#the dragon Prince season six

[hiccupshypotheticalleftsock]

cannot wait for this to happen fr

[meme credits to me]

[scrimblo-soab]

I swear to god now that Runaan is out of his magic coin if we don’t get a scene where Ethari and Runaan get to see each other again the writers better be shivering their timbers

[fun-k-boards]

I know a lot of people think that Aaravos did something bad previously to Leola dying and his imprisonment, maybe he invented dark magic or is just an unreliable narrator to the story of Leola. Maybe he took out parts of the story that would make him more at fault. Maybe he didn't lie, just hid the truth. That what happened to cause his eyes to be dark unlike the other Startouch elves is what he's hiding from the story, maybe it's the real reason Leola died.

And, I'm fully aware that's absolutely going to be the canon explanation, but I think a fun idea would be that he's just built like that.

Given Startouch elves can reproduce without sex, and even if they did, it makes sense that a Startouch elf who gave life to another would share similar traits, right? Well, Leola is quirky, she has one horn, she's completely different from the others. Where could she have got that from? The physical differences? The way her mind is different from those around her? Perhaps, she got these from the one who created her.

Aaravos is a Startouch elf who lives among humans, who treats them with kindness and even when he knows his daughter is about to face the consequences of unknowingly disrupting the cosmic order, he doesn't snap at the human child who witnessed her being taken away, instead he comforts the child. I don't think any other Startouch elf is like him. Especially not like Leola.

They were doomed from the start. Startouch elves don't have time for those who view things in an emotional rather than subjective lens, they don't have time for those who grieve over lost family, or who try to fight against the rules in place. They don't have time for mercy. They don't have time for Aaravos or Leola.

This brings me to my question. Why let Aaravos live? Why not get rid of him like they did Leola? Perhaps they can't, or maybe, they knew of the way his story would play out. Whether they knew Leola dying would be the trigger or not, or only realised when it was too late, I think they were fully aware of Aaravos' plan at least some point before his imprisonment.

[orchid-merryweather]

Damn all that and they didn't even kiss

[sorinethemastermind]

Aftermath

In which Corvus searches for Soren in the aftermath of Katolis' destruction.

 They had fled to the forest while the fire consumed their homes, hoping that the trees would shelter them from the gaze of the rampaging dragon up above. The woods had obliged, but they did not feel welcoming as they usually did. Even now, nearly a day after the attack, the wildlife had not returned and the trees were eerily silent. Smoke hung heavy in the air.

 King Ezran had insisted that they ride directly back, and so they had; riding hard through the day and into the night. Now, as dawn’s light began to peek through the leaves above, Corvus took in what remained of the people of Katolis. Battered and bruised at best, and at worst… Corvus didn’t want to think about that. Especially when he had yet to find him.

 He knew Soren. Knew that his fellow Crownguard would have pushed someone out of the way of an oncoming blast without a second thought. Some might call it bravery, and it was, but Corvus knew that it was also something else. And that was what made him worried. 

 He hadn’t wanted to leave the king’s side, not when the castle still smoldered on the hill above them and the dragon could be anywhere. But Ezran had insisted that he go and help where he could; had said that he and Opeli would be fine on their own, if only for a little while. And then the pair of them had disappeared further into the camp to offer what aid they could to those who needed it most. By the way the king looked at him before he left, Corvus thought that perhaps he knew.

 And so Corvus had gone first to the hastily erected tent that was now serving as a hospital. It had been filled to capacity; understaffed and in need of assistance. He had offered help where he could; changing a bandage here, fetching something there. All the while keeping his eyes open for Soren, who had undoubtedly thrown himself directly into the line of fire. But despite the many guards filling the tent, their armor dented and smeared with blood and soot, Soren was not among them.

 Everyone seemed to have seen him, but no one knew where he was. One guard said that he had been on the wall when the dragon attacked. Another said he had been in the courtyard, helping a trapped civilian. One even said they’d seen him enveloped by dragon fire.

 Corvus pushed through the thought and the flaps of the tent and out into the steadily growing light. The man had probably been mistaken. Or, perhaps, if he wasn’t…

 Corvus didn’t have the heart to check the mortuary, yet.

 He wouldn’t be in the hospital, Corvus rationalized. He would be out on patrol, busying himself with one task or another. Helping where he could, as he himself was supposed to be doing. But Corvus couldn’t focus on anything so long as he didn’t know where he was. Everytime the flaps of the tent had opened to admit someone in need of assistance he had forgotten what he was doing to look up, holding onto the hope that it would be Soren coming in from the encampment, battered but still smiling.

 He walked through the forest, scanning every gathering of survivors for the familiar slope of Soren’s shoulders and the stoic smile he knew he’d be wearing. But, though he did manage to spot a few fellow Crownguards, his friend wasn’t among them. 

 Corvus’s feet carried him to the edge of the wood, where it led up to the castle, smoke still rising from it’s demolished parapets. Some of the rubble had fallen down the side and littered the forest floor. His breath caught in his throat as he knelt down to pick up a small chunk of masonry. The castle may not have always been his home, but it had been becoming one. 

 “Corvus?”

 The voice was weary and raw, but Corvus would have known it anywhere. He spun to the side, staring up the path that led to the remains of Katolis. There was blood in Soren’s hair and drying onto his face armor, and he was smeared with soot and dirt. But it was him. 

 He gave Corvus a weak smile. “I thought you were supposed to be eating cake and dancing or something.”

 Corvus ignored him, crossing the distance between them in a few steps and throwing his arms around his friend. Soren stumbled back a step, arms going out in surprise for a moment before they closed around him in return. 

 “I’m glad you’re here.” he mumbled into Corvus’ shoulder. 

 “Me too.”

 Soren’s grip tightened around him and Corvus heard his breath hitch. Pulling back, he looked up at his friend. 

 “You’re hurt.” Corvus’ gaze drifted up to Soren’s hairline, where fresh blood continued to ooze from a gash on his forehead.

 “It’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse.”

 “You’re going to get an infection.”

 “I’m fine.” Soren assured him.

 “I’m going to get something. Stay here.” Corvus turned to go, but Soren’s hand caught his wrist before he had taken more than a few steps.

 “Don’t go.”

 Corvus paused, turned back. The smile flickered back onto Soren’s face as he looked.

 “I, uh. They need the supplies more.” 

 Corvus hesitated.

 “Please.” Soren said.

 He stayed. 

 They sat on one of the larger pieces of rubble that had reached the forest floor, leaning against each other for support. Corvus could feel Soren’s hair tickling his cheek. He reached up to brush it back behind the other man’s ear and his fingers came away sticky and tinged with red.

 “Soren.” he said, looking down at his hands with concern, then back to his friend. “Please let me look at that.”

 “We don’t have many supplies.” He replied. “The others need it more.”

 Corvus knew this wasn’t a fight he’d win. He sighed. “Then we’ll make supplies.”

 Before Soren could argue he stood, turning to face him again, and tilted his friend’s head up so he could see the wound more clearly. Soren stared up at him, their eyes locking. But Corvus wouldn’t be distracted. Tilting the other man’s head to the side, he inspected the gash more closely. 

 It wasn’t especially deep, thankfully. But there were bits of debris in it that were stopping it from healing properly. 

 “Hold still.” Corvus instructed, taking off his scarf and wrapping one end around his hand. “This is going to sting a little bit.”

 “I can handle- Ow.” Soren hissed. 

 “I told you.” Corvus did his best to be gentle; carefully using the fabric to dab at the wound until it seemed mostly cleaned. “There. Better?”

 “I mean, you just spent a while poking it, so not really.”

 Corvus shook his head. “You’ll thank me later.”

 Taking the clean part of the scarf, he wrapped it around Soren’s head a few times before tying it into a knot at the back. “There. Now you have a bandage.”

 “I think you mean a bandana.”

 “No. I mean a bandage.” Corvus fussed with the scarf again, worried it would come loose. “Just don’t play with it, okay? It might come undone and then-”

 Soren reached up and placed his hand over Corvus’, holding it to the side of his head. “Okay.”

 Corvus looked down at his friend of two years. It was hard to reconcile the man before him with the same one who had hit him with a rock, tied him up, and called him a traitor. He had come so far. Corvus wanted to tell him how proud he was but couldn’t find the words.

 “Okay.” he replied, waiting for Soren to drop his hand. But he didn’t.

 “Okay.” he repeated instead, standing up, hand still clasped over Corvus’. They were eye to eye now, faces just inches apart. Corvus leaned in, and he kissed him. 

 It was stupid, really. A really stupid thing to do. Stupider than any nickname Soren had tried to give him over the years. In his surprise, Soren had dropped his hand, and Corvus tried to take it back, beginning to step away. 

 “I’m sorry.” he began, feeling clumsier than he ever had. He backed away, nearly tripping over a chunk of masonry.  “I didn’t mean to-”

 Soren stepped forward, hands clasping around his waist, and pulled him close again. “Well, I do.” he said, and he kissed him again. For real, this time, hands tightening across his back as he held him.

 After a long moment they broke apart, and Corvus looked at his friend. No, more than his friend. Soren’s eyes seemed to sparkle and he smiled. A real one, this time.

 “Hey, that’s not part of your Crownguard duties.”

 They jumped away from each other, both of them nearly falling backwards over the chunks of debris that still littered the floor. Ezran stood a few steps away, one eyebrow raised playfully in their direction.

 “Oh, yeah. So, uh… This... this is a thing now.” Soren gestured between the pair of them, then paused, looking at Corvus. When he didn’t disagree, Soren nodded. “Yeah, this is a thing now.”

[arsonistcrab]

Viren was such a guy, he killed so many things, he’d do anything for his children except invest in therapy, he went after two kids because they dared to be in line for the throne, he gave his literal heart for Katolis, his son’s self esteem is in the trash and it’s his fault, he loves brutally and completley, he gave his HEART for his kingdom, he locked four people in coins for eternity, he’s easily manipulated, all he ever wanted was power, control, and his daughter’s happiness, he’s insane, he is all for genocide but draws the line at transphobia, he’s dead, his last words were “I am a servant”, he doesn’t know what a cell phone is

the most guy ever

[accidental-spice]

I can't believe we ALMOST got a Rayllum bridal style carry in The Frozen Ship only for it to be ruined by Callum's poor core strength

[daceytheshebear]

Okay folks who's gonna inconspicuously add some shrinking shrooms to Aaravo's next meal?

[ana-cantskywalker]

Alright, after finish season six, I genuinely think this is my fav season. The lore building was immaculate and the cinematography was gorgeous.

We really got to see how far all of these characters have grown and developed over the course of the show, especially Soren and Claudia and Viren. But really everyone else too. I mean this show does not leave any characters on the back-burner, they are managing to tell so many stories so well while avoiding a lot of cliches.

And then don’t even get me started on Rayllum because OH MY GOSHHHHHHH

[cosmothealien358]

Just finished season 6 of the Dragon Prince

(More coherent thoughts in tags)

[ordinaryschmuck]

So, after finally catching up with The Dragon Prince, I finally saw the Season Six trailer. And, um...

One, it's REALLY unsettling how she's just...drenched in blood.

Two, this is starting to make calling The Dragon Prince a kid's show a little hard.

Three, I think this could make Claudia work her way up to one of my favorite dark, dark, DARK villains. Just LOOK at the crazy in her eyes.

[hiccupshypotheticalleftsock]

tdp textposts, rayla edition

[scrimblo-soab]

Probably gonna post this somewhere else later but whatever!!!

This is what I think happened after Katolis burned down, Soren probably blames himself and thinks he could’ve done more, and since he was rushing in to try and save people, he probably saw a couple dead people, and smelled the death around him. Anyways!!

[lilmiss-catt]

Just finished season six of the dragon prince

My funerals tomorrow btw

[orchid-merryweather]

Bisexuality is having a crush on both Kosmo and Astrid the second they've both spoken

[sorinethemastermind]

The Final Rite

In which Soren grapples with his father's sacrifice.

 

Soren hadn’t told anyone where he was going. It had felt selfish, somehow. Or like something to be ashamed of. But now, standing outside the ruins of the castle. Of his home. He suddenly wished he had brought company.

 But who would have wanted to accompany him on this task, anyway?

 And was it really a task, when no one had asked it of him?

 He took a deep breath, feeling it catch in his throat, and not from the smoke this time. Somewhere in the rubble before him lay Vir- his father's body. Broken and charred, pierced through the heart just like when he'd-

 Soren stepped into the courtyard and began combing through the rubble. He was exhausted, and with each stone he turned over his arms shook. What were all those workouts for if he couldn't even lift a rock?

 But it wasn't just the physical strain, he knew. With every overturned stone there was a greater chance that he would actually find him. Crumpled beneath a piece of fallen masonry, charred beyond recognition. Or, possibly worse, protected from the fire and undeniably recognizable as the man who had raised him.

 Discarded him.

 Hurt him.

 Been proud of him.

 Died for him.

 Soren didn’t know how to reconcile all the men his father had been inside his head. Didn't know how the same man who had played with him as a child could have become the one who marched into Xadia with an army. Or how that man could possibly be the same one who had looked at him in the dungeon and said that he had already taken enough. That it was his turn to offer Soren his heart.

 He didn't want to reconcile it. He didn't want to think about it or feel any of this. It was easier to hate him than... than whatever this was. Not love, surely?

 He didn't deserve it. Not after everything he had done. And yet...

 The moon was high overhead when Soren finally reached the area under the tower where Viren had cast the spell. Some part of him had been avoiding it, knowing that it was most likely where he would be. But this was why he'd come here, wasn't it? Snuck away from the camp in the middle of the night. Stowed away like this wasn't the home he had almost died to protect. Had offered to die for, and been denied that right.

 Maybe he should be grateful, but he wasn't. Or he was, but that gratefulness hurt so much he wished he wasn't.

 Some of the rocks had already fallen away and it didn't take much to find the body, just where he'd imagined it would be. And... just how he'd imagined it would look.

 It had been all he'd been able to picture all day. Setting up the tents, gathering supplies, carrying wounded to the hospital. In the back of his mind, no matter what he'd been doing, there had been the image. The image of Vir- his father standing there on the balcony, facing the dragon. Of the fire filling the courtyard until he couldn't see anything more. Of his skin turning to charcoal and his veins glowing like magma under the surface.

 For just a moment there, standing before the dragon with his staff raised high above his head, Viren had looked like the man Soren once believed him to be. And while at first he had been horrified as the spell washed over him, brought back to another mountaintop from two years ago, the warmth seeming to radiate out from his chest had meant something else, too. It had meant that what his father had said in the dungeon was true. Something, Soren didn't know what, but something had changed.

 He hadn't been lying. He had been proud.

 And what had he done? He’d yelled at him, run away from his father then. And now? Soren pushed the last bits of rubble away and pulled his father's body from the wreckage of their home.

 Now he would bury him.

 The trek to the Valley of Graves was a long one, winding through the entirety of the city of Katolis. Fires still smoldered on some of the houses lining the road, flickering like candlelight. Soren made the solemn walk alone, cradling Viren's limp body in his arms. His father was light and frail, two words he never would have associated with the man in life.

 The first tinges of sunlight were visible as he finally reached the end of the road and walked between the cliffs and their statues of kings and queens, great and gone. But there was another, newer grave alongside them.

 Soren stopped and stared up at the great bones of the dragon. They had felled it after all. Not that it mattered. He didn't want to look at it.

 Turning his back to the great beast, he crossed to the other side of the valley and laid his father on a patch of empty soil. Some might call it sacrilege to bury Viren here, among the great warriors of the kingdom of Katolis. But Soren didn't know where else to go. He didn't want him to rot away, forgotten and reviled, in the woods. Or to remain trapped in the still smoldering ruins of their home.

 Even villains deserved peace. If that was what he was.

 Soren drew his blade and set to work. His sword didn't make a very good shovel, but he persevered, hacking away at dirt and stone until his arms shook from overexertion and his breath came in ragged pants. He stuck it into the ground and leaned against it, struggling for air.

 In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

 His father’s words echoed through his mind as he finally managed to fill his lungs with enough air to straighten up and look over what he’d done. The sun up. People would be noticing he was missing soon. But he had a job to do. He would not leave his father here, abandoned. Whether he deserved to rest alongside these heroes of the realm or not, he would.

 Soren raised the blade above his head and brought it down again.

 He was in the courtyard, hiding behind the great oak tree that had lived there for centuries. His father shielded his eyes from the sun. "Now where could my little golden boy have gone?"

 Dirt and rocks were chipped away. He raised it again.

He was sitting on the floor before the hearth, his mother's hand resting on his head and Claudia nestled on her lap as his father read to them.

 He brought the sword down. Steadily, the hole began to grow.

 He was lying in his bed, chest aching with every wheezing breath, his father's hand clasping his own. They were both exhausted from a long night, eyes drifting shut.

 He was in the courtyard with his first training sword, practicing his footwork, glancing up at the window in hopes of catching his father watching.

 It was his knighting ceremony, all the young guards standing proudly before the king as he welcomed them as protectors of the kingdom. Viren stood behind him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Soren's name was called out.

 He was standing in the dungeon, leaning on a crutch, cruel words still ringing in the cold, stone hall. Staring into the frenzied eyes of someone who was supposed to love him.

 He was standing in the dungeon, offering his father his heart one final time.

 Soren's sword struck hard stone and, with a reverberating clang, twisted in his hand. It flew aside, falling to the ground with a long crack running up it. He fell to his knees beside the hole and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

 "No. I- I've taken enough from you, son.”

 There hadn't been time to argue. Soren had tried, but in the end…

 "I'm so proud of you."

 He'd turned back, opened his mouth to say something, but no words had come. His father smiled at him. A sad smile, the knife clutched in one hand, staff in the other. 

 "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

 "I love you." the words came now, kneeling over his father's grave. They came too fast, too much. Like they were being torn right from his chest. "I love you. I always did, I- I don't know why you did everything you did. I don’t understand. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I wish I could forgive you. I wish I didn't want to forgive you. I-"

 Soren forced in a shaky breath and rose to his feet, leaving his sword where it had fallen. Maybe, if all these versions of his father could be true at once, then he could hold love and hate in his heart at the same time, too.

 And that would have to be enough. 

 He lifted his father and carried him to the side of the grave, wrapping him in the tattered remains of one of Katolis's banners before lowering him inside. This was the same man who had played with him in the courtyard and read him to sleep at night when he was sick. But it was also the one who’d cast him aside, shouted that his life didn’t matter. 

 Soren leaned down and lifted the fabric up to cover his father's face. What were the words to the rite Opeli had used? He had heard her say them enough that day. Something about justice, he thought. 

 "May Lady Justice be merciful." he whispered, voice cracking. “May she feel both love and hatred, and make the right choice.”

It took him nearly as long to fill the hole as it had to dig it, and the sun was high in the sky by the time he had finished; legs weary and arms aching. Finally, he went to retrieve his sword. The crack ran from the tip to the pommel, jagged edges glistening in the midday light. Soren went to sheathe it, but hesitated.

Crossing back to his father's grave, he struck it into the ground that had broken it, letting it stand as a marker. And then he turned one final time, and without looking back, walked out of the valley.