#sacred pyre

[sammbag]

Cursed Relics 2022 drawing challenge pt 7 - “TEMPLE”

[blue-genius]

Day 2724 Seraphim Pyre - - #daily #digital #art #drawing #flame #fire #pyre #sacred #angelic #seraph https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp59NHfqLU5/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[haematinon]

Illustration created for my upcoming new book, Ergo Cosmos!

"The first of the alchemists was he who set fire to the pyre upon which the Veiled Lady burned. To atone for such a sin, all those who are privy to the Highest Secrets swear to use the hand of will exclusively to restrain evil, and the hand of intuition only to perform good deeds. From this sorrowful figure derives the name of this sacred commitment, which is commonly known as the Oath of Minos."

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Born to Die (Supercorp half bake)

Lena's family must offer a maiden to sacrfice to protect the realm. Lena is raised for the slaughter, but the community and religion indoctrinates her to believe death is a friend, that it is a privilege for her to serve her community in such a way. She lives her life in service to others-- helping the ill and wounded, feeding the homeless, toys to schools, etc. The realm loves and reveres her.

The first time she doubts her life's purpose is three weeks before her 18th birthday, and the date of her welcome death. She and her brother are arguing, and he says something along the lines of "we won't have to worry about what you think for much longer".

It's the first time her role has been cast in such a light-- so dismissive and cruel. A punishment, rather than a purpose. In the days that follow, she sees her world and her life in a new light. She is honored, yes, but as little more than an ornament with a limited shelf life. She has no real impact, no power-- not even within her own family.

When the time comes, she is taken up to the crest of the sacred hill. She knows she is to be burned-- not a peaceful way to go, but part of the ritual is for her to sip from the chalice, willingly drinking the elixir that will spare her the pain.

Only one person is permitted to accompany her up the hill and light the pyre, long ago decided to be her brother Lex. But when Lena sips from the chalice, she only mimes the act of doing so-- her first act of rebellion, of doubt, to keep her mind sharp.

Lex leads her to the hill. From the crest her pyre would be seen for leagues... a concept that now strikes apprehension into her soul. Is this what fear feels like?

When the pyre comes into view, already prepared with fresh bushels of hay and reads and sticks, Lena stops short. She turns to her brother.

"I can't do this, Lex."

Lex turns to her. "Yes you can. You've got to."

Lena swallows thickly. "I don't want to." She takes a thick breath.

"You don't want to?" Lex's features turn cold, full of icy rage. He leans in close to her fact. "Your whole rotten life you've been treated like a saint, and this is how you repay us?"

"Let go of me," Lena says as his hand tightens painfully around hers. "Lex, let me go--!"

She barely registers the rush of displaced air before her brother's fist slams into the side of her head, knocking senseless.

Minutes later, when she blinks back into awareness, Lena is on the pyre, hands bound around the post pressing against her back. Panic grips her when she sees the lit torch in Lex's hand.

"Brother, please! Please don't do this! I don't want to die!!"

"All your exalted life, you've only ever been good for one thing," Lex says stonily. "And now you won't even do that much."

"Lex!" Lena shrieks, yanking sharply against her bonds. "Don't, please!"

"Time to die, sister."

With a casual toss he lobs the torch onto the pyre. He doesn't even stop to look back when Lena screeches as the first of the flames lick at her bare feet.

---

Unknown to either of the royal siblings, the hill isn't as empty as they believe it to be. A forager keen on scavenging uncommon herbs and plants overhears Lena's shrieks and immediately sprints towards them. She arrives just as the flames catch and climb Lena's shift, reaching almost to her hip as Lena's screams hit a ragged pitch.

Without thinking the forager leaps onto the last patch of uncaught pyre and uses her knife to slice away Lena's bonds. She grabs Lena and pitches them both backwards off the edge of the pyre. She moves quickly to smother the fire that comes with them, clinging to Lena's cloak, but it doesn't take long to know that it may yet be too little, too late.

Lena no longer screams, but her breath comes in short sharp rasps, her body wracking with tremors against the pain of the burns that have blistered her bare feet and legs.

"It's going to be okay," the forager stutters, panic making her own hands shake as violently as Lena's, which curl tightly into the woman's blouse. "I'll take you to someone who can help. Just stay with me."

---

True to her word, the woman manages to carry Lena down the far side of the hill to a small village in the valley beyond. Lena isn't aware of much of the journey nor their arrival. Just the shout of her savior's voice as she calls for another, and the disorientation of being deposited on a small cot.

The pain is all she knows, and the world around her fades in and out, but always a hand grasps hers in a solid, gentle grip. When she has the werewithal to wonder, she thinks this might be what death was supposed to be like: a stranger's hand extended in comfort.

One morning, Lena wakes fully. The pain is still there, low and throbbing and agonizing-- but she can think past it, and experience a world the world that still exists beyond it. She sees a woman next to her cot, slumped dozing in a chair with her ankles crossed and bandages on her hands.

Beyond her, a simple cabin takes shape, slowing coming into focus. Another woman with dark hair busies herself with setting dishes upon a wooden table, and a third, older woman stirs a pot hung above a hearthed fire.

The older woman turns to say something to the dark haired woman-- her daughter, perhaps?-- but stops short when she spots Lena watching.

"Oh! You're awake! Praise the gods..."

The bandaged woman at her bedside, presumably her savior, jolts awake at the exclamation. Clear blue eyes flash towards the older woman, then across to Lena.

"Wh--" Lena's questions dies in her parched throat, consumed by a deep, hacking cough that leaves her winded and gasping.

In an instant, her savior is at her side, lifting a wooden cup to Lena's lips. Cool, clear water coats her tongue and throat, making her sputter briefly before she begins to gulp.

Even that much saps most of Lena's strength. Her eyelids begin to droop even as clothbound palms cover Lena's hand.

"I'm Kara," her savior says, before motioning to her companions, "and this is Alex and Eliza."

Lena's brain struggles to make sense of the names, of her surroundings, of the events that have led her to this cot in a strange hut. Her eyes grow ever heavier, and struggles to remain awake.

"It's all right," Kara murmurs, stroking hair from Lena's sweat slicked forehead. "You're safe here."

Thus comforted, Lena slips back into the embrace of unconsciousness.

[shadowdaddies]

Holiday Traditions

Lucien x fem!Reader fluff

Summary: Reader finds Lucien preparing for some of his childhood Autumn Equinox traditions, and decides to surprise him.

Wind whipped softly at your cheeks, late September air bringing a much needed reprieve from the exhausting heat August had brought this year. You smiled at the sight of a leaf, twirling in the breeze as it floated down from its branch to join the others scattered about the forest floor in a kaleidoscope of greens, oranges, and yellows. 

The sound of rustling foliage pulled your attention from the path to the Exiles’ Manor. A familiar head of long flaming hair brought a smile to your lips, his presence drawing you like a moth to the flame. 

Hearing the sound of your approach, Lucien looked over his shoulder from where he knelt on the ground, his returning smile sending heat pooling in your belly. You glanced beyond him to the small structure in front of him. A small structure had been built, its fine craftsmanship an indication of who had crafted the object. Lucien’s golden complexion flushed slightly at your curious gaze, your eyes roving eagerly over the small pyre he’d built, decorated beautifully with an assortment of berries, nuts, and what seized your attention most - two cornhusk dolls laid together at the front.

Kneeling in front of the arrangement, you reached a hand out and twined Lucien’s fingers through your own. “What is this?” you whispered, voice soft with awe.

Lucien squirmed slightly, a rare moment of self consciousness showing behind his charming facade. “It’s a Mabon Altar,” he nodded, reaching out to brush away a leaf that had fallen over the display. “It’s an Autumn Court tradition.”

His gaze flicked to yours, studying your reaction. “Each year, we - they - celebrate the Equinox with rituals, to honor the Mother, and to ask her for prosperity, protection, and balance.” He laughed dryly at his own words, mouth twisting into a wry smile as you carefully picked up one of the corn husk dolls. 

“My mother holds the traditions very sacred. The dolls are supposed to represent those we love, to pray for their good fortune.” Gaze swinging to the other doll which still sat on the earth, amber eye swam with emotion. “I hardly believe that,” he swallowed thickly, “but my mother always made dolls for each of my brothers and me. And one like this.” 

He held the doll, pulling it closer so you could see the intricate details Lucien had worked to cut and carve. The doll was darker than the one in your hand, the corn husk itself nearly as dark as the soil, while parts of it were painted gold as though to resemble the doll’s clothing. You looked to the doll in your own hand, studying the lighter hue of its husk, shades of red so much like Lucien’s. “This one is your mother?” you questioned softly.

Lucien nodded, a mournful smile playing on his lips. “It meant so much to her to create these each year. It makes me feel closer to her - even if I can’t be there in Autumn with her.”

Pulling your hand from his, you intertwined your arms and leaned against his warm frame. “And who is that?” you prodded, gently taking the other doll from him.

“I don’t know. I think it was just an idea of my mother’s - a symbol of hope for protection, or her future.” 

Setting the corn husk back in its place, you leaned to press a kiss to Lucien’s cheek. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I hope I can be here to celebrate the Equinox with you, if that is okay.”

His answering smile stole the air from your lungs, unbridled joy casting a ray of sunshine through him as Lucien stole your lips for another, deep kiss. “I can think of nothing that I would love more,” he purred, your insides melting at the suggestive tone. 

~~~

You were lounging on the pink sofa in Lucien’s lap days later when Twilight began to darken the sky. Flashing a conspiratorial grin to Vassa and Jurian, you excused yourself to your room, smiling at Lucien’s groan when the other two quickly did the same. 

In your room, you hurriedly grabbed the burgundy dress from your wardrobe, applying rouge to your lips before giving yourself an assessing look in the mirror. 

Yesterday during your visit to the Day Court on emissary business, you had asked Helion about the library’s books on Autumn Court’s Equinox traditions. The High Lord had shocked you by knowing plenty about their traditions himself, recalling the feast they had each year with different foods to represent the different Houses.

The way in which Helion spoke about the rituals held such a reverence, you couldn’t help but grow more excited to surprise Lucien with a party. You had thanked Helion - who bid you farewell with a mournful smile that oddly reminded you of Lucien’s - eager to race home and begin planning.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you swiped the final touches of makeup across your eyes before turning back to the living room.

“My vixen, you couldn’t stay away for-“

Whatever witty remark Lucien had planned died in his throat, mouth agape as he took you in. You were indeed the vixen, your dark red lips matching the tight fabric that donned your figure like a siren’s call to the male in front of you. Moving as though in a trance, Lucien swiftly stood from the couch, his hands finding purchase on your waist, shamelessly trailing up your body to feel the curves you’d put on display.

“What is this?” Lucien asked, his voice practically a growl with the self restraint he barely clung to. 

“This,” you purred, stepping back to offer him the full view of your body once more, “is what I wear to a party.” 

“A party?” he echoed, tongue flicking out over his bottom lip in intrigue. You simply hummed in response, lacing his fingers in your own as you led him towards the front door with a playful wink over your shoulder.

Opening the door of the manor, you smiled at how incredibly Vassa had pulled together the evening. Fae lights glowed like fireflies throughout the trees, illuminating the table that was set with an ornate dinner and fae wine. A symphonia played the gentle tune of a familiar orchestra, setting the mood for Jurian and Vassa as they swayed on the makeshift dance floor. 

“What is this?” Lucien breathed, hand still tight around your own. 

Smiling brightly at the wonder in his expression, you led him to the table where the others were now taking their seats. “I learned a bit more about Equinox traditions, and I wanted to surprise you with some new memories of a special holiday for you.”

Jurian coughed from across the table, earning an elbow to the ribs from Vassa and an eye roll from you. “Vassa helped a lot... And Jurian a little bit, as well,” you teased in response to the latter’s outraged expression.

“Thank you all, very much,” Lucien murmured, voice thick with emotion. You leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek before filling his plate with traditional Autumn celebration foods, laughing and drinking with your friends late into the night until the moon was high in the sky. 

“It’s time,” you whispered from where you leaned against Lucien’s warm chest. As midnight approached, you followed the path to Lucien’s altar, whispering your own silent prayers from behind as he lit the pyre with a flick of his wrist. 

Turning to face you, Lucien stood aglow in the firelight, his amber eyes and bright hair glowing like the sun. You smiled bashfully at his beauty, still in place as he walked up to you, and right past you. 

Stunned, you turned over your shoulder to find him standing on the dance floor, poised in a dramatic bow with his hand outstretched in askance. “My cunning vixen, will you do me the greatest honor of dancing with me?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, earning a mischievous wink as Lucien spun you into his arms, your chest flush against his, hearts beating as one. The fire burned a soft crackle, illuminating the dark night as the symphonia began to play a slower sort of melody. “Thank you for sharing your holiday with me,” you murmured, cheek laid against Lucien’s chest as you swayed.

Lips pressed gently to the top of your head, lingering there for a long moment. Pulling away slightly, Lucien’s hand tucked under your chin as he guided your face to look at his. “Thank you for giving me new, sweet memories, every day,” he murmured, eyes glowing with emotion before they flicked downward, suddenly turning dark.

Wandering hands found their way back to you, Lucien pulling you impossibly close as his hands squeezed your ass appreciatively. “There is one part of you that will always be the sweetest, though,” he purred, leaning down to tug your earlobe between his teeth. “And I won’t be sleeping until I’ve had a taste.” Before you could react, Lucien tossed you over his shoulder, one hand holding you still as the other moved precariously further beneath your dress while he strode back towards the manor.

A Happy Equinox, indeed.

[serpentface]

Hibrides at the annual Rites to Anaemache on the Brilla River, checking to make sure she's doing this right. (Feat. a rather docile captive-bred leucistic hespaean, which has no fucking idea that it's a valuable offering and is about to die).

The hand position here is one of three key gestures against evil, a basic method of self-purification that can dispel minor evils, in this case being used to purify oneself before entering the sanctified riverbank.

Under normal conditions, yearly festivals are held during the peak of the dry season throughout Imperial Wardin, taking place at one or more temples to Anaemache that can be found on the banks of each major river. Anaemache is the Face of God that looks upon fresh water, rivers, rains, seasonal flooding, cyclic fertility, fertility of wild plants, the fertility of crops, female fertility, and pregnancies.

The rites have a set date at each temple (which may differ across the region due to variance in the average timing of the wet season), and take place over a full day, from one sunrise to the next.

The rites have a dual function. It takes place at the height of the dry season to encourage the return of the rains and the health of the river via the mass offerings that occur, and to impart Anaemache's blessings onto attendants. Most attendees are women, though farmers and other agricultural laborers will often attend regardless of gender. It is considered ideal for all women of marriageable age (a category which includes young girls who have reached menarche) to attend yearly to ensure their fertility, but this often lengthy journey is impractical for the average person to take every year, and in practice most women who attend for personal fertility matters are those who are pregnant or actively seeking pregnancy.

Most bring offerings to the river, the most basic of which can be grains, fruits, spices, or flowers (it must be a seasonal growth, ideally one that requires the rains to occur), and the best of which are sacred animals to Anaemache such as the reed duck or hespaean. Sacrificial stock vendors will often set up camp near the river temples (though are banned from temple grounds) at this time of year to hawk live animals to pilgrims, which can be a very lucrative job when done correctly. Other vendors will sell dried flowers, grains, spices and fruit for the same purposes (a less lucrative but often more stable job).

Offerings of plant matter are cast into the river directly by the pilgrims, while animal offerings are brought to a temple priest (usually set up downriver to the rest of the crowd, they must remain in the river from the start of the rites to the end) to be properly sacrificed. The animal must first be blessed and invoked as Anaemache Itself (as it is replicating God's sacrifice in creation and becomes It at the moment of death). The act is done with a quick and deep slice across the throat, allowing all of the blood to flow directly into the river. A priest will anoint the offerer's tongue with a single droplet- the animal has become the River Face of God and its blood imparts a strong blessing, taken into the body for the effects to become physical and binding.

Important parts of the sanctified body are removed for use among the temple priesthood (in this case, mostly feathers), and the rest of the corpse is placed on a continuously maintained pyre to be burned. The ashes will be collected and scattered into the river after sunrise to mark the end of the rite.

Sacrificial river animals are liable to escape into the river when brought en-masse, and one that does is considered to have been spared and blessed by Anaemache and will be left alone. Populations of water birds around these temples will often display striking and unusual coloration due to genetic input from escaped domestic/captive bred animals.

Regardless of what one offers, the offering must be made before the offerer touches the water. The participant will then remove some or most of their clothing (the minimum is shoes, the maximum is everything BUT underwear- full genital-baring nudity is socially problematic and metaphysically vulnerable when in public, and thus avoided) and enter the water. One should ideally fully submerge themself, but touching the silt with bare feet is adequate. It is then that the participants say their prayers and ask for any specific blessings- a pregnancy, the safe delivery of a child, a bountiful harvest, fruitful trees, clean drinking water, plentiful grazing, a good stock of fish, etc.

After one says their prayers and leaves the water, their part in the rite is over and they are free to go home, or alternatively stop by the celebrations that frequently crop up along the roads. In a good year, food and drink vendors, traders, the mass of pilgrims, and other opportunists will amass and form temporary mini-towns along the roadsides (or temporarily invade nearby villages), which can be excellent places to eat, drink and/or hook up.

Hibrides has shelled out a significant amount of money to a street sacrifice vendor for a near-perfect offering, to pray that she will be blessed with a healthy pregnancy and bear a boy, mostly so that she can be done having children. The rains have been inadequate (or have outright failed) for five years at this point, and the Brilla river is scarcely more than mud. God doesn't seem to be here at all. She doesn't have her hopes up.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Dictionary of Esoteric Terminology

for your next poem/story (pt. 3)

Esoteric—designed for or understood by the specially initiated alone; may refer to the occult

Athame - a ritual dagger used in Witchcraft and Neo-paganism; has a black handle which is inscribed with symbols

Brahmarandhra - the "Gate of Purity"; a spot at the top of the head described as a hidden aperture; according to some, this spot is the exit for the enlightened soul upon the death of the body

Cromlech - a circle made of vertical stones, associated with Celtic worship of the Sun

Dark night of the soul - a phrase used by St. John of the Cross to describe the depression, isolation, and alienation which afflicts some mystics just prior to the realization of transcendence; hence the saying, "It is always darkest before the dawn"

Dracontia - many temples and sacred sites have been associated with dragons, probably because of their connection with primeval earth forces

Dweller on the threshold - a hostile spirit or being peculiar to each individual, comprised of the accumulated "bad karma" of that individual; such a being could be thought of as the personification of all that holds the seeker back from enlightenment; in this sense, it is like a negative Holy Guardian Angel

Ecstasy - "to cause to stand out"; a state beyond or outside reason and rationality; speaking in tongues may be thought of as an ecstatic trance

Flying ointments - lotion or cremes used to facilitate astral or etheric projection. These mixtures usually contain potent psychedelic agents such as belladonna, henbane, and mandrake

Genii - in Islamic tradition, they are an intermediate race of spirits between angels and people, who ruled the earth before Adam; also known as djinn, genn, or ginn

Hsuan te - virtue through emptiness; the cultivation of one's original nature

I shin den shin - "from my soul to your soul"; direct transmission without words

Khu - literally "clear" or "luminous"; the ancient Egyptian word for the immortal part of the soul; the causal body; symbolized by a plume of flame

Left-hand path - defined by some as the path of black magic; others, as the paths which stress doing and action over being and stillness; most magic systems tend towards the left hand path; most religions tend towards the right-hand path

Lustration - from Latin lustratus, "to brighten"; a ritual purification using water; rituals involving baptism or holy water are examples

Menstruum - an alchemical term for that from which all metals are derived; also mercury wherein gold is dissolved; "Our Water is a fire and a salt. This fire is the true Universal Menstruum of Vegetables, stronger than the fire of wood, since it transmutes the physical gold into a spirit."

Nagas - serpent spirits in Hindu mythology who lived in vast and beautiful temples and palaces beneath the earth

Ouroboros - the snake devouring its own tail; a Gnostic and alchemical symbol of cyclical nature, eternity, or the transcendence of duality; sometimes also used to symbolize the world of illusion

Phoenix - a mythical bird of incredible beauty; is the only one of its kind, living in the deepest desert, until at the end of its 500-year span it dies and is consumed in the funeral pyre of its own nest, then it rises from the ashes in the freshness of youth; generally considered to be a symbol of resurrection, immortality, and spiritual transformation

Prasad - the practice of offering sweets, fruit, or other food to a saint or deity

Pretas - the "hungry ghosts" of Buddhist and Hindu mythology; the ghosts of those who died burdened with great desire and are generally considered to be malevolent; supposedly they are continuously thirsty and hungry, but are unable to eat or drink; described as having huge distended bellies and pencil thin necks

Ruach - breath, wind, or spirit; represents the part of the soul which is the rational mind and the powers of reason; also refers to God's ineffable soul which He breathed into man at creation, thus making man in His image

Secret fire - an alchemical term for the hidden or elemental Fire

Simulacrum - an image used in sympathetic (imitative) magic that is considered to be the magical double of the thing represented; a "voodoo doll" would be an example of a crude simulacrum; in ancient Egypt, simulacra of slaves, animals, and other possibly helpful beings were entombed with their deceased owner; also used by some to describe the visualized vehicle or "body of light" used in astral projection

Speculum - any light refracting or shiny surface which can provide a focus for the attention; mirrors, bowls of water, and crystal balls have all been commonly used as speculi

Theurgy - from the Greek words theos, "god," and ergon, "work"; magic used to grow closer to God or become more godlike, to make changes for personal evolution and spiritual growth; the sacrament of the host could be considered a form of theurgy

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists

[vigilskeep]

why the kirkwall chantry is dedicated to hessarian, and why that gives us more than just a cooler name for it with a sexy accusatory nickname for anders in there somewhere: an illustrated guide!

(wait, wait, please remind me who hessarian even is, i hear you ask. hessarian was the tevinter archon who ordered andraste’s execution on the pyre. but struck with guilt at the last minute, he mercifully (i GUESS) killed andraste with a sword rather than let her suffer in the fire. he converted to andrastianism a decade later and took the rest of the imperium with him. he’s really popular in tevinter because, you know, he kind of improves their whole role in the story, and the chantry there likes to think he’s the most important disciple. you may recognise him from being one of the spirits in the urn of sacred ashes gauntlet, from the lore behind the blade of mercy gift for fenris, and the ‘blades of hessarian’ group on the storm coast in inquisition.)

okay, let’s first get the basics down: why do i think the kirkwall chantry is dedicated to hessarian? merrill, our glamorous tour guide to andrastian nonsense, is going to show us why

here’s merrill examing the architecture of the kirkwall chantry. and it’s covered in this guy!

how do we know this guy is hessarian? let’s compare it to some other, canonical andrastion depictions of the latecomer disciple. hessarian is typically depicted with some type of crown or headwear to demonstrate his status in tevinter, robes to denote him as a mage, a long beard probably also symbolic of tevinter culture at the time, and, of course, his blade of mercy. we can see all of these on the figure repeatedly shown in and outside the kirkwall chantry, as well as a certain similarity in the face to the other depictions.

here’s another variant of how the kirkwall chantry depicts the blade of mercy! these are Everywhere, including right over the doors.

and here’s more variants of the same figure inside. he’s carrying some kind of incense burner instead of a sword here, but it’s clearly the same face with the same crown and that classic hessarian beard. note his position of power flanking the enormous andraste figure.

so... why does that matter? isn’t it just a repeated asset?

no, it’s CRAZY actually. and here’s a couple reasons why!

(fascinated by genitivi’s word choice of glitzy mansions, btw.)

firstly, the kirkwall chantry’s dedication to hessarian’s figure is one of the biggest markers that it, along with the gallows and the darkspawn, is a legacy of tevinter. as i said, he’s the favourite there. kirkwall was once emerius under tevinter’s rule, and from the moment we see the weeping twins that welcome you into the city, we’re supposed to remember that the city of chains has not changed all that much. just as emerius’ prisons now incarcerate mages, its industry is now powered by refugees, and the worst parts of its lowtown hold elves probably just as they once did, its magisters’ estates continue to hold the most powerful voices in the city: in this case, that of the chantry and grand cleric elthina. the hessarian statues that demonstrate the chantry’s wealth and power are inarguably either tevinter made or at least made in their style, with such similarity to the statues of slaves that terrorise the gallows courtyard. hightown is no more free of that inheritance than the circle.

secondly, the focus on hessarian can’t be an accident in dragon age 2, a game obsessed with the mercy kill. “without an end, there can be no peace,” says flemeth. somebody has to kill wesley rather than watch him turn into a ghoul. anders has to kill karl. hawke possibly has to kill their other sibling if they catch the taint in the deep roads. varric can kill bartrand when he goes insane. killing the serial killer of elven children rather than letting his madness continue is one of the most universally approved decisions in the game. in her last words, leandra thanks you for ending the mage keeping her alive with twisted necromancy, even if, and especially because, it means the end of her suffering in death. merrill has to kill a possessed keeper marethari. many more can be killed for being “too dangerous” to live, like the blood mage idunna. orsino is slain by hawke after transforming into a monster he would never have wanted to be. there’s probably a dozen more examples i can think of. and of course, in one of the most game-defining decisions hawke has to make, there’s the option to kill anders after the destruction of the kirkwall chantry. merciful is not the word i would use for that, but it has certainly been framed that way. i suppose that’s the same as what i think of hessarian’s actions, isn’t it? (we’re focusing on the andrastian relevance here and not the godawful treatment of mentally ill people in this game, btw, although. yikes.)

“don’t compare yourself to andraste,” says sebastian to anders. he could try telling the game that. hawke gets cast into a lot of roles, but when anders believes they will kill him, he’s casting himself as the martyred andraste, dying to burn rebellion into the face of thedas, and hawke as his hessarian, quick with the merciful blade. i suppose it’s fitting that the kirkwall chantry should be consecrated in the image of its champion. and that the chantry covered in that image gets destroyed moments before hawke makes their choice, if they decide to make a different one. it’s also worth mentioning that meredith is a mimic of andraste, too, with her stolen crown, making anders and meredith obvious combatants for andraste’s legacy in the game. hawke doesn’t get much command of the narrative, but maybe they can at least dodge being anders’ hessarian, if they choose.

idk i think it’s really fucking cool and we should talk about it more, basically! there’s a lot of other angles to take. hessarian is such a fun lore figure to explore. for example, i didn’t even get into the prominence of an andrastian mage figure here, or that the blade of mercy is the symbol of the templar order and was invoked even earlier, in dao, as the “blade of mercy” by traumatised mages who desperately sought to be purified by the templars’ judgement.

also, i think ‘the chantry of hessarian’s mercy’ sounds good. maybe ‘the chantry of our lady’s spilled blood’? that could be sexy. whatever. i’m workshopping it

[vlepkaaday]

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war... and Pokémon battles. Sister Miriam of the Order of the Sacred Pyre was preparing for a grand Pokémon tournament on the planet Sanctum Prime. Clad in her battle armor adorned with holy symbols, she turned her attention to her three trusty Pokémon: Dragapult, Servo Jigglypuff, and Spewpa.

Dragapult hovered menacingly in the air, its translucent, spectral form now gleaming with custom stained-glass decorations and the Inquisition’s insignia. „You’re a beacon of the Emperor’s light, Dragapult,” Sister Miriam said, admiring the way the stained glass cast colorful reflections on the grimy walls of the training chamber.

I already did a similar picture some time ago butnie was black and whites I liked it so much I redid the whole thing in colour. I especially like the servo skull jigglypuff xD

______

[audreyscribes]

PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS [BONUS!]

🔥 HESTIA: Goddess of the Hearth 🏠

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

Alright bear with me on this take: The fact that Hades gets a cabin finally. Hera doesn’t have any demigod children yet still has a cabin because of propriety and based on principle, which makes her cabin essentially a temple, so why not the same for Hestia?  While Hestia may not have a need for a cabin or anything, but if the rest of the major gods have a structure, it might've felt uneasy for everyone that Hestia is the only one left that doesn't have one. So they erect one on the fact unless Hestia herself explicitly says she doesn't want one.

Hestia is the goddess of the Hearth and every offering/sacrifice offered to the gods, a bit of it always goes to her too. She also presides over the home and community.

Although this is mainly connected with h er Roman counterpart, Vesta, she has something similar to Artemis’ hunters but less aggressive and non-violent, called “The Vestal Virgins” who tend to the sacred fire in the Temple of Vesta. Essentially, you’re priestesses of Hestia. 

Any demigod, mortal who can see through the mist, or what have you, are allowed to become as Hestia’s priestesses, who follow the same oath of maidenhood, swearing off romance, and etc. It's not uncommon to have mortals who were sisters or cousins, to either to the mortal parent of the demigod, or the demigod themselves, enter as Hestia's priestess.

You help maintain the sacrificial fire that is set up at the campfire, at the dining hall, and later the one in the Hestia’s cabin/temple. 

It’s pretty straightforward. You do your duties that fall underneath Hestia’s domain, helping out with also maintaining the camp along with the Nymphs. Doing what you can for the community.

Children and those entering the household were blessed by Hestia, around the fire, showering them in nuts and figs. This also applies to any children entering camp at a young age or any staff members employed into Camp Half-blood. 

You help bless any new babies that are born in Camp Half-blood, or rarely brought forward by former camp members. Oftentimes, the babies are baby satyrs and you work together with the children of Hebe who help take care of them as a daycare situation.

On a sombre note: you also are in charge with the funerals, with helping prepare the funeral pyres, and each shroud. You put out the fire at their deaths and rekindle it once more.

Your place is also the place to be for cooking and baking. Hestia’s domain is the hearth, which was also used to cook, so the kitchen is also her domain. This leads to so much baked and cooked food, that is separate from the mountain of food cooked for the dining pavilion. You often then not have a never ending line of people asking for some goodies. Hey, all growing heroes need to eat! 

You also have to fend and cap off the satyrs. Your kitchenware are not safe.  

The Winter Solstices, Christmas, Harvest festival, Thanksgiving, all those kinds of days are your ALL HANDS ON DECK moments. So much food. So much preparation and decoration to do! You often employ other camp members to help out with the events from the cooking to decoration. Their payment? Little sneaky treats.

You wondered before how the sacrificial fire was maintained and taken care of before you all came to be. Sure it was technically magical/spiritual fire and a portion of it could’ve been taken from Mount Olympus long ago to Camp Half-blood, but still-

Then you see a little girl with brown hair and brown eyes helping tend to the fire. You weren’t sure but you all worked together with her until one day, you saw her eyes light up with fire.

You breathed in the smoke and heat of the crackling blazer. The fire was high and roaring yet despite the dangers of it, you weren’t afraid of getting burnt. Perhaps it is because you’ve been tending to the fire for a while now, so you were sure how close was too close. Or was it because you had a feeling this was Hestia’s fire and knew you wouldn’t be harmed by it as you serve in her name and domain. 

You had just finished up helping with the food rotation, and you were on baking duty. You and your other fellow members worked alongside the nymphs and dryads,  The table was laden out with food for the incoming hungry campers, and the sneaky hands of Satyrs. 

You poured the oil into the blazer and the fires roared even higher. You watch the embers fly up into the darkening sky filled with the sunset hues. 

“A wonderful fire” you heard as you turned. You saw the little girl with brown hair, and brown eyes right beside you , and you almost jumped into the fire. You weren’t afraid of getting burnt but surely jumping into the blazer would still be a big no-no. 

The girl giggled as you placed a hand on your beating heart. “Um…yeah, yes, the fire is wonderful” you stammered out a reply. 

The girl smiled at you and gestured to you to come closer. You did and she reached into her robe to pull out a treat. Your favourite treat. Your mouth watered and it smelled just right. 

“For you. Wonderful work (y/n), I hope you continue to warm others with our hearth” she said as you took the treat. You looked her in the eye and her brown eyes lit with fire. You widen your eyes, your body stiffening as you realise who you were talking to. 

Hestia gave you one last, warm smile, before she disappeared into embers.

[antlerlad]

and like every other solavellan artist, i have fallen into the arlathan au pit. menae is one of sylaise's firekeepers, an order of individuals who take the duty of keeping arlathan's hearths and pyres burning very seriously, and she does not trust the intentions of fen'harel one bit. some details under the cut, including costume design notes

the firekeepers keep arlathan warm, keep the hearths and stoves lit to feed and harbour the thousands of citizens in the kingdom. they also perform sacred rites and ceremonies related to the fire. they're sylaise's firekeepers first, but they work fairly frequently under elgar'nan as well (nobody likes this) on account of him being the god of the sun, which is uh. made of fire.

solas sees menae stand up to elgar'nan at some point (she's lucky she's not executed on the spot, but she's one of sylaise's favourites and next in line to be high priestess of the firekeepers and he wouldn't dare touch her) and takes interest in her. menae does not trust this at all - he's evanuris, and she's seen how they treat people of her caste. she would not let him near her brothers and sisters of the hearth, so she's very hostile to him. he's more interested in recruiting her for his rebellion, and she's absolutely down to join once he can get past her hostility and actually have a conversation with her in private.

i like the idea of menae being a born elf and not a spirit given a body, but if she was a spirit she'd be a spirit of courage because she does what she feels is right despite feeling absolute terror at the thought. the modern version of her as inquisitor is also like this. she is absolutely terrified and wretched the entire duration of inquisition, but she does what she must anyway, because nobody else can, and she does it with a smile on her face because that's what the people need to see even if she spends all her free time locked in her quarters crying and throwing up.

[mask131]

About Tanit

I recently posted about how people should be looking more into other gods outside of the Greco-Roman pantheons. If you follow me for quite some times, you will also have noted I posted a bunch of loose translation from the French Dictionary of literary myths (which is truly a great reference). Well, I wanted to share with you today a loose translation – well, more of an info-mining at this point – of an article about a goddess that people often ignore the existence of, despite being located right next to Ancient Greece and Rome, and being involved in the history of the Roman Empire. And this goddess is Tanit.

Written by Ildiko Lorinszky, the article is organized in two – at first it takes a look and analysis at the mythological Tanit, at who and what she likely was, how her cult was organized all that. The second part, since it is a Dictionary of LITERARY myths, takes a look at the most prominent and famous depiction of Tanit in French literature – that is to say Flaubert’s famous Salammbô. (If you recalled, a long time ago I posted about how a journalist theorized in an article how Flaubert’s Salammbô was basically an “epic fantasy” novel a la Moorcock or Tolkien long before “fantasy” was even a genre)

Part 1: Tanit in mythology and archeology

Tanit was the patron-goddess of the city of Carthage. Considered to be one of the avatars o the Phoenician goddess Astarte, Tanit’s title, as found on several Punic engravings, was “The Face of Baal” – a qualification very close to how Astarte was called in Sidon and Ugarit “The Name of Baal”. These titles seem to indicate that these two goddesses acted as mediators or intermediaries between humanity and Baal.

Tanit is as such associated with Baal, the vegetation god, but sometimes she is his wife, other times she is simply his paredra (companion/female counterpart). She seems to be the female power accompanying the personification of masculinity that is Baal, and as such their relationship can evoke the one between Isis and Osiris: the youthful sap of the lunar goddess regularly regenerates the power of the god. This “nursing” or “nourishing” function of Tanit seems to have been highlighted by the title she received during the Roman era: the Ops, or the Nutrix, the “Nurse of Saturn”. Goddess of the strengthened earth, Tanit is deeply tied to agrarian rituals: her hierogamy with Baal reproduces in heaven the birth of seeds on earth. Within the sanctuaries of Tanit, men and women devoted to the goddess practiced a sacred prostitution in order to favorize the fecundity of nature. The women tied to the temple were called “nubile girls”, while the men working there were called “dogs” to highlight how completely enslaved they were to the goddess. We know that the prostitutes of both sexes brought important incomes to the temple/

The etymology of Tanit (whose name can also be called Tannit or Tinnit) is obscure. The most probable hypothesis is that the Phoenico-Punic theonym “Tnt” is tied to the verb “tny”, which was used in the Bible to mean “lamenting”, “wailing”, “crying”. According to this interpretation, the “tannît” is originally a “crier”, a “wailer”, and the full name of Tanit means “She who cries before Baal”. As such, the Carthaginian goddess might come from a same tradition as the “Venus lugens”.

According to some mythographers, Tanit (or Astarte) was the supreme goddess of Carthage, and might have been identical to the figures of Dido and Elissa. As in, Dido was in truth the celestial goddess, considered as the founder of the city and its first queen. According to this hypothesis, the suicide of Dido on a pyre was a pure invention of Virgil, who took this motif from various celebrations hosted at Carthage. During these feasts-days, images and depictions of the goddess were burned The word Anna would simply mean “clement”, “mild”, “merciful” – the famous Anna, sister of Dido, is thought to have been another Punic goddess, whose cult was brought from Carthage to Rome, and who there was confused with the roman Anna Perenna, a goddess similar to Venus. Varro claimed that it was not Dido that burned on the pyre, but Anna, and according to this angle, Anna appears as a double of Dido – and like her, she would be another manifestation of the goddess Tanit. Anna’s very name reminds of the name “Nanaia”/”Aine”, which was a title given to Mylitta, yet another manifestation of Tanit.

The sign known as the “sign” or “symbol of Tanit” seems to be a simplified depiction of the goddess with her arms open: it is a triangle (reduced to a trapezoid as the top of the triangle is cut) with an horizontal line at its top, an a disc above the horizontal line. This symbol appears throughout the Punic world on monuments, steles, ceramics and clay figurines.

Part 2: The literary Tanit of Flaubert

Gustave Flaubert’s novel Salammbô is probably where the goddess reappears with the most splendor in literature. While her essence is shown being omnipresent throughout the Punic world, Tanit, as the soul of the city, truly dwells within the town’s sanctuary, which keeps her sacred cloak. The veil of the goddess, desired by many, stolen then regained throughout the plot, plays a key role within the structure of this very enigmatic text, which presents itself as a “veiled narrative”.

The town and its lands are filled with the soul of the “Carthaginian Venus”. The countryside, for example, is filled with an erotic subtext, sometimes seducing, sometimes frightening – reflecting the ambiguity of the goddess. The landscape is all curves, softness, roundness, evoking the shapes of a female body – and the architecture of both the city-buildings and countryside-buildings are described in carnal ways. Within Salammbô, Flaubert describes a world where the spirit and the flesh are intertwined – the female world of Carthage is oppressed by an aura mixing lust with mysticism; and through the erotic nature creeps both a frightening sacred and an attractive morbidity. For death and destruction is coming upon Carthage.

The contradictory nature of the goddess appears as early as the very first scene of the novel, when the gardens of Hamilcar are described. The novel opens on a life-filled landscape: the gardens of the palace are a true Land of Eden, with an abundant vegetation filled with fertility symbols. The plants that are listed are not mere exotic ornaments: they all bear symbolic and mythological connotations. The fig-tree, symbol of abundance and fecundity ; the sycamore, “living body of Hathor”, the tree of the Egyptian moon-goddess ; the grenade, symbol of fertility due to its multiple seeds ; the pine tree, linked to Attis the lover of Cybele ; the cypress, Artemis’ tree ; the lily, which whose perfume was said to be an aphrodisiac ; the vine-grapes and the rose… All those plants are linked to the moon, that the Carthaginian religion associated with Tanit. Most of these symbols, however, have a macabre touch reflecting the dark side of the goddess. The cypress, the “tree of life”, is also a funeral tree linked to the underworld ; the coral is said to be the same red as blood, and was supposedly born from the blood-drops of Medusa ; the lily symbolizes temptation and the unavoidable attraction of the world of the dead ; the fig-tree just like the grenade have a negative side tied to sterility… The flora of this passage, mixing benevolent and malevolent attributes, already depict a world of coexisting and yet opposed principles: fertility cannot exist without sterility, and death is always followed by a renewal. The garden’s description introduces in the text the very cycles of nature, while also bringing up the first signs of the ambivalence that dominates the story.

The same union of opposites is found within the mysterious persona of Tanit. The prayer of Salammbô (which was designed to evoke Lucius’ lamentations to Isis within Apuleius’ Metamorphosis) first describes a benevolent goddess of the moon, who fecundates the world : “How you turn, slowly, supported by the impalpable ether! It polishes itself around you, and it is the movement of your agitation that distributes the winds and the fecund dews. It is as you grow and decrease that the eyes of the cats and the spots of the panthers lengthen or shrink. The wives scream your name in the pains of labor! You inflate the sea-shells! You make the wines boil! […] And all seeds, o goddess, ferment within the dark depths of your humidity.” As a goddess presiding to the process of fermentation, Tanit is also tied to the principle of death – because it is her that makes corpses rot.

The Carthaginian Venus appears sometimes as an hermaphrodite divinity, but with a prevalence and dominance of her feminine aspect. Other times, she appears as just one of two distinct divinity, the female manifestation in couple with a male principle. Tanit synthetizes within her the main aspects of all the great moon-goddesses: Hathor, Ishtar, Isis, Astarte, Anaitis... All are supposed to have an omnipotence when it comes to the vegetal life. Mistress of the elements, Tanit can be linked to the Mother-Earth : for the character of Salammbô, the cloak of the goddess will appear as the veil of nature. The daughter of Hamilcar is linked in a quite mysterious way to Tanit – for she is both a frightened follower of the goddess, and the deity’s incarnation. Described as “pale” and “light” as the moon, she is said to be influenced by the celestial body: in the third chapter, it is explained that Salammbô weakened every time the moon waned, and that while she was languishing during the day, she strengthened herself by nightfall – with an additional mention that she almost died during an eclipse. Flaubert ties together his heroine’s traits with the very name “Salammbô”, which is a reminiscence of the funeral love of Astarte: “Astarte cries for Adonis, an immense grief weighs upon her. She searches. Salmmbô has a vague and mournful love”. According to Michelet’s explanations, “Salambo”, the “love name” of Astarte, is meant to evoke a “mad, dismal and furious flute, which was played during burials”.

As a character embodying Tanit, Salammbô is associated with the two animals that were sacred to the goddess: the holy fishes, and the python snake, also called “the house-spirit”. Upon the “day of the vengeance”, when Mâtho, the scape-goat, is charged with all the crimes of the mercenaries, she appears under the identity of Dercéto, the “fish-woman”. The very detailed costumes of Salammbô contain motifs borrowed to other goddesses that are avatars of Tanit. By using other goddesses, Flaubert widens the range of shapes the lunar goddess can appear with, while also bringing several mythical tales, whose scattered fragments infiltrate themselves within the novel. When she welcomes her father, Salammbô wears around her neck “two small quadrangular plates of gold depicting a woman between two lions ; and her costume reproduced fully the outfit of the goddess”. The goddess depicted here is Cybele, the passionate lover of Attis, the young Phrygian shepherd. This love story that ends in mutilations bears several analogies with the fatal love between Salammbô and the Lybian leader. And the motif of the mutilation is one of the key-images of the novel.

A fish-woman, like Dercéto, Salmmbô is also a dove-woman, reminding of Semiramis ; but more so, she is a snake-woman, linked mysteriously to the python. Before uniting herself with Mâtho (who is identified to Moloch), Salammbô unites herself with the snake that incarnates the lunar goddess in her hermaphroditic shape. It is the python that initiates Salammbô to the mysteries, revealing to Hamilcar’s daughter the unbreakable bond between eroticism and holiness. In the first drafts of the novel, Salammbô was a priestess of Tanit, but in the final story, Flaubert chose to have her father denying her access to the priesthood. So, she rather becomes a priestess under Mathô’s tent: using the zaïmph, she practices a sacred prostitution. The union of Hamilcar’s daughter and of the leader of the mercenaries reproduces the hierogamy of Tanit and Moloch.

Salammbô, confused with Tanit, is also victim of the jealous Rabbet. Obsessed with discovering the face of the goddess hidden under the veil, she joins the ranks of all those female characters who curiosity leads to the transgression of a divine rule (Eve, Pandora, Psyche, Semele). And, in a way, the story of Mathô and Salammbô reproduces this same story: the desire to see, the desire for knowledge, always leads to an ineluctable death.

[tylermileslockett]

Argonautica #9 "Bronze bulls and the Spartoi"

Book 3 continues with Jason, Mopsus the seer, and Argos on their way to meet Medea at the temple of Hekate. Hera, (transformed as a crow in a poplar tree) tell Mopsus to let Jason meet Medea alone, so Mopsus and Argos stay behind.

Outside the temple of Hekate, Jason implores Medea for help yoking the fire breathing bulls and the Spartoi warriors which will sprout from the dragon’s teeth. Jason recounts how Ariadne helped Theseus in the Minotaur’s labyrinth and the honors given to the maiden by the gods for her assistance. Medea offers the drug with instructions on the sacred rites to use it; Jason should purify his body in river water and sacrifice a sheep to Hekate upon a flaming pyre. Then anoint his naked body, shield, sword, and spear in the Prometheus drug ointment, which will make him impervious to harm for one full day. Jason, overwhelmed by her generosity, commits his life to her, offering to bring her back to Iolcos as his bride

The following day, wearing Ares armor, Jason rides to face his challenge to plow the field on the “Plain of Ares.” Here he is charged by two fire breathing bulls with bronze hooves, but he repels them with his shield. Surrounded by flames and smoke, he strikes the oxen down into submission and binds the yokes to their necks. He forces the roaring beasts on, ploughing the field and dropping the magic dragon’s teeth into the soil.

From the planted dragon’s teeth sprout the Spartoi: fully armed “earth-born” warriors. Remembering Medeas advice, Jason heaves a giant stone into their midst and in the confusion they turn upon one other in violence. In the chaos, Jason cuts down the remaining warriors. He has succeeded in his labors. Book 3 ends with King Aites leaving the field in bitter grief.

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[whencyclopedia]

Agni

Agni is the Hindu god of fire. He is regarded as the friend and protector of humanity, in particular, he safeguards the home. Various forms of fire are associated with Agni and include the sun, lightning, comets, sacrificial fire, domestic fires, the fire of the funeral pyre, and the digestive fire which is within all humans. Agni was especially important in the Vedic period (1500-500 BCE), and the Vedas contains more hymns to him than to any other deity. He is still considered today omnipresent though not directly worshipped. Agni knows the thoughts of all people and is a witness to all important actions, hence the use of fire in many important Hindu ceremonies such as marriages. He is also referred to in sacred texts such as the Mahabharata as the 'Oblation-devourer' and the 'Purifier'. With flaming hair and riding a goat, he is easily identified in Hindu art.

Agni's wife is the daughter of King Nila who impressed the fire god by being the only woman in the kingdom who managed to kindle a flame in the royal palace. In some myths, Karttikeya (Skanda), the Hindu god of war, is Agni's son and the result of Agni's conquest of the Pleiades, the wives of the Seven Sages.

Agni & Various Fires

Agni is the son of the Celestial Waters, and that element is closely connected with fire which is thought to be carried down to earth within rain. From there fire is drawn up by vegetation and so when two sticks are rubbed together fire appears. Agni is also responsible for lightning which is born from the god's union with the cloud goddess. Another fire Agni is associated with is the funeral pyre; in this role, he leads the dead to their final judgement by Yama, ruler of the Underworld.

Agni is perhaps most closely associated with sacrificial fires where he is thought to carry the offerings of humans to the gods. According to various myths, Agni was at first afraid to take on this duty as his three brothers had been killed already whilst performing the task. Consequently, Agni hid in the subterranean waters but, unfortunately, fish revealed his hiding place to the gods. As a result, Agni cursed them so that fish would become the easy prey of men. In another version it is frogs, then elephants, and then parrots which reveal Agni's attempts at hiding and the god punished them all by distorting their speech ever after. The final hiding place of Agni in this version was inside a sami tree and so it is considered the sacred abode of fire in Hindu rituals and its sticks are used to make fires. Reluctantly taking up his duty again Agni did negotiate by way of compensation to always receive a share of the sacrifice he carried to the gods and he was given the boon of ever-lasting life.

Agni appears in all forms of fire and even those things which burn well or have a certain lustre. In the Brhaddevata we are told that at one point Agni is dismembered and distributed among earthly things. The god's flesh and fat becomes guggulu resin, his bones the pine tree, his semen becomes gold and silver, his blood and bile are transformed into minerals, his nails are tortoises, entrails the avaka plant, his bone marrow sand and gravel, his sinews become tejana grass, his hair kusa grass, and his body hair becomes kasa grass which was used in sacrificial rituals.

Over time Agni's importance as a god diminishes, a fact explained in the Mahabharata as due to his overindulgence in consuming one too many offerings. In the Visnu Purana he is described as the eldest son of Brahma and Svaha is his wife. Together they had three sons, Pavaka, Pavamana, and Suchi, who in turn had 45 sons, which, including their fathers and grandmother, totals 49, the number of sacred fires in the Vayu Purana.

Agni, according to one Rigveda hymn attributed to the sage Vasistha, also has a darker side. Similar in nature to the 'flesh-eater' demons, the raksasa, he has two wickedly sharp iron tusks and he devours his victims without mercy. However, when called upon by the gods, Agni destroys the raksasa with his flaming spears. This episode, when Agni becomes a servant of the gods, is illustrative of his fall from the pinnacle of the pantheon.

Continue reading...

[daenerystargaryen06]

Melisandre was robed all in scarlet satin and blood velvet, her eyes as red as the great ruby that glistened at her throat as if it too were afire. "In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him." -A Clash of Kings - Davos I

"Jhogo spied it first. "There," he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon's tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X

"The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is the herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys I

The first sign of Azor Ahai being Daenerys is she is the first to see the bleeding comet. When she goes to sacrifice Mirri Maz Duur in Drogo's funeral pyre, she sees the comet arrive. She takes it as a sign to not only progress in lighting Drogo's pyre and beginning the ritual of hatching her dragon eggs, but also as an omen that the gods are showing her the way. This leads her to the Red Waste, to where she eventually comes across Vaes Tolorro, wherein she is discovered by Xaro Xhoan Daxos, Pyat Pree, and Quaithe. They then lead her to Qarth. This was the only 'safe' place Dany and her small khalasar could go after her hatching of her dragons. The comet bled for her, and showed her the way to a place of relative safety for her and her people. It aided in her decisiveness to light Drogo's pyre, burn Mirri Maz Duur, and begin the ritual for hatching her dragons into the world.

"Burnt," said Salladhor Saan, "and be glad of that, my friend. Do you know the tale of the forging of Lightbringer? I shall tell it to you. It was a time when darkness lay heavy on the world. To oppose it, the hero must have a hero's blade, oh, like none that had ever been. And so for thirty days and thirty nights Azor Ahai labored sleepless in the temple, forging a blade in the sacred fires. Heat and hammer and fold, heat and hammer and fold, oh, yes, until the sword was done. Yet when he plunged it into water to temper the steel it burst asunder. -A Clash of Kings - Davos I

"Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drank the heat. Flames licked against the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed the other two eggs beside the black one in the fire. As she stepped back from the brazier, the breath trembled in her throat [...] She watched until the coals had turned to ashes. Drifting sparks floated up and out of the smokehole. Heat shimmered in waves around the dragon's eggs. And that was all.." A Game of Thrones - Daenerys VI

When Azor Ahai began to forge his sword, Lightbringer, he worked upon the blade and forged it in the sacred fires. But when it was plunged into water, the steel had "burst asunder". Daenerys carries her dragon eggs and pushes them down into burning coals, and they drink the heat, but do not hatch. Both Azor Ahai and Daenerys placed something in fire, but it did not go as they wished.

"Being a hero, it was not for him to shrug and go in search of excellent grapes such as these, so again he began. The second time it took him fifty days and fifty nights, and this sword seemed even finer than the first. Azor Ahai captured a lion, to temper the blade by plunging it through the beast's red heart, but once more the steel shattered and split. Great was his woe and great was his sorrow then, for he knew what he must do." -A Clash of Kings - Davos I

"The brazier was cold again by the time Khal Drogo returned. Cohollo was leading a packhorse behind him, with the carcass of a great white lion slung across its back. Above, the stars were coming out. The khal laughed as he swung down off his stallion and showed her the scars on his leg where the hrakkar had raked him through his leggings. "I shall make you a cloak of its skin, moon of my life," he swore." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys VI

Both Azor Ahai and Daenerys both have a lion parallel. When Azor Ahai slays a lion in his attempt at forging Lightbringer, it fails. When Daenerys pushes her eggs into the burning coals and has a small wish for them to hatch, it fails, and Drogo returns to gift her the white lion he had slain.

Both Daenerys and Azor Ahai fail in some sort of way. Azor Ahai fails to forge Lightbringer in his seeking to do so, and Daenerys fails to hatch her dragon eggs despite hoping they might. That is, until the deaths of their two lovers:

"A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white-hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. 'Nissa Nissa,' he said to her, for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.' She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart." -A Clash of Kings - Davos I

"And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.” Never, the darkness cried, never never never. Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream. She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

Azor Ahai had killed Nissa Nissa purposely, Daenerys on the other hand, had killed Drogo out of mercy. Despite this, the deaths of their two lovers aided into their successions. Lightbringer was finally completed by Azor Ahai. And Daenerys' dragon eggs finally hatched from Drogo's funeral pyre.

When Drogo is left in a vegetative state and Rhaego forcefully killed from Dany's womb- her dragon eggs feel full of life, and not just stone:

"When she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke hole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon's egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany could feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her bare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the shell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and stretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon's eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. "Ser Jorah, come here," she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. "What do you feel?" -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

When Azor Ahai kills Nissa Nissa and forges Lightbringer, it "leaves a crack across the face of the moon". Daenerys hears a tale from Doreah of moon being an egg, and cracking when it wanders too close to the sun, thus producing dragons; and that one day, it will happen again.

"It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes." -A Clash of Kings - Davos I

"He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi," the Lysene girl said. "Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

Daenerys is the moon, as given by her moon related imagery in her chapters. Drogo is the 'sun', as given by his sun related imagery. When she lights Drogo's pyre, she walks into the flames; this is the moon "wandering too close to the sun". When she does, her dragon eggs begin to finally hatch, and crack loudly. Drogon's egg being the last to hatch, and the crack being referred to as so loud it sounded as though the breaking of the world. Daenerys is part of the sacrifice of hatching her dragon eggs in this ritual, the last central piece needed for her dragons to hatch.

After Azor Ahai forges Lightbringer, it was never cold to the touch, but warm:

"The Jade Compendium. The pages that told of Azor Ahai. Lightbringer was his sword. Tempered with his wife's blood if Votar can be believed. Thereafter Lightbringer was never cold to the touch, but warm as Nissa Nissa had been warm. In battle the blade burned fiery hot..." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Daenerys' dragons are hot to the touch, and are considered 'fire made flesh':

"When she had her handmaids char the horsemeat black, the dragons ripped at it eagerly, their heads striking like snakes. So long as the meat was seared, they gulped down several times their own weight every day, and at last began to grow larger and stronger. Dany marveled at the smoothness of their scales, and the heat that poured off them, so palpable that on cold nights their whole bodies seemed to steam." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys I

This occurs when Azor Ahai fights against a monster using Lightbringer:

"In battle the blade burned fiery hot. Once Azor Ahai fought a monster. When he thrust the sword through the belly of the beast, its blood began to boil. Smoke and steam poured from its mouth, its eyes melted and dribbled down its cheeks, and its body burst into flame." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

When Daenerys kills Kraznys Mo Nakloz, this occurs:

"A lance of swirling dark flame took Kraznys full in the face. His eyes melted and ran down his cheeks, and the oil in his hair and beard burst so fiercely into fire that for an instant the slaver wore a burning crown twice as tall as his head. The sudden stench of charred meat overwhelmed even his perfume, and his wail seemed to drown all other sound." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys III

The coming again of Azor Ahai indicates that a few certain things must occur for the person to fulfill the role:

"He is not dead. Stannis is the Lord's chosen, destined to lead the fight against the dark. I have seen it in the flames, read of it in ancient prophecy. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. Dragonstone is the place of smoke and salt." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon X

Daenerys fulfills these points. Not only was she born at Dragonstone, a place of 'smoke and salt', but you can also say she was "reborn" when she hatches her dragons from Drogo's pyre. This fulfills the 'born amidst salt and smoke" as Daenerys sacrifices herself to hatch her dragons from the pyre and is "reborn" along with her dragons. Smoke from the fire, salt from her sweat:

"Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through her sandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a great grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X

Daenerys also wakes dragons from stone. When she first receives her dragon eggs, they are told to be merely stone. Not alive. Considered only as pretty 'rocks'.

"Dragon's eggs, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," said Magister Illyrio. "The eons have turned them to stone, yet still they burn bright with beauty." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys II

"Stone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Illyrio said so, the dragons are all dead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of the shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. "The sun," Dany whispered. "The sun warmed them as they rode." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

Yet in my previous points, after the death of Drogo and Rhaego, the eggs begin to feel alive. And after Daenerys sacrifices Mirri Maz Duur and herself in the ritual to hatch the eggs, the dragons finally hatch.

We could also say that both the forging of Lightbringer and the dragons hatching involved blood magic.

Lightbringer was only successfully finished when Azor Ahai plunged the blade into the heart of his Nissa Nissa, and her "blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel". It is also said that the blade was tempered with Nissa Nissa's blood.

Daenerys' dragon eggs hatching involved blood magic from Mirri Maz Duur, and a ritual sacrifice.

There is speculation/statement that Azor Ahai is not just one person, but I believe that Daenerys is the main focal point for being Azor Ahai reborn, and her dragons Lightbringer.

"It may be that I am mistaken in you, Jon Snow. We both know the things that are said of bastards. You may lack your father's honor, or your brother's skill in arms. But you are the weapon the Lord has given me. I have found you here, as you found the cache of dragonglass beneath the Fist, and I mean to make use of you. Even Azor Ahai did not win his war alone. I killed a thousand wildlings, took another thousand captive, and scattered the rest, but we both know they will return. Melisandre has seen that in her fires. This Tormund Thunderfist is likely re-forming them even now, and planning some new assault. And the more we bleed each other, the weaker we shall all be when the real enemy falls upon us." -A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

"There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way." A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

". . . three heads has the dragon . . . the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air. . . . mother of dragons . . . child of storm . . . The whispers became a swirling song. . . . three fires must you light . . . one for life and one for death and one to love . . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt . . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love . . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . . three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . ." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

"The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys VI

Daenerys is the main focal point and leader as Azor Ahai. She will be the one to lead the war against the Others/WW, with the possibility of two others working beside her with her three dragons. She and Drogon are the center point for the AA/Lightbringer roles, only they won't be working alone, and it will be a conjoined effort.

It is likely that Daenerys will be the one (possibly joined by Jon or the other main central characters of ASOIAF) to unite the people together and lead them against the cold and the dark. She has the main criteria of being the one to do so. Powerful armies, the right family name, being viewed as the last true living heir to the IT, and her three dragons. She has the most potential to influence the other people into following her and working together to defeat the Others when the time comes.

Her victory over the Others alongside those that aid her will bring a summer that will never end. This is the coming conclusion to the 'Song of Ice and Fire'. Daenerys is the fire, the Others being the ice.

[faenyra]

Flames

Chapter 1 | word count: 3.3k | The Priestess series

Synopsis: Upon arriving in the politically charged environment of King’s Landing, you navigate the complexities of loyalty and ambition, drawing attention as a mysterious figure. Your prophecies attract the interest of King Jaehaerys Targaryen, where you reveal the threats facing his house, fostering an alliance with Queen Alysanne, who sees the value of collaboration amidst ambition.

༺☆༻_☾✧ ✩ ✧☽_༺☆༻

You were a red priestess, hailing from the shadowy realm of Asshai, a place steeped in mystery and whispers of ancient sorcery. Born from a lineage that traces its roots back to the fabled city of Old Valyria, your blood pulses with the remnants of dragons and fire.

In your early years, you were immersed in the arcane traditions of your ancestors, the flickering flame of the sacred pyres became your first tutor. The flickering shadows whispered secrets only the most devoted could grasp, revealing the divine knowledge of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. The crimson robes you donned were not just garments, they were symbols of the weighty responsibility you bore as a vessel of flames and prophecies.

As you matured, your visions grew more intense, flashes of a world on the brink of chaos and a cycle of rebirth that echoed through the ages. You perceived the dance of fate as a tapestry woven from the threads of passion, ambition, and despair, with each moment pregnant with possibility. You understood that your destiny was not merely to serve the flame but to guide it, to forge paths for the lost and illuminate the shadows of doubt.

Often, you would stand upon the shores of the Shadow Lands, gazing into the swirling mists that concealed whispers of the past. Tales of dragons rising once again and ancient powers stirring from their slumber filled your thoughts. Many sought you out for guidance, hoping to uncover their own destinies or to find the strength to confront their fears. Each encounter strengthens your resolve, birthing an understanding that knowledge came not without sacrifice.

In a world plagued by darkness and treachery, you ventured beyond the borders of Asshai, journeying to distant lands where your teachings and prophecies could also flourish. You stood before lords and ladies, armies and peasants alike, offering insights that rattled their very foundations. Each flame you kindled ignited the hearts of the faithful and ignited fear in the hearts of those who sought power for themselves.

Driven by visions of both hope and despair, you walked a fine line between light and shadow, wielding your influence with a deft touch. 

Would you herald a renaissance of hope, or would you usher in a tempest that would consume all in its path? The weight of choice bore down upon you, a constant reminder that even the fiercest fire could burn those who could not command it.

In your heart, you harbored the knowledge that the shadows do not merely conceal, they reveal. For within the veils of night lay secrets long forgotten, waiting for a brave soul to unearth them and shape the world's fate anew. 

As a red priestess, the flame was not just power, it was a legacy, a chain that connected you to both the past and the future, waiting for the right moment to unleash its fire upon the world anew.

You had been chosen by the esteemed Red Council of Priests, a revered assembly of spiritual leaders and mystics, to undertake a momentous journey across the turbulent seas to the lands of Westeros. 

Your mission is of the utmost importance: to safeguard the growing Targaryen dynasty, for destruction. The flames had whispered to you, revealing haunting visions of destruction and despair that would soon loom over the mighty house. The Targaryens, a lineage ruled by the fire and blood of the dragons, were one of the very few families that had escaped the great destruction of Valyria. 

Their now growing legacy will be jeopardized by betrayal, war, and the relentless pursuit of power by rivals within the castle walls. The Council has foreseen another doom lurking in the shadows, and believed that only you possessed the wisdom, guidance, and determination necessary to steer the Targaryens away from annihilation.

To start your journey, you caught a merchant boat that swayed gently upon the waves, its course set firmly towards the bustling heart of Westeros, King’s Landing. The salty breeze whipped through your hair, a reminder of the journey ahead, and of the weighty purpose that drove you forth. 

As the boat crested a wave, the silhouette of the Red Keep began to emerge on the horizon, its tall spires piercing the sky, a symbol of both majesty and turmoil. King’s Landing was a city alive with ambition and treachery, where the very air crackled with intrigue. 

A place where alliances were forged in shadows, and the clinking of gold coins echoed louder than the songs of bards.

You understood the risks that awaited you. 

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As the boat docked at the bustling port, the scents of spices, smoke, and sea salt wrapped around you like a cloak. The noise of merchants hawking their wares, the shouts of sailors unloading cargo, and the distant calls of gulls created a chaotic symphony that heralded the arrival of yet another day in the capital.

Stepping ashore, you felt the ground firm beneath your feet. Here, amidst the throngs of people, was your opportunity to weave the threads of destiny. 

The deep crimson dress you wore cascaded around you like a flowing river of blood, its rich fabric a bold statement amidst the muted colors of King’s Landing. Hood drawn low over your face, you became a figure cloaked in shadows, an enigmatic presence that sparked curiosity and speculation among those who passed.

As you navigated the bustling streets, the vibrant market square filled with vendors, mercenaries, and common folk, you could sense eyes upon you. Whispers rumbled through the crowd, casting curious glances your way, mingling with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of animal hooves against cobblestones. Your attire, the hue of sunset in a world often dulled by despair, drew attention, but it was the air of authority and determination in your posture that truly captivated those nearby.

As you approached the towering gates of the Red Keep, your heart raced with a blend of anticipation and trepidation. The air inside was thick with history, the stone walls whispering secrets of those who had sat upon the Iron Throne before, kings, conquerors and usurpers. Your crimson dress brushed against the polished marble floors, each step echoing with the gravity of your purpose.

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The throne room stood vast and imposing, the high ceiling adorned with banners of House Targaryen, the three headed dragon depicted in vibrant shade of red on a field of black, an ever-present reminder of the legacy claimed by Aegon the Conqueror and his two sisters. 

The throne itself loomed ahead, a twisted monument of swords, embodying both power and peril.

You knelt before the Iron Throne, allowing a moment of stillness to wash over you as the guards looked on, their faces inscrutable. 

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and the heartbeat of the room shifted as King Jaehaerys Targaryen entered, his presence commanding and dignified. He wore a crown of gold, and his long, silver hair fell gracefully about his shoulders, illuminating the regal yet weary expression etched upon his face.

As he took his place on the Iron Throne, the air seemed to thrum with anticipation, as if the very stones of the castle knew the gravity of the moment. The throne, a jagged mountain of swords forged in the fires of Balerion after the conquest, stood as a testament to both the glory and the burden of Targaryen rule.

“Rise, my lady,” he spoke, his voice resonating through the expansive hall. You stood, lifting your chin defiantly while keeping your hood lowered, casting your face in shadows to maintain an air of mystery.

“Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady despite the intensity of the moment. “I come before you not just as another subject of your realm but as a distant ember of House Targaryen,”

The king’s brow furrowed, his keen eyes scrutinizing the figure cloaked in crimson shadows before him. A hint of curiosity crept into his expression as he pondered the mysteries hidden beneath the fabric of your hood. The throne room, with its echoing silence and the weight of history in the air, became a backdrop for the unspoken questions swirling in his mind.

“What lies beneath your hood, my lady?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “You present yourself as a foe, yet your countenance remains concealed.”

You felt the intensity of his gaze as though it could pierce through the layers of fabric and reveal your innermost thoughts. This was a moment of vulnerability; the king understood the significance of identity and the power it held in the realm. Sensing the gravity of his question, you reached for the cord of your hood, allowing it to fall back and reveal your face.

The fabric unveiled your features,the violet eyes of yours caught the flames of the torchlights, dancing with an ethereal glow. The shroud of mystery gave way to the authenticity of your presence, transforming the atmosphere in the throne room.

Your silvery hair, a hallmark of Valyrian blood, was intricately styled, woven into an elegant updo that crowned your head like a delicate masterpiece.

Your lips parted slightly as you took a breath, allowing the king to drink in the sight of you, a descendant of the dragon. You met his gaze with a steely resolve, intent on conveying the depth of your aspirations.

“In truth, Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady. "I have seen the destruction of House Targaryen, in the flames," you began, your voice steady but laced with the weight of history. The memories of the past, of loss and chaos, flickered in your mind like the shadows playing against the throne room's stone walls. "I witnessed the aftermath of betrayal and the devastation wrought by your own kin. The fires that will consume your house but of ambition, jealousy, and bloodshed, elements that threaten to eclipse your legacy."

King Jaehaerys, wise and just, regarded you with the discerning gaze of a leader keenly aware of the currents of fate that swirled around those with your lineage. His eyes, sharp and penetrating as the finest Valyrian steel, seemed to pierce through the facade of nobility and ambition to the raw strength that lay beneath.

There was a weight to his scrutiny, a recognition not just of your bloodline, but of the potential that simmered within you, waiting to be harnessed. In that moment, you felt both exposed and empowered, aware that Targaryen history was not merely a burden but a crucible from which powerful leaders had once emerged.

The king's brow furrowed ever so slightly, as if weighing the implications of your ambitions. "Bold words, indeed"

With a wave of his hand, he summoned a nearby servant. "See to her needs," he instructed. "Ensure she has a comfortable space to stay and recover."

As you followed the servant out of the room, a smirk grew on your lips, for you knew the old king did not wish to speak of destruction in a chamber so vast, where whispers danced like shadows and echoes traveled far beyond the stone walls. Jaehaerys, despite his wisdom and authority, was acutely aware that the walls of the Red Keep had ears, and tonight, those ears would not bear witness to the weighty burdens of the future or the fires of ambition.

In the hallways of the Keep, adorned with banners of dragons and adorned with the art of long-forgotten battles, you felt a spark of exhilaration. Here, amidst the grandeur of your ancestral home, you could feel the pulse of power running through your veins. The scent of history was thick in the air, mingling with the coolness of stone and the flicker of torchlight.

The servant led you through serpentine corridors, each step a reminder of the court's intricate web of alliances and rivalries. You relished at the thought that you were stepping into this world, a tapestry rich with potential. The king's caution only ignited your resolve.

But his admonitions about the fires of your lineage lingered in your mind, both a burden and a beacon. You would navigate these dangerous waters with care, for you understood that true power did not come from flame and fury alone but from the ability to inspire hope and unity amidst uncertainty.

As you reached your new chambers, the servant gestured for you to enter. The room was modest yet elegant, its windows framing a view of the sprawling gardens below, a reminder that even in the heart of power there was beauty to be found. You took a deep breath, allowing the scents of blooming roses and the distant call of songbirds to soothe your spirit.

With a determined smile, you turned to the servant. "Thank you," you said, feeling a surge of gratitude. "It is a lovely room."

He nodded, bowing respectfully. "If there is anything else you require, my lady, do not hesitate to ask."

Once alone, you moved to the window, peering out at the darkening sky. The sun was setting, casting hues of gold and crimson across the horizon, a fitting reflection of the Targaryen colors that flowed in your veins. As the last rays of light slipped away, revealing the twinkling stars overhead, you felt a sense of purpose ignite within you.

You would honor the legacy of your ancestors, but you would carve your own path, tempered by the wisdom of Jaehaerys and forged from your visions of a brighter future. You would wield your power not as a weapon, but as a flame to light the way, a beacon in the shadows, guiding those who wished to follow.

In that moment, with the weight of history behind you and a world of possibility before you, you knew that the old king's hesitations would not deter you. Rather, they would fuel your resolve to show that strength could be both fierce and compassionate, a force for unity rather than division. The winds of change were at your back, and you were ready to face whatever storms awaited.

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The night was dark, the moon hanging high in the sky, your room illuminated by the flickering flames of candles. Suddenly, a knock at the door broke the silence, sending a ripple of unease through the quiet atmosphere.

You hesitated for a moment, curiosity and apprehension battling within you. Who could it be at this late hour? Gathering your courage, you moved toward the door, heart racing as you reached for the handle.

With a cautious turn of the knob, the door creaked open, revealing a silhouette against the dim light. The figure stood there, shrouded in shadow, their eyes glinting like embers. “I’ve been looking for you,” they said softly, their voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes scanned the face before you, and you realized it was Queen Alysanne, the wife of King Jaehaerys. Her presence was both regal and unsettling, the flickering candlelight casting an ethereal glow around her figure.

“Your Grace,” you stammered, instinctively lowering your head in respect. The queen, however, raised a hand, signaling a dismissal.

“Please,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, “I need your help.” The urgency in her tone was palpable.

You stepped back, allowing her to enter the room, the door creaking shut behind her. “Why are you here, my queen? It’s ill-advised for you to be out at this hour.”

“Jaehaerys has told me of your whispers, of how House Targaryen will falter,” Queen Alysanne said, her voice trembling with a mix of resolve and fear. “But he does not wish to believe it. He thinks that these are mere tales spun by jealousy and bitterness.” 

“What I say is true, believe it or not, but my only purpose here is to try and stop it,” you said, your voice steady as you both settled into chairs by the dim glow of the flickering candles. The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, and you could see the tension in Alysanne’s shoulders ease slightly as she listened.

She analyzed your face carefully, a flicker of concern etching itself into her expression. “They whispered in court,” she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, “they all spoke of how you resemble one of my daughters. Dressed in that crimson cloak, it is no wonder Jaehaerys himself remarked upon it. He even said he thought you might be a Targaryen, one of our own.”

You leaned back in your chair, absorbing the gravity of her statement. “But I am not a Targaryen. I am loyal to you and your family. I have no claim to the throne, nor do I wish to grasp at the opportunity.”

“His Grace will make mistakes, and his descendants will too,” you said, your tone measured as you leaned forward, sensing the weight of the conversation pressing upon both of you. “I cannot say what those mistakes will be, but I can offer my guidance, like a flame guiding one through the dark.”

Alysanne’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she absorbed your words. “Every ruler is bound to stumble at times; it’s the nature of power and ambition. What matters most is how one learns from those missteps and whether they have the wisdom to heed the guidance of others.”

You tried to keep your calm, striving to choose your words carefully to avoid offending Queen Alysanne. Her poised demeanor and regal presence commanded respect, and you understood the weight of your words in this delicate moment. "Your Majesty," you began,and took a breath, trying to convey your thoughts without a hint of disrespect.

"The consequences of those missteps may not emerge until he has departed from his crown. How can he truly learn from them if he is not here to witness the ramifications of his decisions?" You paused, gauging her reaction, knowing that the truth of the matter could be uncomfortable but necessary

"And how do I know that what you speak of is true?" she questioned, her voice a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Her gaze searched your face for signs of insincerity, challenging you to substantiate your claims.

"I do not seek power, and will be your loyal and humble guide, if you'll have me, Your Grace," you said, your voice steady and resolute. You could feel the weight of the words as they fell into the silence that hung between you.

Her expression softened slightly, the skepticism giving way to intrigue. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her tone more inquisitive now, as if she were trying to peel back the layers of your intention.

"I understand the allure of power," you replied, choosing your words carefully. "It can corrupt, blind, and lead even the noblest of hearts astray. My desire is not for authority or dominion, but rather to serve, to guide you,the King, with sincerity and wisdom. I believe that true strength lies in partnership and collaboration, not in one person wielding all the influence."

"Very well," she stated, rising from her seat, her demeanor underscoring the weight of her decision. You soon followed, standing with a mixture of hope and determination. "You may stay here for as long as you need," she added, her words both an invitation and a charge.

You made your way to the large wooden door, opening it with a graceful motion, allowing her to pass through first. As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, a soft glow illuminated her features, highlighting the resolve etched in her expression.

"Thank you," you replied, your voice steady yet warm. "I hope you sleep well." The sincerity in your tone held the weight of your promise, a promise to support and guide her as she navigated the complexities of her reign.

As you walked out of the room, the flickering flames from the torches lining the corridor seemed to dance in tune with the intensity in your eyes. You felt a fire igniting within you, a mixture of purpose and determination that surged through your veins. Each step away from her chambers felt significant, imbued with the weight of your shared commitment.

༺☆༻_☾✧ ✩ ✧☽_༺☆༻

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