Insight (+4), Deception (+8), Intimidation (+8), Persuasion (+8) Notable Features: Legacy of The Ash King (Resistance to both fire and cold damage), Boon of The Abyss (In place of radiant damage, your Divine Smites now do force damage) Weapons used: • Act One - Maul of Brutal Justice (Invoke Duel. Whispering a target’s name into the mace, if the target comes within 30 feet of you, you and the target are stuck within 30 feet of each other. You may not stray 30 feet from one another until one of you is dead. You gain advantage on attack rolls.) • Act Two - Halberd of Vigilance (Sentinel Weapon. Gain a +1 bonus to initiative rolls and Advantage on Perception Ability Checks. Adroit Reflexes. When you make an Attack Roll as a reaction, you make it with Advantage.) • Act Three - Obsidian Sword (Devour Soul. Whenever you use it to reduce a creature to 0 hit points, the sword slays the creature and devours its soul, sending it directly to the Lord of the Hells, unless it is a construct or an undead. A creature whose soul has been devoured by the Obsidian Sword can be restored to life only by a Wish spell.)

Background

Ozadius Devries grew up on the Amber Peninsula of the Exhalian Empire in a large port city, Vetalonia. He was born to a pair of tieflings, Lev (his mother) and Carrion (his father) Devries, however his parents were not eager to abandon their lives as pirates and gave Oz away to the first couple that wanted him at the ripe age of 5. Luckily for Oz, his adoptive parents, a firbolg by the name of Beric (father) and a seldarine drow, Triss (mother) truly wanted him as their son and cherished and loved him.

Growing up as a tiefling in a densely human populated city was difficult for him as the children around him would tease and bully him for his appearance.

Needless to say, Oz did not have many friends when he was a child, except for one other boy, a half-orc the same age as Oz named Astolfo. Whenever Oz was in trouble Astolfo seemed to always be there, defending Oz and beating up the older kids who picked on him until their late teens. Oz had feelings for Astolfo but never had the courage to vocalize them, though the two boys had kissed they never mentioned it as anything other than fun. But when they turned 18, Astolfo had told Oz he was leaving Vetalonia to study the arcane, chasing after this one specific warlock pact Oz knew he had been obsessed with for the past year; Oz took this as abandonment and a personal slight.

For the next four years, Oz worked at the local brothel, honing his abilities in understanding people and their wants and needs; this led to Oz becoming quite adept in manipulating people and robbing rich nobles blind with little effort. In those years of Oz trying to forget Astolfo, trying to move on, he simply couldn’t and dropped everything in his life to go find his best friend; this took Oz on an arduous journey, retracing Astolfo’s footsteps into finding access to the patron he became a part of. Through a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, Oz found out that Astolfo had died but not truly, he was in some sort of timeless pocket dimension where the warlock “patron” existed but it was not a singular patron but thousands of minds of previous warlocks who had usurped the original patrons power and now shares it with those who desire to dole out the will of the warlocks within the pocket dimension.

Oz joined this pact of innumerable minds in order to speak with Astolfo and convince him that resurrection and living a normal life with Oz was worth more than his obsession with this convoluted warlock patron.

In his travels, Oz came across a group of adventurer’s: Penny, a monster hunter in debt to local lords, Zuul, a goliath barbarian dedicated to the god of war, Akla, an orc barbarian whose sole purpose for adventuring was to gather items for a girl she had a crush on, and Sippa, a kobold tinkerer who wanted nothing but to explore the surface for the first time in his life. Oz threw his lot in with this band, seeing as his chances of survival with a group were higher than on his own. He grew, over a few weeks, to appreciate all of the weirdos that surrounded him but one thing led to another and several bad decisions were made that led to the entire group becoming wanted by the Exhalian Empire for treason; Akla had gotten physical with guards that were trying to arrest them for suspicions that they had stolen military property (to which they had), a domino effect occurred, Oz nearly died if it were not for the demon contract scroll he had swiped off of Penny the night before and so Ozadius Devries, warlock to The Legion was now oathbound to a sloth demon vying for the Throne of the Hells. A misfortunate side effect of Oz’s newfound allegiance was that Astolfo was now alive, entirely against his will, and Oz wanted nothing more than to right his wrong, to make up for what he had done to Astolfo.

After several weeks, nearly a month, of travel the group had not realized they were being followed by a vengeful group of guards from the previous city, hellbent on killing the treasonous adventurers. In the dead of night, while both Oz and Sippa were on watch, a volley of gunfire sprang upon them from the treeline, waking the rest of the camp with a start. A paladin, in his holy wroth, went after Penny, to which Oz tried his best to protect her but as a paladin himself he knew the strength of which his and this other man’s swings of the sword held. She was struck down in front of him, mercury armor of little use to her as radiant energy slashed right through it and he turned to Oz next. He fought, bloody and trading equal blows but with the help of the paladin’s friends, their whole camp was slain on that moonlit night in the wilderness. Monacco was the only reason Oz survived as he was bleeding out in the dirt, the demon stitched his wounds together, alongside the help of Sippa who had hid within the brush the entire fight. Both the tiefling and the terrified kobold ran, leaving behind their friends mangled corpses.

A day or two after their escape, Zuul was resurrected by his god and Akla was resurrected by the Fey heart she had been carrying. Penny was less fortunate but they did gain a new companion, one they had known since meeting Penny, her sentient mercury armor had consumed her corpse and grown to be able to shift into a human visage with most if not all of Penny’s memories; they called themselves Merc. Oz and Merc would go on to become quite good friends, while the rest of the group still treated Merc as if they were a tool to be used rather than someone sentient and living.

The general attitude of the group toward Merc culminated one day as they visited Sippa’s home city in hopes of resurrecting Penny via the manmade god that Sippa’s home worshiped. Once there, things went downhill, fast as Merc had run off into the city while the rest of the group went to visit the tower containing the god, Deus. Upon talking to Deus, it offered Oz the chance to ask it a question alongside the resurrection of their friend and he had been wondering something for some time at that point. “Am I Oz?” So much had changed about him: his appearance, his attitude, his morality, his goals. Was he who he had always been or was that Oz truly dead and gone. Deus answered him honestly, telling him that it is natural for people to have changed through traumatic experiences. However, Oz did not contain a soul but rather it was in the hells and he was merely puppetting his own body. This was, obviously, incredibly disconcerting to Oz and he sort of shut down, thinking of himself as a puppet all this time and that he was just the embodiment of his contract with Monacco; he didn’t possess his body, it wasn’t his nor had it been since he took that icy hand in the darkness.

In the time that Oz was having an existential crisis, Penny was resurrected and Merc had broken into the tower and attempted to consume Deus, having grown larger than the companions had ever seen them; they had been wandering all over the city eating every magic item they could find. All of the companions except for Oz began attacking Merc and Oz touched Merc - the only way to communicate with them now - and begged Merc to not consume Deus but Merc just asked Oz “why?” he had been selfish in the past many times, why couldn’t Merc, who had done so much to help the group, be selfish this one time. Oz was dumbfounded and abstained in the fight, simply holding his hand onto his friend's mercury ooze body. But hearing his friends cries of help as Merc fought back, acid and bile from their own body burning and singing his companions as they continued to consume a god, Oz stood, ripping his hand away from Merc and bringing up his maul and whispering to the magic within the weapon, “I’m sorry, Merc.” Swinging down with his hellish-backed fury, he fought a monster he called friend.

They were losing, as Merc had grown stronger and was draining Deus of its magical divinity; Oz saw this and prodded at Monacco within his mind, begging to teleport just him and Merc to the nearest portal to the hells that had been popping up since a war was waging between the surrounding empires. His patron granted this wish and soon it was just Oz and Merc, surrounded by the heat of Avernus as Oz, running low on energy continued to pummel the ooze as Merc began to consume the nearest magical artifact, Oz. He felt mercury begin to enter every orifice of his face, sliding down his throat as he gripped onto his maul, hoping against hope that each blow would be the last. The heat and brimstone stink of Avernus overwhelmed Oz as the ooze began to sink into the corners of his eyes, into his ears, and up his nose; he began to cry, welling tears pushing past wet metal as he thought of all his wrongs, all the people he had hurt. Perhaps this was deserved, this death on the edge of the material plane and the hells, alone, with only a friend to guide him back to his soul.

But the aching jaws of death had never been for Oz as he was yanked away from Merc’s grasp and shunted somewhere, somewhere foreign and sticky and smelling of thick iron.

[salty-accords]

Let’s Talk About… Fallout! Early History

With the brand-new Fallout television series freshly released, a lot of people have been discussing and diving into the world of the Fallout franchise, particularly the elusive timeline. When is all this happening? Where did our world converge from theirs? What’s with Vault-Tec, the War, and the aliens? Well, today we’ll be diving into a few of these issues.

Welcome to this week’s installment of Let’s Talk About, the internet series where I yap about my hyperfixations for an hour and you all hopefully learn something (even if it’s just for fun)! This time around, we’re starting a journey into the realm of post-apocalypse—before the apocalypse, and before the wars. Welcome to Fallout’s Early History!

Deviations from the real world’s timeline as we know it will be noted minimally. I’m a gamer and a creative, not a historian. All events are mentioned or referenced in-game or during the Fallout series.

(Below the cut to be courteous to y'all's dashboards. Thank you to the Fallout Fandom Wiki editors and fandom researchers for making this post possible! You're all real ones and I'm super excited to be breaking into "the scene" with y'all.)

Our first notch of exploration is sometime prior to 11,000 B.C.E.; we’ll return to this point later in our Fallout episodes, but just remember that it’s important. An alleged extraterrestrial precursor to humanity exists somewhere below the ground.

We begin with two real-world events:

1066 C.E.

March 14th: The Battle of Hastings

The Battle of Hastings was the beginning of the Norman Conquest of England, led by William the Conqueror, or William the Duke of Normandy. The battle was fought slightly northwest of Hastings between the Normen-French army and an English army under the Anglo-Saxon King Harold Godwinson. The Normans won this one, and the proceeding conquest resulted in the royal line as we now know it.

1215 C.E.

The Magna Carta

By 1215, the throne of England had passed hands several times. There had been numerous royal rivalries, rebellions, at least one civil war, and who knows what else—historians know, but I’m not them. At this point, King John of England is on the throne—he’s a direct descendant of that William the Conqueror guy but a lot less cool. After two decades of trying and failing to win one over on France, a bunch of John’s barons had enough of his shit and got together to rebel against him. They were unhappy with the fiscal policies he’d developed to sustain his unsuccessful imperial efforts, and for the way he treated a lot of the nobles. The Magna Carta was drafted as a peace treaty between the King and his barons, severely limiting his power as king.

In Fallout 3, you can find and collect a copy of the Magna Carta from the National Archives through the quest Stealing Independence.

C. 1603

Toshiro Kago’s Abduction,

Sometime during the Tokugawa shogunate, or the Edo shogunate, Mothership Zeta abducted Toshiro Kago.

If you do not want spoilers to Fallout 3 gameplay, please skip to the next section. [Timestamp: ]

Toshiro Kago is a samurai character from the Fallout 3 DLC Mothership Zeta. He’s one of four people the Lone Wanderer thaws out on Zeta and a temporary companion during the This Galaxy Ain’t Big Enough… quest battle. The quest Among the Stars sees the Wanderer return his missing sword to him. He never leaves Zeta but cannot be interacted with after the final battle. He doesn’t speak English and the player character doesn’t speak 16th century Japanese, so conversations with him are stilted, but you get the gist of each other through tone, gestures, and observations.

1605 C.E.

November 4th-5th: Guy Fawkes et al Arrested

The Gunpowder Plot was a failed assassination attempt on England’s King James I and the Parliament. It was organized by Robert Catesby as an effort to end government persecution of Roman Catholics; the hope was to replace the Protestant government with Catholic leadership, however, around midnight on Nov. 4th, Guy Fawkes, one of the conspirators, was discovered in the cellar of the Parliament building with barrels of gunpowder—the plan had been to blow the whole place, king included. Fawkes and others were arrested, tried, and executed for treason by the 5th. Now, every November 5th, England sees Guy Fawkes Day, where effigies of Fawkes are burnt.

1612 C.E.

Point Lookout Deviation

In reality, Captain John Smith landed ashore at Point Lookout in 1608, just a year after establishing the Jamestown colony in Virginia. However, in Fallout, Smith doesn’t come ashore there until 1612—it seems that this deviation kicked off further deviations, such as the Ark and Dove Deviation.

As a location, Point Lookout is only available in the Fallout 3 DLC of the same name. The Lone Wanderer can spend an awful lot of time here.

1634 C.E.

Boston Common Established

The Boston Common is considered the oldest public park in the U.S.; it’s played an important role in the history of landscape architecture, the military, politics, conservation, and recreation in Massachusetts. In 1634, the people of Boston (MA Bay Colony) voted to tax each house six shillings to purchase William Blackstone’s farm as a community common—thus the Common was born! It’s still an important cultural piece of land—so much so that it’s a main location in Fallout 4.

In the Fallout universe, Boston Common is home to the Swan, Tour bots, and Vault 114. All Boston locations, to my knowledge, are only available in Fallout 4.

March 25th: Arc and Dove Deviation

In reality, when Lord Baltimore dispatched the colonists aboard the Ark and Dove ships, they landed at Saint Clement’s Island, Maryland; in Fallout, they landed ashore Point Lookout. There, they constructed the Ark & Dove Cathedral. The Ark & Dove resting grounds are another location influenced by this event,  It can be assumed that the Point Lookout Deviation led to this major difference.

The Cathedral and the resting grounds are a part of the Point Lookout DLC in Fallout 3, and  are home to smugglers, swampfolk, feral ghouls, and three quests: Hearing Voices, Walking with Spirits, and Tailing the Tomboy.

1660 C.E.

Old Granary Burying Ground

The burial ground was established on Tremont Street within the Boston Commons. Its current name is from the adjacent granary that was built in the 1730s. That establishment was torn down and replaced by the Park Street Church in 1809—the name for the burying grounds persisted, of course. In Fallout, it is Boston’s oldest surviving burial ground. There are a variety of references to other historical moments within and around the burying ground. It’s now inhabited by feral ghouls.

1680 C.E.

The Paul Revere House Built

While unmarked in-game, the Paul Revere House is the oldest standing building in Boston, even post-bombings. Outside the building, there’s now a Freedom Trail marker, a pre-War plague about Revere, and the plague reads: “Built in 1680, this wooden building is the oldest structure in all of Boston. In 1770 this home was bought by famed patriot Paul Revere. … Revere dwelled here with his family (including his 16 children) until 1800. Paul Revere was living here when he made his famous midnight ride to Lexington and Concord to warn Samuel Adams and John Hancock that Redcoats were en route to arrest them and seize the militia weaponry.” It’s generally considered a myth that Revere made that journey.

1690 C.E.

Publick Occurrences Published

Publick Occurrences Both Forreign and Domestick was the first multi-page newspaper published in British colonial America. Its first issue carried an account that “offended” the colonial governor, and the paper was promptly closed by colonial authorities days later. No other paper was published in the colonies for over a decade.

1692 C.E.

The Salem Witch Trials Begin

The trials of Salem, MA, are pretty infamous. During the trials, numerous Salem Village residents accused others (mostly Protestants, the impoverished, slaves, and disliked folk) of “witchcraft.” However, there is no evidence that those accused practiced or recognized any form of witchcraft. The accused were arrested, tried, and often hanged. These events made the larger neighboring establishment, Salem Town, a tourist location for the ages—Salem Town was the more affluent of them.

After the Great War, the town’s residents worked to make it a secure settlement, with much success until an onslaught of Mirelurks sometime before the Sole Survivor arrives in Fallout 4. It’s home to two quests: The Devil’s Due and Gun Run. In the Mothership Zeta add-on for Fallout 3, Fallout Shelter and Fallout 76, the location is also mentioned.

1697 C.E.

May 17th: Andrew Endicott Abducted

Another victim of the Zeta in the Fallout 3 add-on, Endicott was abducted from his Salem Village home on May 17th. A recorded log enlightens the Lone Survivor to some of his story, which the aliens asked him to record. He is fearful of aliens, and rightly so.

1711 C.E.

The Great Fire in Boston

Note: “The Great Fire” is a term that has since been applied to the fire conflagration of 1760, which compared to the 1711 fire was much more devastating. However, in 1711, the conflagration destroyed the establishment’s first townhouse.

The Cabot House Built

Beacon Hill becomes the home of the Cabot House and its owning family. The Cabots are an affluent family who were well-known and connected in pre-War high society. Post-War, they’ve maintained their wealth and a network of hired help, overseen by their family “servant” Edward Deegan. The most prominent member of the Cabot family was Lorenzo Cabot, an archaeologist ridiculed for his theories of an extraterrestrial precursor civilization on Earth.

1713 C.E.

The Old State House Built

Eventually becoming the oldest public-access building in Boston, the Old State House was where “the child independence was born.” (John Adams) Miraculously, it survived the Great War in its entirety and has since become the headquarters of the Neighborhood Watch and John Hancock.

1714 C.E.

The Soil Stradivarius Manufactured

One of the most prized instruments ever made by Italian craftsmen Antonio Stradivari, the two-century-old Soil (pronounced “swal”) was owned pre-War by Hilda Egglebrecht. It can be found in Fallout 3’s Vault 92, in the case and as part of Agatha’s quest Agatha’s Song.

1723 C.E.

Old North Church Built

Eventually gaining the title of “oldest church in the city,” Boston’s Old North Church was built in 1723. It is still the tallest standing church, with its steeple reaching nearly 200 feet. It is now home to the Railroad and connected to their HQ. There are catacombs from the Revolutionary War underneath it. It’s only found in Fallout 4.

1733 C.E.

Trinity Church is a parish of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, and the original site (on Summer Street) was burned down in the Great Fire of Boston of 1872. The current church was erected under Rector Philips Brooks in the 1870s. The Sole Survivor can explore it, so long as they are ready to confront several mutants. It’s a location in several quests, including, Cleansing the Commonwealth, Diamond City’s Most Wanted, Leading by Example, and Randolph Safehouse.

1742 C.E.

Faneuil Hall Completed, Donated

Nicknamed “the Cradle of Liberty,” Faneuil Hall was donated to the city of Boston in 1742 by Peter Faneuil and it later served as a commercial hub in colonial Massachusetts. Shem Drowne’s gilded grasshopper, constructed that year, sits at the top. The Sole Survivor can explore it in Fallout 4.

May 25th: Gilded Grasshopper Created

In Fallout 4, the Grasshopper is a unique junk item and part of the quest The Gilded Grasshopper, after which, it has no other uses. It was created in 1742 by Shem Drowne and placed atop Faneuil Hall. In Fallout 4, it is found as a windvane on the roof of the building, and a replica can be found in Fallout 76, in Appalachian Antiques. It cannot be picked up.

1755 C.E.

The Cape Ann Earthquake

The Cape Ann quake damaged much of Massachusetts, including the colony of Boston. It remains the largest earthquake in the history of Massachusetts. No one was killed, but the east coast saw a load of physical damages, including Boston and its Faneuil Hall. The Gilded Grasshopper was damaged.

1768 C.E.

June 28th: Gilded Grasshopper Restored

Shem Drowne’s son Thomas restores and returns the Gilded Grasshopper to the top of Faneuil Hall in Boston, Massachusetts. He placed a note inside the Grasshopper, which according to Marty Bullfinch leads to Shem’s treasure. The note is a minorly altered version of a real letter placed inside the hopper in Boston. The only difference between them is the line about Drowne’s treasure. In Fallout 4, the note leads to Shem’s burial and a variety of items buried with him.

We’re now on the brink of the Revolutionary War, which we’ll pick back up at in our next episode of Fallout discussion. For now, I hope you’ve enjoyed, I hope your urge to explore the worlds of Fallout has been tickled, and I hope you’ll like, comment, and subscribe/follow me here and on my socials. I hope you have a wonderful time. Bye-bye!

[wyvernwriterarchive]

Major Characters in my W.I.Ps as Tarot Cards P2!!

Tathylia Chronicles

Formula

Character:Tarot

Explanation of their arc and why I picked the card. May include mine or spoilers.

Chris: Justice

When faced with a world filled with xenophobia, classism, and racism, Chris openly fights against it or, in other ways, hates it. He grows more willing to do it as his journey goes on, and he gets stronger, becoming a common hero of justice.

April:Strength

After learning and losing so much, April almost fell deep into despair. But she realized that she must stand strong in order to reclaim and reshape her country.

Rowan:The Sun

Despite the dangers ge faces as a dyreblod in a world that is often cruel to them, he wants to heal old wounds and bridge the gap between the races, and he truly believes he can do it with his positive attitude and smile.

Zachery:The Star

Zachery is in a very powerful, divine position that he believes he isn't worthy of being in. After learning about his countries crimes, he is even more unsure. But he is hopeful that he can use his position to bring an age of peace and wisdom to his homeland.

May: The Moon

May is motivated by fear above all else, and desperately wants to return to her normal, peaceful life...or so she thinks. To find out what she really needs, she must face her fears and fight to survive.

Azul:The Heirophant

Azul is Chris' father and cares for his mercenary company like their family. He often teaches Chris about the past war and helps him grow more confident in his abilities as a leader.

Angrboda:Death

Unable to let go or forgive humans for the crimes of their past, she is scornful of them whenever possible, often being met with the same treatment. But she does seem to be getting close to letting go of the trauma thanks to her son.

Aurelia:The Chariot

Her country is at war. Her soldiers are scared, her father won't do anything, and the nobles are trying to take power wherever they can. In this harsh time, Aurelia inspires many to move forward even in the face of uncertainty and danger, and is convinced to fight for a brighter, more just future for Vanar's citizens or Vanarian nobility.

Juvensly:The Devil

Motivated by a desire for power for his father, Emperor Cadmus,he constantly leads his soldiers to fight and die in a war that doesn't need to happen. He is ruled both by his wicked desire for conquest and his dream of being loved by his father.