#prince of stormwind

[ciudaddelapazmp3]

I'm not an artist but I really really really wanted to do my version of this meme

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (2)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The noise of the crowd was a constant, thunderous hum that filled the air as you prepared yourself for the joust. The tourney grounds were alive with color and movement, the banners of noble houses snapping in the wind, the smell of churned earth mixing with the scents of roasted meats and sweet wines. It was a spectacle that King’s Landing had not seen in years, and today, it was all in your honor.

Your squire, a young Tyrell boy with a mop of curly brown hair and a nervous energy about him, was busy readying your horse. The beast was a magnificent stallion, bred from the finest stock in the Reach. His coat was a deep chestnut, almost black, with a mane that shimmered like polished mahogany. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy coat as he pawed at the ground, eager for the upcoming challenge. His eyes, intelligent and bright, reflected the excitement of the day, mirroring your own anticipation.

"Steady, Stormwind," you murmured, running a hand down the stallion’s neck. The horse snorted, tossing its head as if in agreement, and you couldn’t help but smile. Stormwind was not only powerful but also fiercely loyal—a trait you valued deeply in your mount. 

The young Tyrell squire handed you your helmet, his hands trembling slightly as he did so. "Good luck, my prince," he stammered, eyes wide with awe as he looked up at you.

You gave him an encouraging nod, slipping the helmet under your arm for the moment. "Thank you, Ser Trystan," you said, using the title you knew the boy aspired to one day earn. "You’ve done well. Stormwind looks ready for anything."

The boy beamed at the praise, the nervousness in his eyes giving way to a spark of pride. "I’m glad to be of service, my prince."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind you. "Nephew!"

You turned to see your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, striding towards you. He was already clad in his own armor, the dark, polished metal reflecting the sun, the Targaryen dragon emblazoned boldly on his chest. His presence, as always, commanded attention—his confident gait, the slight smirk playing on his lips, the gleam in his eyes that spoke of both mischief and a thirst for glory.

"Uncle Daemon," you greeted him with a respectful nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s good to see you."

Daemon clapped you on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Happy nameday, Y/N. The years have treated you well, it seems. I hear you’ve become quite the capable dragonrider in your time away. Even the Dornish trembled at the sight of Silverwing."

You chuckled, shaking your head modestly. "Silverwing did most of the work. I just held on."

Daemon laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "Don’t be so humble, nephew. I’ve heard the stories. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Today, the court will see for themselves what you’re made of." He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing. "I expect you’ll give them a show they won’t soon forget."

You met his gaze, the challenge in his eyes clear. "I’ll do my best, Uncle. But I’m sure you’ll make your own impression out there."

Daemon’s smirk widened. "That, I can promise. But remember, it’s your nameday. I’m content to let you have the glory today." He gave you a final pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you on the field."

With that, Daemon strode off towards his own preparations, leaving you to focus on the task ahead. You turned back to Stormwind, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you mounted the stallion. The weight of your armor settled comfortably on your shoulders, the reins firm in your grasp as you guided the horse towards the starting line.

The cheers of the crowd grew louder as you approached, the anticipation in the air palpable. You could see the royal box from where you sat, your father standing at the forefront, his face lit with pride. Beside him, Rhaenyra and Alicent were already in their seats, their gazes fixed on you. Rhaenyra’s smile was bright, filled with a mixture of pride and affection, while Alicent’s expression held a softer, almost admiring quality. 

You raised your lance in salute, first to your father, then to the rest of the crowd. King Viserys waved back enthusiastically, his voice booming over the cheers. "Ride well, my son! Show them the strength of House Targaryen!"

Your heart swelled with determination at his words. This was your moment, a chance to show the realm that the Targaryens were as strong as ever, and that their future king was more than ready to lead.

As you took your position at the end of the lists, your opponent appeared on the other side—a knight clad in the colors of House Bracken. The red horse gleamed on his shield, his visor down, obscuring his face. He was a formidable opponent, well-known for his strength and skill, but today, you were confident in your abilities. 

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, signaling the start of the tilt. You spurred Stormwind forward, the stallion leaping into action with powerful strides that ate up the ground beneath you. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on the target ahead—the oncoming knight, his lance lowered, his intent clear.

You felt the familiar rush of the joust, the thunder of hooves, the wind whipping past your ears. Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, your aim precise, your focus unwavering. The distance closed rapidly, and just as the two of you met in the center of the field, you leaned into the strike.

Your lance struck true, slamming into your opponent’s shield with a resounding crack. The impact jolted through your arm, but you held firm, watching as the Barcken knight wavered. For a moment, it seemed he might recover, but the force of your blow was too strong. He was thrown from his horse, landing heavily in the dirt, his lance shattering into splinters beside him.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the roar of approval washing over you as you circled back to the starting line, victorious in your first tilt. Stormwind pranced beneath you, his energy undimmed, as if reveling in the glory alongside you.

In the royal box, King Viserys cheered loudly, his face beaming with pride. "That’s my boy!" he shouted, his voice carrying above the din. "Well done, Y/N! Well done!"

Beside him, Rhaenyra’s smile was radiant, her hands clapping enthusiastically as she shared in your triumph. Alicent, too, was applauding, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes shining as she watched you.

Further down the box, Lord Otto Hightower nodded approvingly, his expression calm but his eyes reflecting satisfaction. He leaned slightly towards Viserys, speaking just loud enough to be heard. "The prince has truly grown into his own, Your Grace. He will make a fine king one day."

Viserys nodded, his smile not fading for a moment. "Indeed, Otto. He’s everything I hoped he would be and more."

In another section of the stands, Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon exchanged a glance, their expressions more reserved. Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, watched you with a mixture of pride and something more complex—a recognition of the weight of the crown that would one day rest on your head.

"He’s impressive," Corlys commented, his voice low, but with an edge of admiration. "The boy has the makings of a true Targaryen king."

Rhaenys nodded, though her eyes remained thoughtful. "Yes, he does. But I wonder if he truly understands what it means to carry the weight of that legacy."

Corlys glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "He’ll have to, in time. But for now, let’s hope he enjoys his moment. The realm is watching."

As you completed your victory lap, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, you felt a surge of exhilaration and pride. The first tilt was yours, a testament to the skill and strength you had honed over the years. But more than that, it was a reminder to everyone watching that House Targaryen was still the mightiest in the realm.

You returned to the starting line, your gaze lifting once more to the royal box, where your father stood, his eyes full of love and pride. The next round awaited, but in that moment, you felt invincible. Today was your day, and nothing could diminish the glory of the Targaryen name.

As the next knight prepared to face you, you readied yourself for the challenge, determination burning bright within you. This was only the beginning, and you intended to make it a day to remember—for yourself, for your family, and for the realm.

The tourney grounds were abuzz with excitement as the next round of jousts was set to begin. The energy in the air crackled with anticipation, and the stands were filled with spectators eagerly watching every move of the knights and their steeds.

The knight who had just won, a Baratheon, called out to the stands, his voice strong and carrying easily over the crowd. "Lady Rhaenys Targaryen, Queen Who Never Was, I ask for your favor!"

A murmur spread through the audience as all eyes turned to the royal box where Rhaenys sat beside her husband, Corlys Velaryon. The Baratheon knight’s choice was a deliberate one—by choosing Rhaenys, he paid homage to her strength and legacy, but the title he used carried a certain sting, a reminder of the Iron Throne she had been denied.

Rhaenys, ever composed, allowed a small, knowing smile to grace her lips as she rose, acknowledging the knight with a nod. She lifted her hand and let a favor, a ribbon of deep blue, flutter down to him. The crowd erupted into applause, though there were those who caught the subtle tension in the exchange.

Beside her, Corlys shifted in his seat, a frown darkening his features. He leaned closer to his wife, his voice low but edged with irritation. "You shouldn’t allow him to call you that, Rhaenys. It’s a slight, a reminder of what was unjustly taken from you."

Rhaenys glanced at her husband, her expression calm, almost dismissive. "It’s just a title, Corlys," she replied, her tone measured. "Let them call me what they will. It doesn’t change who I am or what we’ve built together."

Corlys huffed quietly, clearly displeased but respecting his wife’s decision. "Still, I don’t like it. You deserve more than to be reminded of old wounds."

Rhaenys placed a hand over his, her gaze softening. "You’re a good husband, Corlys, but you mustn’t let such things bother you. We know our worth, and that’s what truly matters."

Before Corlys could respond, the attention of the crowd shifted as Daemon Targaryen prepared for his next tilt. He had chosen his opponent carefully, with a calculated intent that Rhaenyra recognized immediately. As she watched her uncle raise his lance and point it at Ser Gwayne Hightower, her brow furrowed in disapproval. This was not a random choice; it was a deliberate act of provocation aimed directly at the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.

Rhaenyra leaned closer to Alicent, who sat beside her, nervously picking at the skin around her fingers, her anxiety apparent. "He’s doing this to spite your father," Rhaenyra murmured, her tone edged with concern. "He knows exactly what he’s doing."

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering with worry as she watched her brother, Ser Gwayne, prepare for the tilt. "I know," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "I wish he wouldn’t."

The signal was given, and Daemon and Gwayne charged at each other, their horses thundering down the lists. The crowd leaned forward in their seats, the tension palpable. In a flash, Daemon’s lance struck Gwayne with such force that it shattered upon impact, the blow violently dismounting Gwayne and sending him crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed by a murmur of mixed reactions. Some cheered for Daemon’s prowess, while others whispered in concern for the fallen knight. Otto Hightower’s face drained of color, horror etched in his features as he watched his son struggle to rise, dazed and bruised.

Daemon, ever the showman, circled his horse back around with a triumphant air. But instead of immediately acknowledging his victory or his opponent, he rode directly toward the royal box where Alicent sat. The tension in the air thickened as Daemon approached, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Lady Alicent," Daemon called out, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "would you grant me your favor?"

Alicent froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was not what she had expected. She had hoped, in the quiet recesses of her heart, that if anyone were to ask for her favor today, it would be you. But now, with all eyes on her, she felt trapped.

Rhaenyra watched the scene unfold with a frown, understanding Daemon’s intent all too well. He was not only rubbing salt in the wound by asking for Alicent’s favor but was also making a pointed statement to Otto and the entire court.

Alicent hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the favor she had prepared. With a deep breath, she dropped the ribbon—a delicate piece of green silk—down to Daemon, who caught it with a flourish. The crowd erupted into applause, though the undercurrent of tension was undeniable.

Rhaenyra leaned toward her uncle as he passed by their box on his way back to the field. "Congratulations, Uncle," she said, her voice carrying both genuine admiration and a hint of reproach.

Daemon smirked, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you, dear niece. Let’s see if your brother can match me," he teased, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, dangerous light.

Rhaenyra forced a smile, but her eyes followed Daemon warily as he returned to the field. She knew her uncle well enough to recognize that his actions today were more than just about winning a tourney—they were about making a statement, and that statement had clearly unsettled more than a few members of the court.

As Daemon moved off, the focus of the tourney returned to you. The crowd, still buzzing from the previous tilt, quieted with anticipation as you prepared for your next round. You could feel the weight of their expectations, but you were undaunted. The lance in your hand felt like an extension of your own body, and Stormwind beneath you was eager for the challenge ahead.

The signal was given, and with a powerful kick, you spurred Stormwind forward. The earth trembled beneath his hooves as he charged down the lists, your focus narrowing on your opponent. You felt the wind whip past your face, the cheers of the crowd fading into the background as the world narrowed to this single, decisive moment.

As you and your opponent closed the distance, your lance lowered and your aim true. The impact, when it came, was a bone-jarring collision of wood and steel, but you held firm. Your lance struck your opponent’s shield squarely, and with a mighty effort, you felt the resistance give way.

Your opponent was sent flying from his horse, landing hard on the ground with a thud. The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the sound of your victory echoing through the tourney grounds. Your father, King Viserys, stood from his seat, clapping enthusiastically, his face a mixture of pride and joy.

Rhaenyra and Alicent joined the applause, though each had different emotions swirling within them. Rhaenyra was filled with pride, but also a renewed sense of possessiveness. Alicent, on the other hand, clapped politely, though her earlier anxiety had not entirely dissipated.

In the stands, Rhaenys watched you with a measured gaze, while Corlys, clearly impressed, leaned toward his wife. "The boy is exceptional," he murmured. "There’s no doubt about it. He’s everything a Targaryen prince should be."

Rhaenys nodded, though her expression remained contemplative. "Yes, but let’s hope he navigates the politics as deftly as he does the tourney field. Strength is one thing—wisdom is another."

As you circled back to the starting line, the crowd continued to cheer, and you raised your lance in acknowledgment. The day was far from over, and more challenges awaited, but for now, the Targaryen name had been upheld with honor and glory.

You prepared for the next tilt, your heart steady, your focus unwavering. The cheers of the crowd, the pride in your father’s eyes, and the knowledge that Rhaenyra and Alicent were watching—all of it spurred you on. This was your day, and you intended to make it one that would be remembered for years to come.

The opponent before you now was one of the Florent brothers, a knight known for his skill and speed on the field. His armor, decorated with the sun and fox emblem of House Florent, gleamed in the sunlight, and his stance on his horse was confident, almost cocky.

But you were not to be underestimated. The adrenaline of the previous tilts still coursed through your veins, and the roar of the crowd only fueled your determination. You glanced briefly towards the royal box, catching the eager gazes of Rhaenyra and Alicent, their eyes fixed on you. The sight of them watching spurred you on, a reminder of why you fought today—not just for glory, but for the pride of your house and the love of your family.

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, and with a powerful kick, you urged Stormwind into action. The stallion surged forward, his powerful hooves pounding the earth as you charged down the lists. Your lance was steady in your grip, your eyes locked on the Florent knight, who mirrored your movements on the opposite side.

The gap between you closed rapidly, the wind rushing past your ears as time seemed to slow. You could see the dare in your opponent’s eyes, but you did not waver. With a precise flick of your wrist, you adjusted your aim, your lance striking the Florent knight’s shield with a thunderous crack.

The impact was immediate and decisive. The force of your blow shattered your opponent’s defenses, and before he could recover, he was sent flying from his horse, crashing heavily to the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers, the victory swift and clear.

You circled back to the starting line, but instead of preparing for another tilt, you guided Stormwind towards the royal box. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as they realized where you were heading, the anticipation palpable in the air. Ladies in the stands leaned forward, their breaths held, hoping that you might stop before them, hoping that today they might catch the eye of the prince.

As you approached, the excitement among the ladies was almost tangible. You could see the hope in their eyes, the way they straightened their backs and smoothed their dresses as you passed. But your gaze was fixed ahead, your mind made up.

Instead of stopping before any of the noble ladies vying for your attention, you brought Stormwind to a halt directly below the royal box, where your sister Rhaenyra sat. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, surprised and intrigued by your choice, while Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what you intended.

You looked up at her, a soft smile playing on your lips as you raised your lance in salute. "Princess Rhaenyra," you called out, your voice clear and strong, "would you do me the honor of granting your favor?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled with delight, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. This was more than just a simple gesture—it was a public declaration of the bond you shared, a victory that she relished deeply. The attention of all the other ladies in the court paled in comparison to this moment, a reminder that she still held a special place in your heart.

With a graceful movement, Rhaenyra untied a ribbon from her sleeve, a delicate piece of Targaryen red silk, and leaned over the edge of the box to drop it into your waiting hand. "With all my heart, dear brother," she said, her voice filled with affection and pride.

You caught the ribbon with ease, tying it carefully around the tip of your lance before raising it high for all to see. The crowd erupted into applause, the gesture admired by all. It was not just a victory in the joust, but a victory in the hearts of the people—a symbol of the unity and strength of House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra’s eyes followed you as you rode back to the field, her heart swelling with pride and a sense of triumph. This was her victory, too—a small but meaningful reminder that, despite the attention you garnered from others, the bond between brother and sister was unbreakable.

Beside her, Alicent watched the exchange with a soft smile, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. It was clear that your relationship was something special, and Alicent was content to see her friend so happy.

As you returned to the field, ready to face your next opponent, the favor of Rhaenyra tied proudly to your lance, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Today was a day to be remembered—not just for the victories won on the field, but for the connections reaffirmed in the heart of your family.

The cheers of the crowd filled your ears as you took your position, the anticipation of the next tilt mounting. With the ribbon of your sister’s favor fluttering in the wind, you felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenge came at you.

The next knight approached, the crowd’s excitement building once more. As you prepared to charge, the weight of the day’s events settled comfortably on your shoulders. This was your day, your moment, and you intended to seize it with all the fire and fury of your house.

With a final glance at the royal box, where Rhaenyra’s smile still shone brightly, you lowered your lance and spurred Stormwind forward.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting its light over the tourney grounds as the final tilt of the day approached. The crowd was loud with excitement, their voices blending into a chorus of eager anticipation. This was the moment they had all been waiting for—the final showdown between the two most formidable competitors: Prince Daemon Targaryen and Prince Y/N Targaryen.

You sat atop Stormwind, the powerful stallion beneath you steady and poised, sensing the importance of the moment. Your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and resolve. The previous tilts had been challenging, but this was different. This was Daemon, your uncle, a man known for his skill, cunning, and unpredictability. The tension in the air was palpable as you both prepared for what would undoubtedly be a clash to remember.

Across the field, Daemon adjusted his helmet, his expression hidden but his demeanor unmistakably confident. His dark armor gleamed in the sunlight, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned boldly on his chest. He was already mounted on his dragon-black stallion, Caraxes, named after his own fearsome dragon. The horse, like its rider, was a creature of raw power and grace, snorting and pawing at the ground in anticipation.

The horn sounded, signaling the start of the final tilt, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence, their eyes glued to the two dragon princes facing off in the lists.

You took a deep breath, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. With a firm grip on your lance, you spurred Stormwind into a gallop. The stallion surged forward with powerful strides, his hooves pounding the earth in a rhythmic thunder. Across the field, Daemon did the same, his own mount racing towards you, the two of you closing the distance with alarming speed.

Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, aiming for the center of Daemon’s shield. The world around you faded, leaving only the blur of your uncle’s form charging towards you, the glint of his armor catching the sun, and the rush of wind in your ears. You tightened your grip, bracing for impact.

The collision, when it came, was fierce. Your lance struck Daemon’s shield with a resounding crack, but he met your blow with equal force. The impact jarred through your arm, but you held firm, refusing to yield. For a moment, it seemed like the strike had been a draw, both of you remaining in your saddles, but then Daemon leaned into his strike, his skill and experience showing as he directed the force of his lance just right.

Before you could fully adjust, you felt the world tilt beneath you. The force of Daemon’s strike, combined with the precise angle, knocked you off balance. Time seemed to stretch as you felt yourself falling, the ground rushing up to meet you. The impact was hard, the breath knocked from your lungs as you hit the dirt.

The crowd gasped collectively, the sound of your fall echoing in the stunned silence that followed. From the royal box, Viserys had already risen to his feet, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw you go down. "Gods, no!" he breathed, his voice tight with fear. But as you quickly pushed yourself up, shaking off the disorientation from the fall, he let out a long sigh of relief, his body sagging back into his seat.

Rhaenyra, who had been on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white from gripping the railing, exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her eyes were wide with worry, but as she saw you stand, a rush of relief and pride filled her. She could see you were unharmed, but the sight of you on the ground had shaken her deeply.

You rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your armor, your pride bruised but your spirit unbroken. You could feel the sting of defeat, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you had given everything in that tilt. Stormwind stood nearby, having stopped shortly after your fall, the loyal stallion snorting anxiously as if to say he was ready to try again.

Before you could fully gather your bearings, Daemon was there, dismounting with the fluid grace that came naturally to him. He approached you with a look that was half smirk, half respect. "Not bad, nephew," he said, his tone carrying both praise and a hint of playful mockery. "You almost had me there."

He extended a hand, offering to help you up. There was no malice in his gaze, just the familiar gleam of challenge that always seemed to light his eyes.

You took his hand, accepting the gesture, and he pulled you to your feet with a firm grip. "Almost," you replied, your voice steady, though there was a spark of competitiveness in your tone. "But you got me in the end."

Daemon patted you on the back, his smirk widening into a grin. "Today, perhaps. But don’t let it weigh too heavily on you. We’re both dragons, after all, and you fought well. The court will remember this day, not just for my victory, but for your strength and skill."

You nodded, appreciating the words, though the sting of defeat still lingered. "Thank you, Uncle. But next time, I won’t be so easy to dismount."

Daemon chuckled, clearly pleased by your response. "I wouldn’t expect anything less." He gave you a final nod of approval before turning to face the roaring crowd, raising his lance in acknowledgment of his victory. The people cheered loudly, celebrating the spectacle they had witnessed.

From the royal box, Viserys beamed with pride, his worry from moments before forgotten. "That was a fine match!" he declared, his voice booming over the noise of the crowd. "Both of you did House Targaryen proud today!"

Rhaenyra, still shaken by the sight of you on the ground, managed a smile, though her concern for you was evident in her eyes. She watched as you walked off the field with Daemon, your head held high despite the outcome. Alicent, sitting beside her, glanced at Rhaenyra and saw the worry that lingered beneath her composed exterior.

"Are you all right?" Alicent asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Rhaenyra nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave you. "I’m fine. It’s just… seeing him fall like that…"

Alicent placed a reassuring hand on Rhaenyra’s arm. "He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He’s always been strong. And you saw how he got back up. That’s what matters."

Rhaenyra finally tore her gaze away from the field to look at Alicent, offering her a grateful smile. "You’re right. He’s strong." But even as she said it, the image of you lying in the dirt lingered in her mind, a reminder of how much she cared for you, and how much she feared losing you.

As you and Daemon made your way off the field, the crowd continued to cheer, the happenings of the day’s events leaving everyone in high spirits. You may not have won the final tilt, but the respect you had earned was clear in the cheers and the admiring glances from the crowd.

Daemon, ever the warrior, clapped you on the back once more as you both approached the edge of the field. "Come, let’s find a drink and enjoy the rest of the day. You’ve earned it, and so have I."

You nodded, the tension of the tilt finally starting to ease as the prospect of celebrating with your uncle and the rest of your family took hold. "Lead the way, Uncle."

As the two of you walked off the field, the weight of the day’s events still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Though the final victory had eluded you, you had proven yourself today, not just to the court, but to your family. And in the end, that was worth more than any trophy or title.

Jugglers, dancers, and bards filled the air with music and laughter, while the smell of roasted meats and sweet treats wafted through the air. The day had been filled with adrenaline, and now, as evening approached, the court gathered for the grand feast that would conclude the festivities.

Inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep, long tables were laden with platters of food, and goblets of wine flowed freely. The room was alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware, the high vaulted ceilings amplifying the sounds of celebration. The lords and ladies of the realm, dressed in their finest, mingled and conversed, their faces flushed with the warmth of the firelight and the effects of the wine.

You found yourself seated at a table near the head of the hall, surrounded by some of the most powerful figures in the realm. To your right was Lord Tayland Lannister, his golden hair and fine clothes a clear testament to the wealth and influence of his house. Across from you sat Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, his eyes sharp and calculating as he sipped from his goblet, his mind clearly at work even amidst the festivities.

"Your accomplishments in Dorne have become the talk of the realm, my prince," Tayland said, his tone filled with admiration. "It's no small feat to have secured our borders against the Dornish. Your leadership has brought peace to lands that have known only strife for too long."

You inclined your head in thanks, though you remained humble in your response. "The credit belongs to the men who fought beside me, and to Silverwing. She was the true force that kept the Dornish at bay."

Lord Corlys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. "Don't sell yourself short, my prince. It takes more than just a dragon to win a war; it takes a leader who can command respect and inspire loyalty. You've shown that you have the makings of a true king."

You nodded, acknowledging his words. "I appreciate the compliment, Lord Corlys. But the work is never done. The realm is vast, and there are always new challenges to face."

A flicker of something passed through Corlys's eyes—perhaps ambition or a calculated desire. He chose his next words carefully. "Speaking of challenges, the situation in the Stepstones remains unresolved. The Triarchy grows bolder with each passing day, and their presence in those waters threatens the safety of our trade routes. The realm cannot afford to ignore this any longer."

Tayland Lannister nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The Sea Snake is right. The Stepstones are a vital passage for trade, and the Triarchy's control over them is a serious threat. The crown would do well to consider taking decisive action."

Corlys seized the moment, his tone subtle but insistent. "A leader of your experience and skill, my prince, could make all the difference in securing those waters for the realm. With your influence, perhaps the crown might be persuaded to take a more active role in the conflict."

It was clear what Corlys was suggesting—he wanted you to influence your father, King Viserys, to commit to a campaign in the Stepstones. The thought lingered in your mind, but you were well aware of the delicate nature of such matters. Viserys had been reluctant to engage in another conflict, especially after the long campaign in Dorne. He was a man who valued peace, and while he respected the needs of the realm, he was not easily swayed into war.

Before you could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a different sort of commotion. A group of lords, eager to ingratiate themselves with the crown, approached your father, each of them accompanied by their daughters, who were of marriageable age. They vied for Viserys's attention, each one eager to present their daughter as a potential bride for you.

"My daughter, Lady Elinor, is as wise as she is beautiful, Your Grace," one lord said, his voice oozing with pride. "She would make a fine match for the prince."

"Lady Alisanne is skilled in all the noble arts, Your Grace. She is well-versed in history, languages, and music," another lord chimed in, his daughter standing demurely beside him.

Viserys smiled politely, listening to their propositions, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He had waited years for this moment, to have his son by his side once more, and he was determined to enjoy the evening without being burdened by matters of marriage and alliances. He responded with a noncommittal nod, offering a few kind words but making no promises.

As the lords continued their attempts to press the matter, Otto Hightower, ever the strategist, nudged his daughter Alicent, who was seated beside him. He leaned in close, his voice low but firm. "Alicent, you should seize this moment. The prince is listening to all these offers, and if you wish to catch his attention, now is the time."

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering to where you were seated, engaged in conversation with Tayland and Corlys. She knew what her father was suggesting—she had seen the way the other ladies had looked at you during the tourney, the way they whispered among themselves, hoping to catch your eye. But before she could muster the courage to act, someone else stepped forward.

Rhaenyra, who had been watching the proceedings from a distance, sensed the moment and made her move. She approached you with a confident stride, her presence commanding immediate attention. The lords and ladies around you parted, making way for the princess as she reached your side.

"Brother," Rhaenyra said, her voice warm and filled with affection, "I've been looking for you. Surely you don't intend to spend the entire evening in conversation with the lords?"

You turned to her, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of your sister. "Of course not, Rhaenyra. I wouldn't miss the chance to spend time with you on a day like this."

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at the lords who had been vying for your attention. "I thought you might be in need of rescue," she teased, her voice carrying just enough playful humor to defuse the tension.

The lords who had been pressing their daughters as potential brides exchanged glances, recognizing that the moment had passed. With polite bows and murmured excuses, they withdrew, leaving you and Rhaenyra standing together. Viserys watched the exchange with a smile, pleased to see his children together, the connection between them as strong as ever.

Alicent, who had been about to rise from her seat, hesitated and then sat back down, her expression unreadable. Otto frowned slightly, but said nothing, his mind already working on another approach.

[locuas642]

Legend of Vox Machina

OKAY. Draconia.

Okay, for those who do not know about Tiberius know the player was expelled from the show early on, and if you are curious as to the details please go read this, I am acknowledging this happened just for the sake of talking about the adaptation and I dont want to just bring up drama for the sake of it.

Okay so. To recap, in the original stream, there was a character, the Dragonborn Sorcerer Tiberius Stormwind who was part of Vox Machina, whose player was expelled from the show in the middle of the Briarwood story-arc. His backstory is that he was a prince from the kingdom of Draconia, a flying city ruled by Dragonborns in search for magical items but, once his player left, Matt sent him on his way to do his things.

In the original Chroma Conclave saga, when Vox Machina meets the sphynx Osysa to find a way to defeat the Chroma Conclave she... reveals Draconia was destroyed by the Chroma Conclave. Many episodes later we learn that the ruins of Draconia had become Vorugal's turf, and the party decides to scout the area which comes with a series of revelations.

Draconia, we learn... wasn't as nice a place as Tiberius believed. They had a class divide between Tailed Dragonborns and Tail-less Dragonborns, with the later being oppressed by the former. so the now freed Tail-less dragonborns living in huts, had welcomed Vorugal and the freedom he had brought initially, but they were willing to ally themselves with Vox Machina to get rid of him.

But the most important part is that the party discovers... Tiberius is dead.

The last appearence of Tiberius in the show, is as a frozen corpse the result of his battle against the Chroma Conclave. And the party decides to give him a funeral.

And it's an emotive scene. Regardless of the player being toxic, this was a character the rest of the cast had grown attached to since before the streams began. not the least that due to Orion Acaba no longer being welcome, this was as final a death as you could get.

And it was something that would be impossible for the animated series to adapt, since neither the show nor the fandom would ever want Orion Acaba anywhere near the project. There are people who legit still Love Tiberius, but who would throw up at the thought of that happening.

So here we have the best next thing the show could have: a new character in the form of Dohla who is legally distinct from him, her backstory is changed a lot and Draconia is altered to still exist in this version.

Because you know, the emotional connection to the place is no longer here. And instead we have Dohla sell everyone to Vorugal both because of wanting to save her people, but also because she was jealous and hurt by Kima and Allura.

This is to say, I absolutely loved that the show decided to have the Not!Tiberius Expy be mauled by Vorugal for finding her annoying

[renaultmograine]

I like that you can ask Dezco why don't we just murder the Prince of Stormwind as if you didn't unquestioningly catch venemous eels with your bare hands because Anduin politely asked you to that same expansion.

[dawnstorms]

ON THE THALASSIAN 'PRIESTHOOD'

(NAMELY: THOSE MAGISTERS WHICH HUMANS ASSUME TO BE PRIESTS, BUT WHICH ARE GENERALLY NOT)

Priests are most commonly utilized within Quel'thalas for their skills with mind-affecting magics. The city guardsmen often call upon them to soothe agitated crowds, disperse riots and other such violent gatherings peacefully rather than to permit harm done to any of our own kind or even our allies, and to sense the minds and intentions of those who would do Quel'thalas or its people harm, even if the intruding bodies are hidden from the watchful eyes of the guardians. (Source: [1] [2] Additionally, as another fun OOC note before we get started, Blood Elf priests are the only ones that start with a dagger in the entire game, not counting Allied Races that are obviously related to them such as Nightborne or Ren'dorei, who I admit I haven't checked on.)

Necessitating special delineation and discussion more than any other is perhaps the "priesthood" of the Sunfury Spire, as it was so named by the heavily theocratic Humans of Stormwind after their introduction to Silvermoon City some few years past and is even still so called abroad. To be brief, in the interests of education: though some magi study schools of magic and spellwork which may resemble--or even be genuinely originating from and/or identical to--the "holy" magics of other, foreign religions, these magi are not necessarily priests of those religions. The converse is also true. Most religious Sin'dorei are found among these ranks, and are in fact welcomed despite the generally secular nature of both Sin'dorei society and the Sunfury Spire, as their perspectives on and knowledge of these magics provide what would otherwise be missing or inaccurate information to the Spire and its archives. 

Some mages study what humans and other magic-users think of as divine or divine-adjacent magic. A significant minority of these mages are also genuine practitioners of one religion or another, ie. being literal 'priests' in the wider Azerothian sense. The remaining majority are magi or Magisters, not priests, and simply specialize in the relevant magical field of study. 

With that thusly established, in the Thalassian language as well as in terms of the organization of the Spire, those mages who do choose to specialize in these 'holy' schools of magic--particularly those who are explicitly not pursuing the rank of Magister/Magistrix but who instead study, labor, and otherwise contribute to the Spire without this total and explicit denial of the self in service of their country--are often given the title 'Priest' once they complete their education and join the ranks of their peers in labor. This title is nearly exclusively for male practitioners, with only few exceptions; female mages who pursue these arts are often given the title 'Matron'. Priests and Matrons are the relative equivalent of Magisters and Magistrixes, but with respect paid to their unique needs both in terms of education and potential personal beliefs, which might conflict with the oaths taken by Magi and thus explains their nearly complete non-existence within those ranks. Notable is the fact that the Matrons have historically always been at the head of the order, while priests tend to be mid- and high-level aides and state actors.

Priests and Matrons are also utilized more heavily by the Spire within Quel'thalas than their relative equals among the Magi, who are much more commonly either deployed without our great nation or else are sequestered in research facilities in its service. As priests' skillsets and magical knowledge were comparatively quite rare among the populace of Quel'thalas even before the Razing, and as they obviously so remain now in light of their added indispensability in both restraining the Naaru--and with great deference paid from this humble author to the Priests and Matrons whose knowledge and research was the only reason that His Most Radiant Highness, Prince Kael'thas, was able to make his own breakthrough in terms of the nature, control, and containment of these powerful creatures--their small but crucial order of mages forms the backbone of both Silvermoon's peacekeeping force. They are also healers alongside our more conventional military units, researchers aiding the Magi as well as even Horde druids and alchemists in everything from plagues and warfare to healing the Dead Scar, and can even be clandestine operatives abroad. 

Not to be understated is the priests' philosophical, literary, and even spiritual contribution to our great society: far be it from even the Sun-King to judge what an individual believes or finds comfort in, so long as it does not lead them to act against the homeland that had loved them so unquestioningly and supported them so generously, and so some religious priests do indeed lead sermons for even the most niche of spiritualities within the Spire. Many of our greatest philosophers throughout history have been spiritual leaders, from ancient Sun-worshippers to the liberal-minded few who took up the Human worship of the Light. Affecting our society and vaunted by our learned even today is the aggregate collection of philosophical, moral, and societal literature written by the Elune-worshipping Highborne magi and poets of old, who had themselves the intentions of guiding their own people just as the Magisters do for us today.

It is also through the efforts of the priesthood that the Sin'dorei have found common ground with, and achieved diplomatic successes among, not only those traitorous thieves we once forged with our own Alliance--which they have now stolen from us, having judged that our secrets and knowledge and compassion and land were all not enough, in true human fashion--but perhaps even moreso among our new allies within the Horde.

Darkspear diplomats even begin disclose to us now the nature of their barbarian but fascinating and previously undocumented beliefs, and in turn arm us well against the Amani through our mutually shared disdain for those cannibalistic invaders whose society is apparently even beneath the Darkspears' own slightly more advanced one. All of this would never have been discovered had we not reached out the hand of friendship through spirituality. Forsaken cultists of Shadow and Sin'dorei students of its power find great community between one another, and the Lightslayers of the Undercity have found great boons in both our knowledge of holy magic, doctrine, and particularly Stormwind beliefs as well as our ability to wield the magic now denied to even they who had been most devout in life.

The Tauren find agreeable our botanists and Sun priests, and begin to consort with our botanists in hopes of teaching them their own fascinating belief system surrounding druidism. The Spire hopes strongly that in time we will master their artform so as to improve upon it as our own and thus might even heal our torn lands; this goal the Tauren diplomats have already expressed interest in sharing, again as a consequence of our priesthoods' willingness to embrace the foreign, strange, and even the nonsensically barbaric. Even the Orcish shamans find our harmony with our land and its spirits to be worthy of study and perhaps can even be led to emulation.

The Horde's cultures may be undeveloped by some reckonings, and though this author humbly recuses himself from further such commentary by virtue of having failed his freshman anthropology courses twice, one may find it more suitable to conclude with the reckoning of the priesthood itself: 

"In undergoing this [generally speaking 'pre-societal' period of cultural development], the Horde at large is ripe for mutual education, societal cultivation and guidance as we might our own gardens, and in time may even be capable of establishing the long-term bonds and alliances which our people--Sin'dorei being generous, open to both teaching and learning, and generally communal by our basemost natures--so crave: ties of true friendship and even that of family, in that siblings are each vastly different but beloved by each other for it. 

These ties, if properly built and maintained in the way of our forefathers rather than those of mortal hands, can not be so easily broken as was the shallow bond that had been forged and destroyed with equal haste by the fecklessly impatient thrashing of other mortals that had thought themselves the masters of their planet. This time, we will not quietly await their realization of their hubris, but instead shall... correct them."

- Matron Ael'thissa

[doctordragon]

Explaining wranduin to non wow people is so hard because their roles in the story as a prince of stormwind and the last uncorrupted black dragon in existence is already insane but you wouldn't GET it unless you get wow lore

[ladypurplejanewrynn]

The Mother’s Day

(Author’s note: I know Mother’s Day was a few days ago. I started this earlier but unfortunately had writer’s block. Anyway, I hope you still can enjoy this short fic)

Anduin was walking around Stormwind city, holding both of his children by the hands. Prince Bolvar was already 8 years old and his younger sister, Princess Riona was 4. Today was an important day, the Mother’s Day. The two siblings wanted to get a gift for their mother on this special occasion, and their father came to help them find it beside being there to look out for them. Earlier, they told Purplejane to not come with them, as they wanted to share some father-children moments. So the Queen stayed in the Keep and looked for something to get herself busy with.

Meanwhile, the kids along with their father stormed around the city, checking out every shop. However they seemed troubled with finding her a gift. It had to be special. Not the first best thing that catches their eyes. "Finding a gift for mom is quite a challenge" said the young Prince Bolvar. Anduin giggled:"Well, you’re not wrong. Seeing so many incredible stuff, is quite hard to choose something for her." Both of the children glanced at their father. "Is not just that. The gift for mama has to be special. We want mama to be happy" said Riona. Anduin kneeled up in front of his daughter, gently smiling at her:"And she will be. No matter what you two are going to choose, I’m sure she’s gonna love it."

"And what if she doesn’t like it?" a sad face appearing on the little Princess’s face. "Yeah. What if mom won’t be happy with the gift?" Bolvar joined in. The King then embraced his children in a tight hug:"Oh, I’m sure she will be. She loves the two of you dearly. And the fact that you two remembered will matter to her more. She will know you’ve put all your efforts and love with choosing a gift." The two children cheered up. "Right. You are right dad" replied Bolvar. "You know mommy so well, daddy. It shows how much you love her" Riona giggled. Anduin chuckled slightly:"Well then. Shall we continue our "trip" you two?" The siblings grabbed their father by the hands and the three continued their little quest.

As they checked more shops on the way, they found lots of things that they could buy for their mother. The problem was that they couldn’t decide which one of those things to choose. So many choices to choose from. They couldn’t also buy everything at once as it would be way too much. All three made a small stop at a book store. Anduin was curious they added some new books he’d be interested in. While looking around, the two siblings got their attention picked by one of them. "Legends and Myths" the title of the book indicated. Riona immediately took the book in her hands and ran up to Anduin. "Riona, wait!" exclaimed Bolvar, chasing after his little sister. "Ugh, the little gremlin. How does she even run so fast?" The young Prince thought. As the Princess got close to her parent, she showed him the book. "Daddy, do you think this book would do? Do you think mommy would like it?" She showed the book to Anduin with enthusiasm in her voice.

"Mind if I take a look at it honey?" Anduin asked. Riona immediately handed him the book in his hands. The King inspected the book closely, a warm smile appearing o his face. "This should definitely do. Knowing your mother, she will be delighted. She loves these kind of books. Well, she enjoys many types of books." He replied. Bolvar joined them:"Geez. Riona I told you to wait for me." "Bolvar! Daddy says this book should be of mommy’s liking. Can we get it for her as the gift for Mother’s Day?" the young Princess asked. The boy thought for a moment. "You know that’s not a bad idea. And we could also get that bracelet with an amethyst we saw at the Jewelry Store earlier. It would fit mom so well. Especially with that new dress she got some months ago." The Prince replied. "Hmmmm… Okay" Riona agreed without hesitation.

Anduin smiled at his children coming to an agreement:"That’s an excellent idea. Your mother will be delighted." After they bought the gift, they returned to Stormwind Keep. The kids went to get the gift ready, while Anduin asked Purplejane to come with him. "You certainly took quite some time with the walk. Is there something I should know about, dear?" The Queen giggled. Anduin gave her a gentle and yet a mysterious smile:"Just come with me, and you’ll see it. You won’t be disappointed." Purplejane looked at her husband with curiosity. "I wonder what he and the kids are hiding." She thought, following Anduin to their children’s room. As they arrived, Anduin knocked at the door:"Bolvar. Riona. Are you two ready?" As the door opened, the royal couple saw both of their children in front of them, holding something behind their back together. Then the siblings handed the gift to Purplejane:"Happy Mother’s Day, mom."

The Queen was pleasantly surprised as she took the gift in her hands. "What are you waiting for? Open it. Mommy, open it." Riona said in excitement. Purplejane gently unwrapped the ribbon and opened the box, seeing a book and a beautiful bracelet. Tears of enjoy escaped her eyes and she hugged her children:"Oh my, these are amazing. You remembered." Bolvar and Riona hugged their mother tightly as well. "So, do you like the gift, mom?" The young Prince asked. Purplejane widened her eyes:"Like it? I love it! I really appreciate the thought you put into it. I’m so glad to have such thoughtful and kind kids." "If not for dad’s help, we would probably still run around looking for a gift" Bolvar turned around to face Anduin. The King chuckled:"No. You didn’t really need my assistance that much. In the end you two agreed on the gift." Riona ran up to Anduin for a hug:"But you still helped, daddy. That’s already enough." That caused Anduin’s smile to widen some more. After handing the gift, Bolvar and Riona went to play with their toys. Purplejane got the bracelet on her left wrist. She got closer to Anduin, placing a small kiss on his cheek:"Thank you, for being there for the kids. You are the father, they look up to and that they deserve." The King smiled warmly at her and got his wife into an embrace in his arms:"Oh please. You would do the same for them."

[mybworlds]

Chapter 2: King’s Landing attack

Hello, well thank you to my few readers.

Pairing: The Hound x Sansa Stark

Chapter summary: Sansa is still a prisoner in King’s Landing, until Stannis Baratheon attacks King’s Landing and...

Chapter warnings: violence, blood. Some lines from George R. R. Martin "A clash of kings" book.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

“You mew like a suckling babe,” his brother hissed at him. “Princes aren’t supposed to cry.”

“Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon,” Sansa Stark said, “and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound.”

“Be quiet, or I’ll have Ser Meryn give you a mortal wound,” Joffrey told his betrothed.

Sansa remained silent as she had been ordered to, fearing for her life every day. Every day, she received a punishment for a wrong word, for a glance, or whether it was her brother Robb doing something. She always paid for her own or others' faults, whether they were minor or serious.

The narrow streets were lined by men of the City Watch, holding back the crowd with the shafts of their spears. Ser Jacelyn Bywater went in front, heading a wedge of mounted lancers in black ringmail and golden cloaks. Behind him came Ser Aron Santagar and Ser Balon Swann, bearing the king’s banners, the lion of Lannister and crowned stag of Baratheon.

So, it followed King Joffrey, with Sansa trailing just behind him, her thick auburn hair flowing to her shoulders beneath a net of moonstones. Two of the Kingsguard flanked the couple, the Hound on the king’s right hand and Ser Mandon Moore to the left of the Stark girl.

Next came Tommen, snuffling, with Ser Preston Greenfield in his white armor and cloak, and then Cersei, accompanied by Ser Lancel and protected by Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. Tyrion fell in with his sister. After them followed the High Septon in his litter, and a long tail 314 of other courtiers—Ser Horas Redwyne, Lady Tanda and her daughter, Jalabhar Xho, Lord Gyles Rosby, and the rest. A double column of guardsmen brought up the rear. The unshaven and the unwashed stared at the riders with dull resentment from behind the line of spears. I like this not one speck, Tyrion thought. Bronn had a score of sellswords scattered through the crowd with orders to stop any trouble before it started. Perhaps Cersei had similarly disposed her Kettleblacks. Somehow Tyrion did not think it would help much. If the fire was too hot, you could hardly keep the pudding from scorching by tossing a handful of raisins in the pot. They crossed Fishmonger’s Square and rode along Muddy Way before turning onto the narrow, curving Hook to begin their climb up Aegon’s High Hill. A few voices raised a cry of “Joffrey! All hail, all hail!” as the young king rode by, but for every man who picked up the shout, a hundred kept their silence. The Lannisters moved through a sea of ragged men and hungry women, breasting a tide of sullen eyes.

Sansa observed, fearful, all the misery surrounding them, but most of all, she watched the faces of the starving and angry common folk. In just a few moments, the situation took a turn for the worse: to their left, three gold cloaks went down under the surge, and then the crowd was rushing forward, trampling the fallen men. The Hound had vanished behind, though his riderless horse galloped beside them. Tyrion saw Aron Santagar pulled from the saddle, the gold-and-black Baratheon stag torn from his grasp. Ser Balon Swann dropped the Lannister lion to draw his longsword. He slashed right and left as the fallen banner was ripped apart, the thousand ragged pieces swirling away like crimson leaves in a stormwind. In an instant they were gone. Someone staggered in front of Joffrey’s horse and shrieked as the king rode him down. Whether it had been man, woman, or child Tyrion could not have said. Joffrey was galloping at his side, whey-faced, with Ser Mandon Moore a white shadow on his left.

Sansa tried to break free, to escape from the enraged crowd. She lost the royal procession and, for a brief moment, thought she could return to the Red Keep on her own, believing no one would pay attention to her. But that wasn't the case, three men surrounded her. It was then that she understood something terrible was about to happen to her. She ran as fast as she could, but with little success. She found herself on the ground and dragged away by the men who pursued her.

Sansa screamed in fear, realizing their intentions. She screamed loudly, but none of those three seemed to hear her. Indeed, it seemed to excite them. In no time, their laughter turned into cries of pain: Sandor Clegane arrived to rescue her, eviscerating and slaying her attackers.

“It’s all right, little bird. You’re safe now!” he reassured her, pulling her to her feet and carrying her on his shoulders, he carried her back to the Red Keep. The young Stark feared she would vomit or faint during that journey, she saw severed arms and heads, blood along the streets of King's Landing, disembowelled bodies, scattered entrails.

The Hound finally took her inside the fortified walls and handmaidens surrounded her, the first to ask her how she was was Tyrion "Are you hurt, my lady?"

Sansa couldn't speak, too shaken by that horrible sight, it was Clegane who spoke.

“The little bird is bleeding,” he said. “Someone take her back to her cage and take care of her.”

Her handmaidens rushed to obey, leading Sansa away.

Sansa ate almost nothing that day or the following days, the experience she lived, had a profound impact on her. Master Frenken visits her every day, even Tyrion Lannister - the uncle of her future husband - often visited her, he was kind, it almost seemed like she could trust him, but then Sansa remembered that he was still a Lannister just as she remembered the words of the Hound "Look around and smell carefully: they're all liars here..." the Stark girl turned over in her bed, no, she couldn't trust Tyrion either.

Her betrothed never visited her, only her mother the Queen Regent, Cersei, had come once, told her to get well soon and then with a smirk she added she would blossom soon and not too soon after that moment, her son and Sansa could have married and then give birth future princes and princesses. If Sansa had heard these words months ago, she’d filled with pride and enthusiasm, but now? The idea troubled her deeply.

She no longer wanted to marry the Queen's son, her heart no longer beat for him, not after the horrors he subjected her to, not after he had her beaten, not after he continually threatened her with death. No, Sansa, he couldn't anymore.

He wanted to escape, but… how? When?

The Guards were everywhere, every corridor was always filled with one or more Guards, often the Hound or Ser Meryn roamed the corridors, no, Sansa just couldn't do it, not alone.

The moment came on a night without stars, on a night where the sky was a riot of colors that went from green to orange, from red to yellow with shades of emerald and jade, the air smelled of burning, Sansa had taking refuge in her rooms completely shrouded in darkness, only by opening the curtains she could observe all the colors reflected in the sky.

Sansa started to step back, she was scared, she intended to take advantage of that situation, but she had no idea exactly how to do it... someone coughed behind her and Sansa jumped and turned around. She saw him for a moment, all black and green, the blood on his face dark as tar, his eyes glowing like a dog’s in the sudden glare.

“What are you doing in my rooms?” she asked to the Hound.

“I’m going.”

“Going?”

“The little bird repeats whatever she hears. Going, yes.”

“Where will you go?”

“Away from here. Away from the fires. Go out the Iron Gate, I suppose. North somewhere, anywhere.”

“You won’t get out,” Sansa said. “The queen’s closed up Maegor’s, and the city gates are shut as well.”

“Not to me. I have the white cloak. And I have this.” He patted the pommel of his sword. “The man who tries to stop me is a dead man. Unless he’s on fire.” He laughed bitterly.

“You’d come with me.” he said, “I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.”

“With you?” Sansa asked again.

“The little birds just can't keep from repeating everything… what do you want to become one of those birds with colorful feathers?” he teased her.

“I'm not going with you.” Sansa said with a courage she didn't think she possessed "You are always so... harsh, mean... I don't..." the young woman stopped.

“Am I too cruel for Your Grace's delicacy?” Sandor asked, looking her straight in the eyes “I'm honest. It's the world that's cruel." he informed her roughly “The world is not made for pretty ones like you, the world is a cruel place, if you can’t protect yourself, then you die and someone else lives.”

The Hound suddenly grabbed Sansa by the wrist and Sansa groaned in fear, she feared he would kill her but instead the man just got close to her face and said "Come with me." it wasn't a question, it was just a statement, a statement said in a tone that Sansa had never heard before, or at least the Hound never used that tone of voice.

“I – I need to change.” Sansa only said.

"There's no time." saying these words, the man dragged her away with him.

The Hound moved with incredible speed and grace for a large man like he was, Sansa struggled to keep up with him, she almost had to run. When he opened the door that would allow them to reach the stables, the earth shook and everything around them began to catch fire, the men screamed. Sandor Clegane staggered for an instant in the face of those flames, then abruptly woke up and started running again. They bumped into fleeing men, screaming women, Sansa couldn't even understand who they were hitting just to reach their goal, suddenly something hit her head and Sansa lost consciousness...

Closing remarks... that's how things really went. Sansa should have runaway with the Hound even in the books and in the tv series. Agree or disagree?

Please let me know what you think. If you'd like, if you had questions or comments you could send either in the comments section or my inbox. If you don't like my story don't read, so please no rude comments towards the story, the people who like this story, or me.

Next chapter asap.

[khadgarbignaturals]

Ohh, we're doing lore questions, sweet! Can you give a timeline or something for when all the different elves came to be? There's so many running around I'm so confused

elf lore is really complicated but im gonna try to simplify it.

a fuckin really long time ago a bunch of dark trolls left the zandalari empire and settled next to the well of eternity. after a while, the magic of the well transforms them into the highborne, lead by queen azshara.

post sundering, the remaining highborne went off to live in kalimdor. a group of highborne that were indirectly responsible for the sundering were exiled by the other elves. they took a portion of the well of eternity to what is now the eastern kingdoms and created the sunwell, becoming the high elves.

much later, the sunwell was corrupted by arthas and most of the high elves were killed, including the king of the high elves. the prince, now king, kael'thas taught his people how to use fel magic to treat the magic withdrawals from the sunwell being corrupted and they start calling themselves blood elves. a small portion of high elves leave and join the alliance in stormwind.

back to post-sundering. the remaining highborne (now night elves) lead by tyrande whisperwind and malfurion stormrage grew a world tree (nordrassil) and lived there for a while. nordrassil was destroyed by the burning legion, so a guy took a seed and some well of eternity water and grew a new one (teldrassil) so the night elves move there. in bfa, warchief sylvanas windrunner destroys teldrassil, leaving the night elves without a home but now in dragonflight we are getting them a new tree to live on (amirdrassil). heres hoping this one doesnt get destroyed

nightborne are a group of highborne living in suramar that sealed themselves in a protective barrier for 10,000 years after the sundering. we find them again in legion and stop the burning legion from using the nightwell's (nightborne's version of the sunwell) power. we also kill their queen and now thalyssra leads them.

void elves are a group of blood elves who were exiled from silvermoon for researching void magic. they were transformed into ethereals but alleria windrunner (who was also void corrputed but could control it) taught them to control the void magic. they join her and subsequently join the alliance.

hhooo i think thats all of the elves. hope this isnt too rambly lol

[scourge-lover]

Strange Behavior

Wrathion thinks Sapphire is weird, even for a human. 

The outcome of the Horde and Alliance conflict did not seem to be any more obvious than it was months ago, which infuriated Wrathion to no end. All this petty violence paled in comparison to the horrors that awaited should the Burning Legion attack. 

Wrathion sat brooding at his reserved table in the corner of the tavern, looking over letters from adventurer’s and from his own spies. He had not eaten all day, but only noticed when his stomach rumbled loudly.

He looked up, determined to get the attention of Tong, the innkeeper, but someone else entirely grabbed Wrathion’s attention. 

She stood in the doorway, bouncing on one food to the other. As she looked around in curiosity, it seemed like she had never been in an inn before. Sapphire, the unique human girl with delicate antlers and deep blue eyes that hinted at her namesake. 

Their eyes met, and Sapphire stood there as if turned to stone. Something about her intrigued Wrathion. He did not know if it was her connection to Prince Stormwind, her strange appearance, or her interesting career choice. Maybe it was her antlers and timid act. Dragons eat deer. No wonder she seemed frightened of him.

Even for a druid, she was strange. Druids usually did not wear pelts of the animals they communed, yet she wore a pelt of a snow leopard over her thin shoulders. Instead of the typical flowers and leaves that druids liked to sport, Sapphire chose other natural things. Her arms and neck sported jewelry made of the bones of small animals.

The little doe had a stronger backbone than she showed, because after a deep breath, she strode over to Wrathion’s table. Left and Right, standing to either side of him, started to get between him and the girl, but Wrathion raised one hand. 

“She’s a friend of Anduin’s,” He said to them, then addressed Sapphire directly.

“How can I help you, Lady Sapphire?”

Sapphire blinked at the sudden honorific. The last time they spoke, Wrathion had compared her to venison. He had not meant to insult her, but merely to rouse up Anduin. He enjoyed getting Anduin riled up over the smallest of things. The Prince could argue for hours and it was vastly entertaining.

The girl then reached for her leather pack and pulled it over her shoulder. Left and Right both looked suspicious and started for their weapons when Sapphire proceeded to overturn her bag onto Wrathion’s table, including his many correspondences. 

A plethora of random food fell out of the bag. Wrathion recoiled in shock. Scavenged berries, roots, leaves, sticks, and even *rocks* scattered over the table. Even more so, a dead squirrel missing a head thumped onto the table. Blood oozed over a report. Left was not fazed, but Right curled her lip up in disgust. 

“Huh.” That was the only way Wrathion could react at this surprising turn of events.

Sapphire smiled, showing off teeth that appeared sharper than a human should have. “I noticed you hadn’t eaten all day. I don’t know what black dragons eat so I got you a bit of everything.”

Left picked up one of the rocks, raising one of her eyebrows. Wrathion still was shocked by this behavior, and Sapphire seemingly could sense it. Her face turned bright red. Without another word, she turned and fled. Again, like a deer she lithely sprinted up the stairs to her room.

Wrathion delicately picked up the dead squirrel with two of his fingers. He glanced over at Right.

“I might be young and inexperienced, but am I correct that was not normal human behavior?”

Right gave Wrathion a serious look. “I have to be completely honest. I am not entirely sure that girl is a human at all, my Prince.”

That was not a joke. Appearances were often deceiving. Wrathion was a walking example of that. Wrathion found a clean sheet of paper and wrote to one of his more talented Black Talon agents. He needed more information on “Lady Sapphire.” 

Some of the berries were blackberries, which were Wrathion’s favorite. He picked them out from the twigs and leaves. He was hungry after all. 

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Varian Wrynn snaps under stress at Garrosh Hellscream's trial, and decides to keep Prince Anduin confined to Stormwind, for the sake of his safety. Wrathion follows through on his preparations to break Anduin out. Now irreversably involved in Wrathion's plans and unsure how to proceed safely, Anduin makes the decision to follow him to Draenor.

Author: @bentclaw

Note from submitter: 10/10 fic, amazing warlords of draenor rewrite <3

[characterrevolvingdoors]

@kallecgos Liked my stupid comic of my throuple. So I figured I'd post some old pics and share some information:

Jolianne Marie Waycrest was the adopted daughter of the younger brother of Lord Waycrest in Drustvar. For a majority of her life, she was unaware that her birth parents were none other than Jaina Proudmoore and Arthas Menethil.

For most of her life, she was kept hidden away in Drustvar. She showed immense talent in both combat and harnessing the Light. Though she had no formal training, she's still considered one of the few Kul Tiran paladins.

However when the Fourth War broke out, she left her home in Drustvar, taking up the common name Julie Storm, and joined the war effort. She found herself in Goldshire where she met a priest named Jerek at the Lion's Rest Inn and eventually the two fell in love.

Joli had no idea that her lover was actually Anduin Wrynn, King of Stormwind, in disguise. It wasn't until Anduin had been kidnapped and Joli went into the Shadowlands that she found out this fact.

The reunion was short-lived, however, as Anduin remained in the Maw to give Joli a chance to escape. She swore herself to Bastion and worked to free Anduin and the others. However she didn't find herself alone, as Wrathion, hearing of his friend's abduction, came to the Shadowlands, as well. The pair worked closely and soon there was a spark between them.

Joli, ever the blunt one, insisted that they wait for Anduin to be freed before they see if anything could come from it. Wrathion agreed and once Anduin was freed from the Jailor's grasp and resting in Bastion, he approached Anduin with the idea that the three of them be together. Anduin, who had secretly loved Wrathion for years, agreed. While Anduin officially married Joli in a ceremony presided over by Uther, himself, both were claimed as the Consorts to the Black Prince.

Of course now Anduin has to deal with having not one...but two gremlin spouses who are quite apt at getting into some shenanigans that he normally gets dragged along for.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

[dreamdepot]

DotK - Chapter 6 Preview

Hi all, the next chapter is gonna be a big one, so I thought I'd share a little preview. It's time for you and Link to take care of a few side quests!

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Link led the way on the climb up, testing all the footholds for the best path for you. You followed, passing him pieces of honey candy to keep both of your energy up. Soon, you dismounted at the edge of the canyon.

To your surprise, the supposed Zelda was there, trapped in an unstable-looking iron cage. Despite what you saw in the vision back on the Stormwind Ark, this potential Zelda was at least much closer to your Zelda – by appearance at least. “Oh Link, please save me! Thou must get me out of this cage!”

“Thou? That’s definitely not my sister. Oh, wait a second,” you whispered. You pulled out a Mighty Banana and dropped it on the ground. This Zelda’s eyes snapped to it like a magnet before you picked it up and put it away. “Well, that answers that,” you groaned.

The fake Zelda gave you both her best puppy-dog eyes, which was completely ineffective. “Please lift this cage and we can be together again, my love!”

“I am actually offended,” Link whispered back. “Like, sure, we’re not super big on the lovey-dovey stuff in public, but five years. C’mon.”

“I mean they literally have been underground for five years,” you shrugged. “Wanna mess with them?”

“Oh yes.” Link’s eyes gleamed with mischief. He turned to the fake Zelda, clutching his chest. “My Princess, I am so glad to see you’re safe, but I can’t believe those terrible Yiga have trapped you in this cage.”

“Terrible?!” Not-Zelda scoffed before composing herself. “I mean, yes! Yes, and you should free me!”

“No, I can’t let you – for this is my chance!” You said. Both Link and Not-Zelda gasped. “Mwha-ha-ha! I can finally take over the kingdom and depose of Zelda!”

“Y-you what?!” Not-Zelda stuttered. “But, I’m your sister? You want to get rid of me?”

You laughed maniacally. “First, I will take over Hyrule, then the world! Ganondorf himself would even tremble before me! Then, once I’ve taken your kingdom, I’ll take…” you paused impressively. “Your man!”

“No!”

“Yes! And I’ll… I’ll dress him in the most beautiful clothes as my personal muse and servant!” Link shot you a look, but you could tell he was trying not to laugh. You slammed your arms on either side of him, trapping him against the cage. “You dare laugh at me, knight? Maybe I should show you your place.”

“L-Link no!” Not-Zelda said, voice quivering. “Be strong!” Her words were weakened however by the flush on her face and her slowly growing nosebleed. She watched with rapt attention. “Don’t let that evil prince have his way with you!”

Link looked into your eyes, a smolder in his own. “Oh really, Prince [Y/n]? You want me to submit to you? Make me.”

“I… uh… this is a bit public…”

“Oh, come on, where’s your nerve?” Link teased. “Or maybe you’d like me to put you in your place instead?” You felt something poke into your stomach. Your eyes drifted down for just a moment to see Link passing you a bomb arrow. His eyes flicked to the cliffside behind you.

“Oh, I’ll show you nerve…” you growled. You whipped out your bow and fired the arrow behind you, taking out the hidden Yiga soldiers.

“Have I mentioned how much I love watching you fight?” Link sighed. “As for you,” he said turning to Not-Zelda and leveled his bow at her head, arrow tipped with an Ice Fruit. “Tell us what the Yiga Clan is up to.”

Not-Zelda flushed, trying to compose herself. “Not fair, you fight dirty!”

You leaned against the cage with a smirk. “It was just us having fun. Now, come on, you want to tell us, right? Believe me, you don’t want to see my boyfriend mad now, do you?”

“Wait, you guys really are together?”

“For masters of stealth and espionage, you really aren’t that great at your jobs. And we thought Kohga was bad at his job.”

She stamped her foot. “Don’t speak about Master Kohga that way. At this very moment, he’s working on his master plan to help the Demon King!” She clasped her hands over her mouth.

“You’re new at this aren’t you,” Link said, never letting his arrow drift from his mark.

“Only my third week,” she said meekly.

“So Kohga did survive…” You sighed. “Okay, listen. Tell us where he is, and we’ll let you out of the cage.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I think a Lynel lives over the next ridge. Maybe he’ll let you out.” You shrugged and turned, pretending to leave.

“No, no, wait!”

=============================

Chapter 6 will be out this Friday!

[silverdragon128]

Varian Wrynn: You wish to know why I hate your “Horde” so much?

Vol’jin: Ya

Varian: I was a boy when my father was murdered, and Stormwind was overrun. My mother tried to escape with me, but the Orcs found us… I remember what they did to her, vividly

Vol’jin: Da actions of conquerors…

Varian’s expression hardens: The actions of monsters. I have tried, since learning of the Legion’s control of them, to find why those demons would command the Orcs to do that. But I’ve realized, they didn’t

Vol’jin: Sad as it is, Dey are not the only ones guilty of it. Da Zandalari, da mogu… there are even whispers, amongst da Forsaken, of Arthas—

Varian: You will not speak of the late prince that way!

Vol’jin: It is da way of conquerors. I have never understood. My people are not conquerors.

Varian: You’re Trolls—

Vol’jin: We are da Darkspear. Do not think to judge us the same because our faces are similar. We have been persecuted by the Zandalari, we were running when Thrall found us. His Orcs were not… are not conquerors

Varian: All Orcs are. Look around you, it’s in their blood. Why else would the Iron Horde be attacking like this.

Vol’jin strokes his chin: I will not lie, it has me stumped. I believe dere’s something bigger here. Garrosh was violent, but never a conqueror—

Varian: He burned the Vale—

Vol’jin: He was scared. Garrosh was eva scared of being a slave. He thought you humans would stop at nothing to own the Orcs.

Varian: I have no interest in slaves

Vol’jin: Tell that to your nobles. Dey have no problem extorting your own for cheap labor. Given da chance, I believe Garrosh was right.

Varian: …

Vol’jin: He burned the Vale so he could take Pandaria for da Horde. So when you came to attack, he’d have all da cards, so to speak. He was getting desperate. After Sylvanas sent agents to rescue me, Garrosh realized his actions were limited. Eventually he chose vengeance. This *Vol’jin points around to the burned village* is not vengeance. This is conquering. This is not the work of Garrosh.

Varian: Well… whatever you believe. This just proves to me, I was right. Orcs cannot be trusted.

Vol’jin: What of da rest?

Varian: …I can never trust Sylvanas. She was birthed of Legion and malice. Cairne was always amicable, if uncivilized. His death was not my command, though it is my responsibility. I hope his son comes to see this. Your “Darkspear”… You, at least, seem trustworthy, even if I can’t say the same for your people. The Blood Elves are shortsighted, but we hope to someday reunite them with their High Elf brethren. And Goblins are naught but money grubbing thieves.

Vol’jin: Heh. It is not much, but it is a start.

[ladymischievous]

Repostober Fic Collection

Not art, but writing instead. Here's links to a few of my works that I am particularly proud of from over the years:

Mask of the Rose/Fallen London

Dreams of Home

Archibald Reid had finally returned to the surface. He hadn’t realized just how much he had changed. There was a time where he wanted nothing more than the sun and returning to Glasgow. But now, he found himself a stranger to all the things he once found familiar. Archie tries to find solace in his dreams. WARNING: This fic contains spoilers for the 'Baptism' ending of Mask of the Rose.

World of Warcraft

A Twist of Fate

Type: Alternate Timeline, Did a lot of mixing of lore sources from things like 'The Last Guardian, The Movie, WoW, and Hearthstone's One Night in Karazhan to make this.

Warnings: In later chapters there's a bit of horror and psychological horror. This is a character study and exploration of both Khadgar and Medivh.

Main Characters: Khadgar and Medivh

Pairings: RavenTrust (Friendship and eventually romance (not there yet currently)

Curiosity was considered both a valuable trait and horrible vice of mages. It was his own curiosity that got Khadgar shipped off from the only home he had known.

AU Snippet: Dark Deals

Type: Modern!AU, Snippet based off an old RP

Main Characters: Medivh and Kel'Thuzad

Pairings: Kel'Thuzad/Medivh, hinted RavenTrust

Warnings: Spiders, Dubious Consent

Modern!AU. A crime intertwines the worlds of humans and of magic and mages. To help Lothar and protect Khadgar, Medivh must pay a visit to the dark underbelly of his world. Important Note: This is a snippet I adapted a scene from a past RP I did with a friend. I took it and adapted it into a oneshot as a writing exercise.

The Dragon Prince and the Recluse

Main Characters: Medivh and Wrathion

Pairings: Mentioned Hinted Raventrust, (Once I continue an) eventual friendship with Wrathion and Medivh.

It took a bit of work on Khadgar's part to convince Medivh to let the 'dragon prince' stay in his home. Wrathion isn't sure what to make of Karazhan, the ghosts within, or her reclusive master. He heard stories of Medivh, a guardian of Azaroth who fell from grace. Even his father was quite wary of the mage yet Wrathion is far from impressed. A Guardian is meant to protect Azeroth, not lock themself away in self-exile.

Dark Eyes Over Stormwind Keep

Pairings: Wrathion/Anduin, Wrathion & Medivh (friendship)

Warnings: Mild Body Horror

Haunted in his dreams, Anduin teeters on the line between light and shadow.

My Hero Academia

Heroes are for Fiction

Type: Writer!AU

Warnings: This one I wrote when I was in a particularly dark place. Feelings of depression and suicidal ideation. It was a theraputic bit of writing for me as I was navigating heavy emotions at the time.

Main Characters: Toshinori Yagi, Inko Midoriya, Izuku Midoriya

Pairings & Relationships: Inko/Toshinori, Izuku & Toshinori (Fatherly bond)

After a devastating personal tragedy, author Toshinori withdraws into loneliness and depression--at least until a face from his past comes back to remind him that heroes are not just for the fiction he writes.

[jerek]

Half-answer to a QOTD bot question, posted here to conserve space in the relevant discord

(cw: I don't even know where to start. I'm explaining what's going on between Midha and Wrathion. Remember what Dave Kosak said about black dragons.)

Currently, Midha's found family includes Zafirria and Wrathion. Once, it included Anduin and Wrathion. For the purposes of this post, I'll be excluding Zafirria and regarding Anduin as a supporting character.

At the start, when it was only Midha and Wrathion, Midha was a maladjusted preteen girl. Not understanding what she was doing, she (and in some part Wrathion) created a sort of double-sided parental affection:

Midha as the 'mother' to Wrathion because of her age, her willingness to listen, and her ability to carry out his plans.

Wrathion as the 'father' to Midha because of his emotional sway, his seeming authority in Ravenholdt, and his ability to provide gold and shelter.

This morphed in Pandaria to something more like a brother/sister relationship.

Here, Midha adapted more to Wrathion's perception of her as the 'little sister.' If she had any questions about his plans, she asked them privately. She tagged along, part of a package deal with the Black Prince, and she was debatably kept closer emotionally than his guards were physically. By this point, someone like Kairoz could start to spot what developed in Cataclysm: Wrathion was using Midha as a comfort object.

Then Wrathion disappeared, and Midha vanished in his absence. This might have been a warning sign for future developments, if anyone else were privy to their dynamic. Not even Anduin was aware: he might have thought of Midha as Wrathion's favorite champion, but probably not his first.

Moving on to BfA. Crucially, BfA Midha doesn't meet Wrathion any earlier than the player would. In fact, she meets him later.

In MoP, the invitation to meet that Wrathion sends Midha is different, and other 'cutscenes' are added onto her legendary questline.

In Cataclysm, Wrathion knows her by her presence beside his eggshell in the Vermillion Redoubt.

By contrast, Wrathion and Midha's dynamic in BfA is comparatively restrained:

Wrathion finds Midha having joined a raid into Nya'lotha, and having struck the final blow against his false copy. By this point, the Sha (possibly from exposure to Sha-touched items?) has taken over her. This is the first point at which Wrathion calls her family: speaking to her as he would "any sister in the grip of the black flight's madness."

Midha's restraint shows in not trying to contact Wrathion earlier. She even consults Yu'lon, asking what it is about her that makes her feel as though she'll ruin him by her presence: to which Yu'lon confronts her inner 'monster,' her loneliness, and eventually reassures: "There is no monster here. Only your heart."

Wrathion's restraint shows when, despite his doubt in himself, he allows her to leave after killing N'zoth. In fact, he brings her to Stormwind Keep, and takes quiet relief in Anduin inviting her to stay while he finds a way to cleanse her of the Sha for good. (This ends up not working.)

Before we move on to Dragonflight, let's also mention some other people in Midha's life. Chronologically speaking, Midha's romantic interests are as follows:

Shannox: Midha had a stint in Hyjal during Cataclysm. She started first 'noticing boys' around this time-- or, as the case may be, noticing men. We see here the exclusivity of Midha's love: Midha responds to her strange new feelings by systematically poisoning the all-male flamewakers which make up the rest of the hierarchy, trying to force Shannox to the top by default (in much the same way as she went after the remaining black dragons.)

Her kill count was over two dozen. Shannox was intrigued, but nevertheless did not take kindly when he finally met her.

This was the nail in the coffin for Midha prematurely neglecting her innocence and abandoning her role as 'child.'

Anduin: They were acquaintances in Pandaria who rarely spoke more than two sentences to each other. Midha held a passing fascination with him, as any common girl might with the crown prince of Stormwind. There was a rumor that his inner Light caused plants to bloom where he remained for long enough, like a red dragon.

Vyneia: Even Wrathion knew about Vyneia, though he didn't notice any romantic chemistry until they'd already split. They were fellow champions of his, thick as thieves. Vyneia had an advantage over Wrathion in being a girl Midha's own age, even if, being that Vyneia was a blood elf, they were on opposite sides of the faction war.

Eventually, something happened between them. Only the two of them know exactly what it was, but afterward, Vyneia was presumed deceased-- until she resurfaced as a void elf, having joined the Alliance.

Kairoz: Anduin was the only one who knew. He envied her for it. He saw Kairoz dab at her scrapes after a bout against a Celestial, reverse wounds, and speak to her like a peer. Like a woman to his man. He saw him teach her to dance. Nobody ever treated Anduin like that.

But that, too, would pass.

Anduin:

Deep down, Anduin had always viewed himself as the moral object: perpetually acted upon, unable to meaningfully impact the world on his own. He had a feeling about Midha, falling in with rogues, no fixed home beyond Wrathion's side.

That feeling utterly failed to stop him. And Midha liked to come to his room when she couldn't sleep: she must have known he couldn't either.

He had one week of stolen touch, stolen dreams, a future he was sure he'd wrest out of Wrathion's hands. Anduin was older, after all, and Wrathion really had no idea what he was getting into.

In any case, she was Anduin's champion now. Maybe Wrathion would come back for her wedding. Maybe Wrathion would envy Midha like he did. Maybe Wrathion would settle down, too.

A week later, when his trajectory faltered and his heart had finally started to slow down, he went out to Lion's Rest.

He asked his father for guidance, and heard the wingbeats of the Mawsworn.

...Now we arrive at Dragonflight.

There are two factors which shift the dynamic in Dragonflight: first of all, Wrathion has a family. The days of being asked whether Midha's a black dragon too are largely over: the other black dragons are right there at the Citadel.

Second of all, Anduin is gone. Wrathion's lost the devil he knows, and replaced him with a dozen devils he doesn't.

In Dragonflight, the relationship between Wrathion and Midha can best be described as overt.

Baskilian pulls Midha aside to warn her about Wrathion, and Wrathion responds by inviting her out on a canoe trip. He asks about Anduin, and when Midha explains in the politest, vaguest terms possible, he breaks aloud: "What he's done to you, he's done to me."

"I could still look through your eyes if I wished to, champion."

"All the care you should have for yourself is mine."

"Our two comprise the only one on Azeroth."

"If it must be someone, then let it be you!"

It's only one night. He holds Midha for so long she nods off against his chest. In the morning, they've washed ashore near the Ruby Life Pools.

Of course, he isn't the only black dragon anymore. And even if he were, his isn't the only flight. And even if it were... there's still Stormwind.

After another long excursion, Midha returns to the Citadel and apologizes. "There's the Mother Oathstone, and Stormwind, too."

He's not sure if what he does next is premeditated.

In what Wrathion calls a 'fit of the dual soul,' he breaks into an outraged laugh-- and then grabs Midha and forcibly kisses her.

"Tell them. Tell whoever would do the same to you: that I've fully lost my mind. That I've laid claim to you, and I will not allow so much as a word to spread against it.

Some will be revolted, yes! But they will revile me, and count you as a casualty."

When he comes to, he goes to bathe in lava.

He does it again, of course. Midha doesn't know how to stop him, or if she even should. There are broodmothers smaller than Wrathion: drakes are always enlisted where dragons are scarce. And she suspects it's nothing but jealousy: pure, white-knuckled loneliness, and maybe it's the fault of the knuckle-white Sha that seems to ruin everything she doesn't leave behind.

He kisses her so often that Sabellian catches him, and scolds him: "You flout nature like a hand-reared pigeon after its master."

And Wrathion responds: "She is my sister, Sabellian."

"How fortunate," Wrathion says, "that you may never understand. To be a son of one's daughter. A creation of one's creation."

Wrathion's prayer: It will have to be someone. Let it be her.

Midha's prayers have stopped.

Of course, there will always be more to complicate the dynamic. But that's for when I talk about Zafirria and Anduin.