#the royal heir book 2

[a-cloud-for-dreams]

Cordonia and Drakovia fr

[choices-binglebonkus]

I will never understand how TRR MC giving birth didn’t traumatize the hell out of her or give her any kind of health complications

-she was injured and FORCED into labor in the middle of a ball surrounded by important nobility and other guests

-during a palace lockdown with a known killer on the loose somewhere

-without an epidural or anesthesia of ANY kind

-and was in labor for HOURS on end with all of this in mind

Like girl are you okay??? How are you not traumatized as fuck? I would’ve died right there on the ballroom floor

[flowerandblood]

Paradise Fruit (1)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: watching each other masturbate, soft, poetic smut, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After being treated by King Saladin's physicians, King Baldwin begins to leave his chambers. The people of the court whisper around her that the young ruler will not even live to be thirty years old. As a lady of waiting of his sister, she attracts his attention. ]

Author's Note: I said it and I did it: I know this isn't your typical Ewan Mitchell character, but I couldn't resist. I'm glad I wrote this because I had too many thoughts after watching this movie and now my soul is at peace! For those who haven't seen Kingdom of Heaven, I highly recommend it, it's an amazing production.

Word count: 3.900

Part 2 – White Marriage

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Jerusalem seemed to her at once a paradise and a hell on earth, both beautiful, sublimely sacred, as much as broken, dirty and cruel. The reign of King Baldwin IV was a reign of restraint and peace, the greatest evidence of which was his rich diplomatic correspondence with King Saladin himself.

Baldwin gave permission for the Muslim part of Jerusalem to hold prayers as it wished, on payment of appropriate taxes – a huge step towards reconciling the city's disparate population and a cause of contention among the Christian knights.

As lady of the court, she accompanied the royal sister, Sibylla, like her shadow, serving her with conversation, reading books in her company, being the equivalent of her friend and confidante, watching over her welfare.

She was the third daughter, and was therefore a burden to her lord father, who sent her to Jerusalem to the royal court when she was thirteen. Her father hoped that Sibylla herself would find her a suitable husband and put up the coins for her dowry, allowing her family to glory on the Old Continent in the fact that her chosen one was favoured by the God in the Holy Land.

Looking at Princess Sibylla's marriage, she prayed that she would never meet her fate, preferring to eventually fade into old age in a monastery.

Her Lady abhorred her husband: not in a physical context, for he was not unlike other great knights in stature or appearance, but in his heart, which was filled with the lust for power.

Although he believed that he was acting in the name of Christ on the Earth, he represented neither his mercy nor his prudence, being a simply unkind and spiteful man.

Sibylla was given in marriage to him at the age of 15, and she watched her sufferings and humiliations in silence, only being able to allow herself occasionally to close her hand on hers, giving her encouragement.

It was known that her husband's dream was the death of the King, for it would then be his wife who would become heir to the throne. Someone might laugh at this wish, knowing that King Baldwin was only 16 years old when she arrived at court.

However, despite such a young age, it was known that the King would probably not live to see his thirtieth year.

The cruel disease that had descended upon his body when he was still a young child, leprosy, was the reason why his whole body was covered, and his face was adorned with a beautiful silver mask – the only thing visible through it were his eyes, bright and wise, the skin around his eyelids all red.

His sister despaired at his undeserved suffering, at the thought that his body was falling apart, his skin peeling and pulling away from his muscles, causing him excruciating pain. He could not touch anyone or be touched directly because his disease was contagious.

Thus, one of the greatest rulers of Jerusalem, a man who had accomplished the impossible and ushered, at least for a while, the Kingdom of Heaven into this forbidden holy land, suffered daily torment.

As she prayed for the health of her family and his sister, she also prayed for him – since Christ was able to miraculously cure lepers, as the Bible itself said, perhaps there was hope for him too.

As a sign of respect and friendship, the Muslim King Saladin sent a retinue of his best physicians to relieve the King of his pain, which must have helped at least to some extent, for although she had previously only seen him in audience standing by his sister's side, now the King began to walk through the palace gardens on his own.

One day, when Sibylla noticed him standing next to one of the monks, she approached him immediately, praising his name, and she moved humbly to follow her, feeling grateful at the thought that the King was indeed feeling better.

That perhaps her prayers had been answered.

"Brother. It rejoices me to see you in the fresh air, away from the suffocating comfort of your chambers full of books and parchments." Sibylla said, pulling her shawl from her mouth, revealing her face to her brother.

As a married woman, she covered her face out of sheer decency, as her husband was a jealous man, but she, as a maiden, in addition almost always being in the presence of her Lady, did not have to do so.

"Your judgement is too harsh, dear sister. Books and parchments are my solace in the hardest of times." He said calmly and lazily, effortlessly – it was the first time she had heard his voice this close and she thought the words coming out of his mouth were like humming.

He had a white linen cloth draped over his head that reminded her of the headgear of the pharaohs, a richly embroidered white robe and gloves on his body, a silver mask portraying the features of a handsome, masculine man on his face.

She swallowed hard as his gaze shifted to her, catching her looking shamelessly at her ruler's face, causing her to lower her head immediately.

"Let's take a walk. We should take advantage of the beautiful weather." Said his sister, wanting to take his arm, he however moved away immediately and shook his head.

Pain and sadness crossed Sibylla's face, but after a moment she only nodded and forced herself to smile, walking ahead with him, letting her and the King's servant walk a few steps behind them.

That evening, for the first time, the King summoned her.

"Do not fret." Sibylla said. "My brother is a man of decency and sensitivity. Rest assured, he will not set upon your virtue or force you to do things unworthy of a lady. He confessed to me that he would like to look at your face for at least a moment longer and asked me to convey his wish to you, indicating that you may refuse."

She looked at her in disbelief, feeling the blush of embarrassment appear on her cheeks at her words, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

"If it is the will of our beloved King, I will do so." She said, and Sibylla nodded, giving her one satisfied smile.

She wore her most beautiful robe and hair adornments as if she were about to attend a nuptials – the material cast over her body was blue, fastened at the shoulders and waist with golden buckles, in her hair at the sides jewellery resembling a wreath of laurel leaves.

As she entered his chamber, candles burned all around, she was also struck by the intense scent of lavender – she noticed immediately his white, seated figure bent over thick tomes. His head turned towards her, in his mask she was able to see the reflection of everything around him.

"Do not be afraid. Come closer." He said softly and she nodded, feeling her heart flutter in her chest like a bird.

Her footsteps on the stone floor echoed through his chamber, the rustling of her robe as she sat down opposite him made her sound similar to the rustling of leaves.

She swallowed hard as she watched him sigh and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking her straight in the eye – she immediately looked away, unaccustomed to such confidentiality with anyone.

"No." He said. "Don't deny me this pleasure."

She tightened her fingers on the material of her garment, lifting her gaze to him again, feeling herself involuntarily begin to breathe through her mouth.

She could see the calm and curiosity in his eyes – his head was tilted slightly to one side, as if he was thinking about something, silence all around him.

"I'm making you uncomfortable." He concluded.

She shook her head quickly, horrified, thinking that something in her posture or gaze had discouraged him.

"No, Your Grace. I just don't know how to behave. What is appropriate for me to do or say in your presence. Silence is safe." She confessed in shame, lowering her eyes to her fingers again, reminding herself after a moment that she should not do so.

The King hummed at her words.

"Do not take my words as my attempt to mock you, however, knowing how little time I have left in this wretched world has made me tread lightly in courtly etiquette." He said with amusement, not taking his eyes off her, something flashed in his gaze as if someone had lit a candle inside them.

"We waste time feigning care and respect, hiding what is true, arising from the depths of our hearts, because that is what etiquette demands of us. When we stand before God, will we say to him: I have never really loved or sympathised, but my lips have left many beautiful, great words?" He asked, and she looked at him in disbelief, completely surprised by his approach and what she had heard.

Some part of her knew he was right.

"In this world, only the King can afford to lack beautiful words." She muttered, hearing after a moment that something akin to a chuckle had left his lips.

"You are mistaken. One word from the King can either create or destroy."

She lowered her head, wondering if he had just rebuked her, he, however, seemed satisfied.

"My reign will end with my death, which will be in a few years at the latest. I will not beget an heir to whom I can pass on my philosophy of ruling, the values that are essential. My sister's husband and his greed will sit on the throne, and Jerusalem will fall." He said calmly, as if he were telling her about the weather, his fingers clad in a white silk glove tapping rhythmically against the table top.

She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her heart, wondering if perhaps the reason he had summoned her was quite different from what she had suspected.

"What shall I do, my King?" She asked, and he laughed again, louder this time, looking at her as if something in her question gave him pleasure.

"Your devotion rejoices my heart. Do not think, however, that you will hear from me an order that would condemn you to eternal damnation. I could not then leave this world in peace. No. I wish that when I disappear, someone will watch over my sister. To help her escape when all is lost here, no matter what her husband will desire. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked softly, and she nodded, thinking she felt more respect towards him than ever.

"Yes, my King." She replied.

He smiled at her words, she saw it in his gaze. She lifted her gaze higher, towards the windows by which the shoots of dried lavender hung, surrounding them with a pleasant, refreshing scent.

"I had these beautiful flowers brought in from far away. They mask well the unpleasant ailments of my illness on hot days. The smell of rotting flesh is one of the most disgusting to man, for nature equates it with spoiled food from which he can die." He explained, and she looked at him in disbelief, feeling hot shame ripple through her body at his words.

His suffering must have been unimaginable.

"Knights praise their own greatness and bravery during battles wishing for songs to be sung about them. I, for one, hope to hear songs about Baldwin IV, a wise and prudent King, a merciful Monarch who fought each day with his own suffering and triumphed. I do not know the words that can convey my admiration for your person." She mouthed in a trembling voice, feeling that her hands lying on her thighs were quivering all over with emotion, burning tears for some reason squeezed under her eyelids.

The King looked at her for a long moment in silence, something in his gaze that made her feel a pleasant tingling in her fingertips.

"Your soul is as beautiful as your body. You are like a breath of cool wind on a hot day. I am grateful to you for allowing me to experience this joy."

As she left his chamber, for some reason she burst out crying.

She could not understand why: it seemed to her that her heart squeezed all over in pain, not only out of compassion, but also out of a sense of injustice that a man so great and enlightened was experiencing undeserved torment every day.

Or was it through his ordeal that he became such a man, such a King?

If the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven were to open before anyone in the second life, it was before him, she thought.

That night she could not sleep: she was ashamed of herself for thinking about him. She tried not to pay attention to men, knowing their nature, knowing that they might consider it an invitation on her part to sin.

However, the time she spent with him, although she might perceive his words as ambiguous, seemed to her something almost spiritual, a moment of awakening, as if she had been in a half-sleep until the moment she looked into his eyes.

His gaze would find her in the audience among the other servants and ladies of the court. She knew this because his eyes stopped on her face, and although he listened intently to what his subjects were saying to him, she knew that for that one moment he was focused only on her.

The flutter of her heart shamed her, allowing her to realise that, like a flower, a warm and pleasant feeling was blossoming within her, coming from God.

"You occupy my brother's thoughts. He follows you with his eyes." Said Sibylla as they walked together through the corridors of the great, cold stone fortress.

"It was not my desire to distract him from the affairs of the Kingdom." She confessed with shame, entwining her fingers on her womb, looking sadly at her fingers. His sister snorted at her words.

"Jerusalem is destroying him. It is the Kingdom that is his disease. He has taken upon himself all its sins, purified it. He gave it years of peace and dignity." She said with a pain from which she felt a sting in her heart.

Why was it that whenever she thought of him she wanted to cry?

"I want to relieve him." She said finally, looking at her uncertainly, afraid of how the words sounded when they left her mouth. Sibylla stopped, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"Don't be a fool. My brother will not condemn you to a fate similar to his own."

"There are many ways to experience relief. You said so yourself, Princess."

Sibylla looked at her thoughtfully and after a moment nodded, giving her wordless consent to whatever she wished to do.

The trust she had in her intimidated her.

As the siblings' chambers were next to each other, walking along the corridor from one quarters to the other was not a problem for her – Sibylla dismissed her guards so that no one could see in what negligee she went to the king's chamber.

Her long hair was loose, her body covered only by a thin nightgown, rubbed with fragrant oils, on her shoulders a cashmere shawl with which she covered herself to protect herself from the cold.

When she closed the door behind her and turned to face him, his eyes were wide in shock. He was silent for a moment, clearly not knowing what to say.

"No." He said finally. "Go back to your chamber."

"I have not come to you to sin. Does the sight of me disgust you, my King?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling that she was breathing heavily through her mouth, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

She saw something in his gaze that looked like he felt pain, his figure creased slightly, as if he had run out of strength.

"God created you to subject me to the ultimate trial. He is torturing me like Job."

She felt a single, warm, heavy tear run down her cheek at his words, her body trembling all over, hot and cold at the same time with desire, though she did not know what kind or what was causing it.

"God sent me to soothe your suffering." She whispered.

They looked at each other like that for a long moment that lasted an eternity, and only after a while did she realise that his silence was due to the fact that he wanted whatever she was going to do to be due to her free will. Therefore, she moved tentatively towards his bed, on which she saw a clean, snow-white sheets, and lay down on her back, putting her shawl aside.

She looked up at him – his gaze was fixed on her, his silhouette sitting in a chair by the window frozen in stillness, the whiteness of his attire seeming to her to shine amidst the candles and the surrounding darkness of the night.

She swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in her throat as her fingers lifted to the ties of her nightgown – she untied the knot, a pleasant squeeze spreading between her thighs, something sticky beginning to leak from it onto the sheet beneath her buttocks.

"– does what I am doing disgust you, my King? – is it a sin? –" She asked, sliding the thin material off her shoulders in a gentle, soft motion, unashamedly revealing her plump, sweet breasts. His gaze fled to them, as if what he had just seen simultaneously terrified and excited him.

"– looking at you, all I feel is desire – it's me sinning in my mind, not you –" He whispered so that she barely heard him, his hand sliding from the table top to his thigh.

Though she knew it was wrong, her whole body screamed, wanting him to touch her, to check for himself how soft and warm her flesh was, her moist, swollen womanhood, pulsing around nothing in desire.

"– not just you, Your Grace –" She muttered in a trembling voice, shamefully mimicking his movements, her long, small fingers sliding down her belly between her thighs, sinking into her warm folds like the moist flesh of an exotic fruit.

His head bowed as they both made a strange, unnatural sound full of surprise at the same moment, a moan as if they had caused each other pain, but yet all she could feel was a wonderful, hot tingling in her quivering womanhood, in her lips, in her nipples, in the tips of her fingertips.

He did not allow her to look at what he was touching under the material of his robe, she could however see the shape of that part of his body outlined on the material – his manhood was long and fat like a piece of stick, growing larger and larger with each squeeze of his hand.

She threw her head back, imagining feeling something that big inside her, in an involuntary reflex finding with her fingertips her puffy slit, slick and tight, resisting her as she tried to slide it inside her.

"– let me see –" He whispered, as if asking for something dirty, disgusting, repulsive.

She, however, felt only the heat of pleasure at his words shake her body – her thighs involuntarily parted, her legs bent at the knees allowing her nightgown to shamelessly reveal all that only her husband should be able to look at.

She felt tears under her eyelids at the thought of wanting to be his wife.

"– you have my love, my King – you have my heart –" She breathed out, digging her fingers deeper into the delicate structure of her folds, teasing again and again the small bud from which her body went through shivers of wonderful, familiar pleasure.

His eyes were fixed on what was between her thighs, his gaze hazy and hot, his breath heavy, the sound of his hand smacking against his flesh sticky and lewd.

"– like the inside of a ripe fruit – like Eve in paradise –" He breathed out, staring at her as if he were looking at something delightful, accelerating the splats of his hand with a low grunt of pleasure. "– so beautiful –"

She felt a thrill of pleasure shake her, shivers ran through her cheeks, breasts and legs at his words, so shameless and yet poetic, beautiful, like the Song of Songs of King David.

"– her breasts are like two fawns –" She hummed, quoting one of the biblical verses, the gaze of her King again fixed on her face, full of fire, heavenly or infernal. "– like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies –"

"– her lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb – milk and honey are under her tongue –" He whispered in reply, quoting another of the songs from the manuscript, making her involuntarily allow her own fingers to invade her insides at last.

She threw her head back with a girlish moan, her free hand gripping the frame of his bed, rolling her hips back and forth, stretching her tight interior with the sticky clicks of her wetness.

"– she is a spring enclosed – a sealed fountain –" He muttered and let out a low, helpless groan of relief, leaning down, his hand lying on the table top clenched into a fist.

She felt a wonderful convulsion shake her body at his words, her fleshy, moist walls beginning to throb and clench around her own fingers.

She imagined that her body had just sucked his seed deep inside her, which would take root in her like a tree, giving him a future and an inheritance.

She moaned as she felt her pleasure reach its peak, seeing for a moment only the darkness before her eyes – her fingers, all wet with her moisture stroked for a moment more the little spot deep inside her, her whole body hot and sweaty from the exertion.

Her release was wonderful and sweet, as if she had tasted the most delicious of fruits.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, his figure relaxed and spread out comfortably on the chair, his hand laid back on its armrest, his glove sticky with something pearly and shiny.

They breathed loudly for a while, just watching each other – she decided not to cover her body, wanting to give him that pleasure, wishing only his gaze could see her like this.

Bare.

He sighed quietly, cocking his head, his gaze satisfied, indicating that he had clearly made a decision in his heart.

"– I will marry you tomorrow at dawn –"

She blinked and raised herself up on her elbows, horrified.

"– my King – that's not –"

"– I know that this was not your intention – I also know that you will understand that it will be a white marriage, which I will declare to all and sundry – you will not lose your maidenhood – you will not bear me children – the Kingdom will treat you after my death as a saint who stood by the dying King in his misery – when I join my Father in the Heavens, you will be free to remarry –" He explained and she shook her head, feeling offended by his words.

"– I will not take another husband –"

He fell silent and swallowed hard, as if something in the certainty in which she said this moved him deeply.

"– very well – I have only one condition: you will never take off my mask – not even after my death – you will see me as I am only in the Kingdom of Heaven –"

[evagreen-stories]

The Forest Beauty | (Aemond x f!modern!reader) (part 1/?)

Summary: time traveler decides to live her new life out in the kingswood, avoiding the new world she finds herself in until an encounter with a certain one-eyed prince changes her life.

Warnings: dark!themes, dark!aemond, obsessive!aemond, book!aemond, no intimacy (smut starts with part 2), intro and first part are kinda a slow burn to introduce the storyline & character

Non-Canon Storyline: 3 years post war – greens won, Aegon's only son was k*lled and only has two daughters remaining, he cannot produce more heirs, Helaena is alive but depressed,Aemond serves as prince regent ever since Aegon got injured during the war and is chronically sick and getting weaker, Aemond is to inherit the iron throne soon, Aemond k*lled Alys Rivers along with all other strongs, Aemond broke the betrothal to Floris Baratheon when he became Prince Regent and won the war (Also, I'm not a native english speaker, please be patient with me)

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

< intro masterlist part 2 > (coming soon)

You wander around the woods, returning from another day of working in the city and coming closer and closer to your home when you start to feel uneasy, as if you’re not alone in the forest. You stop and listen, noticing the sound of footsteps close by. With careful steps you approach the sounds, noticing a head full of silvery hair between the trees and watching it carefully.

A man with an eyepatch, dressed in black leather clothes and carrying a long, sheathed sword on his hip. You monitor him carefully; his hands behind his back as he is gazing out into the treeline, he seems to be taking a stroll. But this deep within the forest?

You stalk him for a while, trailing his steps as you make sure to stay hidden. Too busy with staring at him you don't notice a branch on the ground, stepping on it and causing a loud *krack* sound.

The silver haired stranger turns around quickly, facing you and making eye contact. You know it's too late to hide now, as his lilac eye meets yours and a wicked smile forms on his lips

“Hello there, little one. Are you lost?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You say, looking him up and down more closely now. He doesn’t look like someone that should be wandering this deep into the forest. You notice the tell-tale signs of a Targaryen. You’ve heard of them and noticed a few children with these features when you explored the street of silk once. But who exactly was this man standing in front of you right now?

His mouth twitches, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Oh, I am not lost, little lamb. Simply having a nice stroll to take my mind off the stress of ruling. May I ask who I have the pleasure of finding so deep in the woods?”

“No, you may not.” You answer, staying wary of the stranger. You’re starting to connect the emblems on his clothes and scabbard with the ones you’ve seen on royal guards patrolling the city before, this man must be one of the princes. “You should leave. These woods aren’t a place for a pretty prince like you.”

“My, my, my. So confrontational. Why the defensiveness, my beautiful little lamb? Are you hiding something?” He steps closer to you, his voice now has a hint of danger in it.

“No one wanders this part of the woods. You’re better suited closer to the city.” You say, trying to sound more polite than before, quickly understanding the prince might not appreciate the disrespect.

“Ah, yes, no one wanders this part of the woods. Well, that only makes me wonder how a pretty little lamb like you got herself as deep in here as I did. Unless, of course, you are not alone.” His eye leaves yours, scanning along the tree line before stepping closer once again.

“Relax, this is no ambush. Unless you keep on intruding on my space, then it just might.” You say sternly, hoping to play into his paranoia and get him to leave quickly.

“I do so wish I could believe you, little lamb.” His eye still scans over the tree line as his hand falls to the hilt of his sword. “How do you expect me to relax when a beautiful girl like you is all alone in the woods? You couldn’t have gotten this far without help.”

“I have. You don’t think all that dirt and tools on me are for decoration, do you?” You say, gesturing to the axe tied to your belt, knifes dangling off the bag you carry that’s strung over your chest.

“And what exactly did I catch you doing all alone in the woods, little lamb?” His voice is firm now, eye narrowing as he takes a closer look at you, trying to judge you.

You remain quiet for a few moments before deciding to answer truthfully. “I live here.”

“You live here, little lamb?” His eye scans over you once more. “YOU live in the woods?” His voice is filled with equal measures of surprise and disbelief.

“I do.” You say affirmingly. “And I’m not fond of guests.”

“A woman alone in the wild? No man to protect her? No family?” His disbelief is evident in his voice and expression. “I cannot imagine how a beautiful woman like you has endured out here.”

Upset at his words, you feel anger starting to boil deep inside of you. Women in this time are still property to be owned, another reason why you decided to live out here, away from society. “Cut the feigned sympathy. I live just fine out here.”

“But is it really living, little lamb? Living in the wild? Surely a woman of your beauty must desire the comfort and luxuries of civilization. Do you feel no desire to start a family, to have someone care for you and protect you?” His tone seems kinder now, almost caring, although his disbelief is still clear and you cannot shake the feeling of danger coming from him.

Suspicious at his invasive nature you raise an eyebrow. “What is this? A tea party to exchange gossip?”

“Oh no, little lamb. You are a most fascinating creature and you have sparked my interest. I am merely trying to find out more about who you are.”

“I’m not interested in conversation-“

“Now, now, little lamb, we’ve come this far already. It wouldn’t be very polite to turn down a crown prince like this.” His eye narrows, an obvious predatory hint in his voice as his hand tightens on the hilt of his blade. “It’s appalling for a citizen to turn down their crown prince, my dear little lamb.”

You tighten your jaw, nervous at the sudden turn this situation has taken but unwilling to comply with his orders. “I am not a citizen of yours-“

“Everyone is a citizen of mine!” His words are soothing with anger as his patience has reached its limit and he pulls the blade from its sheath. “Now come closer little lamb. I’ll help you back to the city where you belong, where it’s safe.” He begins to stalk towards you, his dark gaze fixed upon you.

You take a few steps back before you turn around and start running, using the the fact you know these woods like no other to lure him away from where your home is before skillfully outmaneuvering him in the thick forest, hiding successfully in a small cave. The silver haired man tries to follow you, you can hear him yell profanities and curse words as he struggles to keep up with you, eventually getting caught up in the thicket and falling behind. "Damn you!" Aemond shouts as he breaks free of the branches and finds himself standing in a clearing with no sign of the little Lamb in sight. Where the hell did she go? Damn this forest. Damn her.

He inelegantly shoves his sword back into its casing, taking a last long look around the scenery before begrudgingly turning around to make his way back to the city.

The rest of his day is plagued by thoughts about her, remembering every single detail about his encounter with this strange, wild little Lamb. She lives in the woods all alone, with no one to care for her? Surely, he thinks to himself, no one would truly want to do that.

She did seem awfully skilled at maneuvering the trees and avoiding my chase. Could she truly be completely alone? He wonders, staring into the lit fireplace of his chambers, his finger mindlessly tapping along the rim of the almost drained cup in his hand. His interest in the little lamb was definitely piqued. He would venture out into the woods to find her again once his duties allowed him to.

time skip / two weeks have passed

Things went back to normal after the encounter with the stranger, you didn’t see him again, but you did make sure to be extra cautious about your surroundings at all times, avoiding all travelers for the time being.

You’re sitting on a boulder in the river, only your ankles in the water as you sharpen your axe using whet stones from the river while waiting for the fish you caught this morning to finish smoking. You’re deep in thoughts as when you notice an unusual rustling of leaves behind you and catch a glimpse of the familiar silver head through the trees.

Here we go again.

The silver haired man had been stalking the Kingswood once again as he had done for several days since he encountered the strange little Lamb the first time. Searching for any hints as to where she lived, so that he could go back and speak with her again.

His hope was running low when then he finally saw her again, sitting in the river, tending to her tools. His heart skipped multiple beats, he couldn’t quite explain why he felt like this.

Still, she is the only one this far into the woods. No one around to protect her, just like when he had met her last time. This woman was a mystery he was most eager to solve. He slowly and deliberately stalked over to her, taking great care to be as sneaky and quiet as possible.

Even though you had noticed him immediately you keep focusing on your tool, pretending you hadn't noticed him as he approaches, hiding behind the last tree that provides him with cover before he would have to step out into the open.

"What is it you want?" You ask after a while, your voice loud and clear while your eyes are still focused on the task at hand. His attempts to remain hidden are more amusing than anything else.

The man was startled but quickly covers his reaction with his typical demeanor, standing proud with his hands behind his back as he steps out of the tree line and approaches the mysterious beauty carefully, as if trying not to startle her. She had quite a sharp ear. Although, he should have known better. If this little lamb had survived by herself in the woods, hearing the noises of the trees and animals was a skill she must have honed greatly.

Once he’s only a few feet away he stops abruptly, contemplating his choice of words before he speaks in a friendly yet stern manner. "You are quite perceptive little Lamb."

He remains quiet for a while. You’re still focused on your tool, not looking up, as you probe him further. "Speak. I know you've been following me for a while."

“I was simply fascinated with your lifestyle after our last encounter, that is all." He comes a few steps closer, enough to look at her properly, but not so close as to make himself a threat. "Why do you live out here, by yourself? Away from civilization and society?"

"Because I wish to do so." You say, now leaning forward to wash off the freshly sharpened axe in the river water.

"But is there no other reason little Lamb? You do not get... lonely? You do not yearn for society or friends? This forest is cold, dark, and dangerous." The mans voice seems filled with what seems like genuine concern for your welfare.

"The forests seem like that only to those who aren't welcome in them." You say, now looking up at him for the first time this conversation. "What do I get out of sharing my life story with you?"

Aemond's eyebrow quirked slightly at your words. Your words were not aggressive but they were not exactly kind or welcoming either. „You get to answer your crown prince a few questions that have been gnawing on his mind for a while. Who could say it wouldn’t be worth it?”

“I could say. The less people know about me, the better. Easier to stay hidden that way.”

Aemond stays silent after she says that, thinking over her words in his head. Stay hidden from what? From whom? What could make her feel that she must remain hidden... "Tell me, my little Lamb. Who are you hiding from?" Perhaps after finding out that one thing, he can put this obsession to rest.

"Men like you." You answer, now shifting your attention back to your tools, reaching back into the river to fetch out another whet stone to sharpen a big knife now.

"Men like me?" His eye narrows. " I am no threat to you. What could possibly have led you to believe that? You are alone so deep in the woods and I have not shown you any hostility... yet."

"No hostility?" You say laughing. "Chasing me with your sword was what then? A local friendship ritual I’m not familiar with?"

"Oh, I was simply trying to get you to stop and talk to me. That is all." He says, a small smile gracing his lips at her words. He found her laughter quite endearing.

“Didn’t work very well now, did it?”

"No I suppose not," His smile grows slightly, he finds this strange little Lamb's demeanor quite intriguing. He was never great at interacting with women, but this one seemed comfortable in his company, at least somewhat. Even if she was also incredibly untrusting and suspicious of him, or of men in general. He looks at her intently, savouring her smile as he knows his next words will wipe it right off her face again.

“I want to know more about you. I will not leave until you tell me more.” He says and as predicted, her cheeky smile gets replaced with a frown again.

“I told you, I won’t-“ he interrupts her quickly, almost pleading with her, “I know, I know. But I need to know. I cannot rest at night. I will not tell anyone about you. Whatever you tell me, it will not have any consequences, I swear it.”

You sigh deeply, pondering his words. You couldn’t care less for telling your story, the possibility of sharing too much lingering in the back of your mind. Then again, perhaps this is just what you needed. Sharing a bit of your true self with someone after having to carefully craft a fake persona and uphold it for the past two years. “Fine then. What is it you want to know?”

His eyes light up at that statement as he takes his time deciding which one of his many questions he should ask first. “Your accent, it seems out of place. Are you not from here?”

You immedily begin to regret your decision to talk to him, struggling to find a way to phrase the truth in a way it doesn’t sound too outlandish. “No, I am not. I come from a land far away, you wouldn’t know it.”

“Did you come alone?”

“Sort of. I came here with others but they… forgot me. Or maybe they are just unable to return. I wouldn’t know.”  You say, looking out into the flowing river as you remember.

“Forgot you? Why would your family just forget you?”

“They weren’t my family. They were… people I knew. We went here and they left, never to return, at least not until today. They probably told my family I died.” What had they told your family? You often wondered it. The changes of the seasons and moons made it easy for you to tell how much time had passed here, in this world. Did as much time pass back home? Was your family even informed of what truly happened or were they waiting back home for a sign of life that would never come, with no way of knowing your fate?

Aemond is quiet for a while, processing this information. “How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been here two winters already, the coming one will be my third.”

“THAT long?” He blurts out, mind racing. “You have survived here alone all this time, out in this forest, with no family or friends? How?”

A slight smile tugs at the corner of your lips, amused by his disbelief. “Yes, I have. I’m friendly with some of the farmers around here and some merchants. I was fortunate, really, that I was stranded here with a few tools and a bit of money.”

“That could not have been enough to make you survive here. The winters can be hard, as can be nature itself. I don’t know a single woman that would be able to survive like this even with all the tools in the world.”

“I suppose you’re right.” You shrug. This is your normal, all you knew for most of your life, you often forget just how unusual it really is. “I come from a family of farmers. We lived far out, away from civilization, and I learned a lot about nature that way. I am, or was, my parents only child. I spend many years of my childhood in the forest with my dad. He was an avid fisher and knew all the ways around the forest, while my mom taught me all about her knowledge of herbs. She was a healer of sorts.” 

Your smile returns as she recalls all her fond memories of home. Oh, how you wished you’d never left the farm. “They bred, trained, and sold horses too. I was strapped to a saddle on my own horse before I could even walk.”

His face shifts from one of shock to one of sympathy. He could tell by your words and the tone your voice takes that you missed home dearly. “And you have no way back?”

“No.” You state plainly. Do you? Truthfully, you do not know, but you surely hope you do.

“Why? If I give you coin for passage, can you go back home?”

“I’m afraid its not that easy.” You huff, struggling to make up an answer to this question. “Unless they come get me, I have no way back. I… I’m done talking about this.” You say, now shaking your head.

He wants to press further but understands he shouldn’t, not if he’d like to keep you talking. “Well then… What are you planning to do here then? You can’t just stay out here forever.”

“Why not?” You conter. “I’ve gotten comfortable out here. I know my way around the woods and can survive quite well out here. I’ve come to appreciate my little life out here quite a lot, actually.”

“Is this really life or is this survival? What about finding a family of your own, what about children?”

You sigh deeply. “I may not have answers to all those questions yet, but I do now I’m content here for now. I have no duties here, no bills to worry about. I just need to figure out my next meal and get to enjoy nature the rest of the time with all the peace and quiet it offers me.”

The change of topic strikes a chord in you, one you didn’t realise was as sensitive as it seems to be. The prospect of having to live out the rest of your days in this time is one that seemed more and more realistic and the question of what you would actually do for the next twenty, forty, sixty years of your life was one burning in the back of your mind more and more frequently.

“I’m done talking for today. You may leave now.” You dismissed the prince, frustration growing inside you.

He is not happy about this, his expression shows this as much as the tone of his voice. “Leave? I just arrived. You can’t just send me away.”

“I do not wish to tell any more stories.” You state. Just as he begins to talk again you turn to face him quickly, looking at him for a few seconds before proposing a compromise. Maybe you just needed some time to gather your thoughts and calm the inner turmoil you can feel bubbling deep inside your chest right now. “How about this: If you can find me again, I will answer you more questions. Anything you want.”

His jaw clenches as he lets out a long sigh. This is not how he wanted this conversation to end but he could tell from her expression that she seemed exhausted and the prospect of getting to ask anything he wanted seemed tempting enough to agree. “Fine then. I will seek you out again soon, but I will not rest until I have all my answers. You must swear you will not avoid me again.”

“I swear it.” You answer, a reassuring smile on your lips. “Have a safe travel back, my prince.”

She had been speaking so freely all this time that hearing her address him properly caught him off guard for a moment. He stands still in place, watching her a bit longer, before begrudgingly turning around to leave after bidding a small goodbye.

As he walks away you turn around slightly, watching the swaying of his silver hair until it disappears completely between the trees. A long, deep sigh escapes your lips as you resume your tasks for the day, thinking about all the questions he asked and what you really wanted from your life now.

You were honest, you did love your life as it was now, but sometimes the solitude did get to you as well. A craving for the love and closeness your family had brought you. As much as you cursed the prince when you had first met him, maybe having his attention on you could be a good thing after all.

He thought his mind would be calmed after speaking to her but to his dismay, the opposite had happened. His head is filled with questions still and worse so, genuine worry about her wellbeing. Yes, his little lamb had survived well by herself, but the confirmation that she was truly alone out there was deeply unsettling to him. When he is laying in bed that night, he realised just how little he knew about her. He didn’t know where she lived – did she have a house or did she sleep under the stars? He had never even asked her name. What would it be? If she is from far away, it surely was exotic.

He keeps tossing and turning that night, the picture of her smiling face filling his mind, even more so when he closes his eye, as if he can see even clearer when the world isn’t distracting him. He tries to sleep but he swears he hears her laugh, still as clear and comforting as it had been when he heard it the first time. A sound so sweet it could lull him to sleep, if only there wasn’t the gaping emptiness next to him, reminding him of your absence, of the fact you’re all alone out there. If something happened to you tonight, would he ever find out? He could not bear the thought of it.

His night stays restless. He falls asleep again and again, dreaming vividly about the way your cheeks rounded when you smiled at him, about the freckles on your nose, the small dimples that appeared under your cheeks when you smiled and over your lips when you pursed your lips in dismay at another thing he said.

It was improper, he knew that much. For a prince, the heir to the throne, to be so enchanted by a forest dweller. Nevertheless, his heart skipped a beat every time he had laid his eyes on her. His mind went back to think about all your interactions at every chance it got, even in the midst of important meetings. He was a devoted and proper man; he knew better and yet, something about her felt so fundamentally right that a future without her seemed wrong.

When the first rays of sunshine broke though his windows he had made his decision. He would go to see her again and this time, he would not leave her behind. He could not. He will find her and bring her – well, where? Somewhere, anywhere he knows she is safe, where he knows he can find her whenever he wants to see her. He will figure it all out, he will find a way to make this work.

His feet soon carry him through the castle, unaware of where he is going until he finds himself in front of two wooden doors. The kings, his brothers, chambers.

Currently editing the next part, that one will be 18+! Second series about Aemond x reader coming soon as well (currently proof reading chapter one)!

[zuko-always-lies]

What a lot of "power-hungry Azula after the throne" takes miss is that Azula was already securely the heir before the series started. Not only was she Ozai's favorite child, but Zuko had already lost his birthright by being banished. Although throughout Book 1 there is a small chance that Zuko might regain Ozai's favor and his status as Crown Prince by capturing the Avatar, at the end of Book 1 Ozai declares Zuko a traitor and has him hunted as a fugitive. From that point on, Zuko regaining Ozai's favor is extremely unlikely, at least without Azula putting her thumbs on the scale. Iroh also theoretically has a claim to the throne, but he has persistently failed to press it, so any direct threat from his corner also seems unlikely, and of course Ozai would never recognize Iroh as his heir.

With Zuko completely disgraced and Iroh a non-threat, the biggest potential threat to Azula's "right to the throne" actually comes from another quarter. If Ozai remarried or took a concubine, their children might threaten Azula's position, especially if they were male. Ozai might even desire a male heir and favor one over Azula. Azula would still have 14 years and many accomplishments on them, but this would still be more dangerous than "traitor Zuko" making his return to grace. However, since Ozai seems to have shown little interest in having more children in the many years since Ursa left, this is strictly a hypothetical threat.

Without these hypothetical half siblings of Azula, Ozai is essentially stuck with her as his heir. Aside from the disgraced Zuko, Ozai has no one other to choose, even if he wanted. There might be some distant relatives of the royal family available, but they would have weak claims and Ozai would have to be truly desperate to choose them over his own, prodigious daughter.

Azula's status as the next Firelord is thus essentially secure at the beginning of Book 2. All she needs to do is keep breathing, not screw up in an absolutely horrific way, and not get her only potential competitor back into her father's favor. Even if she wants the throne, she already essentially has it in the bag. It doesn't make sense for her to do anything particularly crazy or desperate to secure it, or even really expend much energy or thought on an already "solved" problem.

Meanwhile, Zuko desperately wants to be crown prince again but is literally a traitor marked for death, so him doing something crazy to try to regain his "rightful place" makes perfect sense.

[novaursa]

- Note: So, I'll give this a go here. Those who followed my work on AO3 will notice some changes, but the gist is the same. Also, please be kind. If you don't like it, just scroll over it. I post stuff for people to enjoy them and escape the burdens of their lives with me for a while. There is no grand conspiracy here. Just read and relax. Also, this is an AU fanfic and my own personal toxic blend of the show and the book(s).

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final

Part 1

The air was thick with anticipation and the clang of swords as the tournament raged on in the fields outside King's Landing. Knights clashed in the lists, banners fluttered, and the crowd roared, their cheers echoing through the castle walls. Yet inside the royal chambers, the atmosphere was tense and fraught with fear.

Queen Aemma Arryn was in labor, her cries of pain mingling with the distant sounds of celebration. King Viserys I Targaryen paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, worry etched deeply into his face. This was the moment he had long awaited, the birth of his male heir. But the labor was not progressing as it should.

Maester Mellos hovered nearby, his brow furrowed as he consulted with the midwives. "The babe is in breech, Your Grace," he said, his voice grave. "We cannot turn it. If we do not act soon, we will lose them both."

Viserys halted, his heart pounding. "What can be done?" he demanded, though he feared the answer.

"We can attempt to save the child," Mellos replied, his tone heavy with the weight of the decision. "But it will mean sacrificing the queen."

The king's breath caught in his throat. He looked at Aemma, her face pale and slick with sweat, her eyes filled with agony and desperation. She had given him so much, had borne the burden of his ambitions and dreams. And now, he was faced with a choice that would haunt him forever.

"Aemma," he whispered, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. "My love, they say... they say they can save the babe."

Aemma's eyes met his, wide with fear and pain. "Do what you must," she gasped. "Save our child, Viserys. Promise me."

Viserys felt his heart shatter, but he nodded, pressing a kiss to her trembling hand. "I promise."

The maester and midwives moved quickly, their faces set with grim determination. Viserys stood back, his hands shaking, as they prepared for the terrible task. He could hear the clamor of the tournament outside, a cruel reminder of the celebration that had turned into a nightmare.

The room was filled with the sounds of Aemma's cries and the maester's steady instructions. Viserys felt his world narrowing to this moment, every second stretching into an eternity. And then, a piercing wail broke through the tension.

"It's a boy," one of the midwives exclaimed, holding up the tiny, wriggling form. The babe's cry was strong, a sign of life and promise.

Viserys felt a brief surge of relief, but it was short-lived. "Wait," the maester said, his eyes widening in surprise. "There is another."

The midwives worked quickly, and soon another child was brought into the world, a girl this time, smaller and silent. The room fell into a hushed silence as they examined her, worry etched on their faces.

"She is not crying," one of the midwives whispered, her voice trembling.

Viserys stepped forward, his heart aching. "Vaella," he said softly, naming her after an ancient Targaryen ancestor. "My daughter, Vaella."

The maester nodded, though his expression remained grave. "She lives, but she is weak."

The twins were placed side by side, Baelon strong and crying, while Vaella lay silent and still. Viserys looked down at them, his heart torn between joy and sorrow. He reached out to touch Vaella's tiny hand, and in that moment, her eyes fluttered open, indigo and bright, meeting his with a quiet intensity.

"She will be strong," he murmured, a fierce determination filling him. "She will live."

The room was filled with the mingled sounds of the babes and the distant roar of the tournament, a poignant reminder of the life and death that intertwined in the halls of power. Viserys knew that this day would be remembered, not just for the birth of his heirs, but for the choices and sacrifices that had marked its passing.

...

A few hours later, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen arrived at the nursery, her heart heavy with grief for her mother. She had loved Aemma deeply and the pain of her loss cut through her like a blade. The celebrations outside had turned into whispers of tragedy, and the joy of new life was mingled with the sorrow of death.

Rhaenyra’s steps were slow and measured as she walked through the halls, her mind reeling from the news. She understood, intellectually, why her father had made the choice he did, but it did little to soothe the anger and resentment boiling within her. She had wanted a brother, yes, but not at the cost of her mother’s life. And now, not only had she lost her mother, but her father had chosen a name for her sister without consulting her. She had wanted her sister to be named Visenya, after their legendary ancestor.

As she entered the nursery, she found the room softly lit and quiet, save for the occasional murmur of the maids tending to the infants. Rhaenyra’s gaze fell first upon her brother, Baelon, lying peacefully in his cradle, a small dragon egg nestled beside him, warm and glowing with promise.

"He's so small," she whispered to herself, reaching out to touch Baelon's tiny hand. His fingers curled around hers instinctively, and she felt a pang of tenderness mixed with her sorrow.

Then, she turned her attention to the cradle beside her brother's. Her newborn sister, Vaella, lay there, wide awake and silent. Vaella was pale, almost translucent, with an ethereal quality that unsettled Rhaenyra. Unlike Baelon, there was no dragon egg to keep her warm, yet the babe seemed content, her indigo eyes staring up at Rhaenyra with a calm intensity.

Rhaenyra knelt beside the cradle, her heart aching. "Hello, Vaella," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I'm your sister, Rhaenyra."

"Hello, little sister," Rhaenyra said softly, reaching out to gently stroke Vaella’s cheek. The baby did not react, her gaze unblinking. "Father named you Vaella, but I would have called you Visenya. A name worthy of a queen."

Vaella’s tiny hand moved slightly, as if reaching out, and Rhaenyra took it gently in her own. She marveled at how small and delicate Vaella was, a stark contrast to the strong and robust Baelon.

"She doesn't cry," one of the maids said quietly, approaching Rhaenyra. "She hasn't made a sound since she was born."

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes never leaving Vaella's face. "She will be strong," she said, echoing her father's earlier words. "She has to be."

The maid hesitated before speaking again. "Your Grace, we were instructed to place a dragon egg in Vaella's cradle as well, but..."

"But what?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone sharp.

"We couldn't find one that seemed... right," the maid replied, her voice faltering. "The eggs are all warm, but none of them felt suitable for her."

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened. "Then find one," she ordered. "She deserves the same chance as Baelon."

The maid bowed her head and quickly left the room. Rhaenyra turned back to Vaella, her expression softening. "I wanted you to be named Visenya. A name worthy of a queen," she whispered, brushing a finger gently across Vaella's cheek. "But Vaella is a strong name too. You will make it strong."

Vaella’s eyes remained fixed on her, unblinking and serene. Rhaenyra felt a strange sense of calm wash over her, as if the silent babe was imparting some of her tranquility.

She leaned closer, her voice a soft murmur. "I will protect you, Vaella. I will protect both of you. Mother's gone, but you have me. And I will not let anything happen to you."

Rhaenyra stayed there, watching over her siblings, her heart heavy with the weight of her promises and the sorrow of her loss. She knew that the days ahead would be fraught with challenges and dangers, but in that quiet moment, surrounded by the fragile beginnings of new life, she found a glimmer of hope and determination.

The nursery was a haven of calm amidst the storm, and as the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, Rhaenyra vowed that she would honor her mother's memory by standing strong for her family, no matter the cost.

...

The next day dawned with a hushed stillness that seemed to permeate the entire Red Keep. The jubilation of the previous day had been tempered by the tragedy of Queen Aemma's death, but the court still held a flicker of hope in the promise of the newborn twins. Servants moved quietly through the halls, attending to their duties with a solemn air.

In the nursery, the maids and servants who had tended to the twins throughout the night were greeted by a scene of unexpected and harrowing sorrow. The once lively Baelon, who had been sleeping peacefully beside his dragon egg, was now eerily still in his cradle. His tiny chest no longer rose and fell with breath, his eyes closed in eternal slumber.

The discovery sent a shockwave through the nursery. Gasps of horror and grief filled the room as the realization settled in. The King's heir, his long-awaited son, was dead. The dragon egg that had been placed beside him now seemed like a cruel mockery of the life that had been so abruptly extinguished.

"Fetch the Maester," one of the servants choked out, her hands trembling as she tried to comprehend the tragedy before her. "Quickly!"

Maester Mellos arrived swiftly, his face a mask of concern as he took in the scene. He approached Baelon's cradle with a heavy heart, gently placing his fingers against the babe's tiny neck, hoping against hope for a sign of life. There was none. He bowed his head, his heart sinking with the weight of the loss.

As Mellos turned to the cradle beside Baelon's, a sudden and piercing wail filled the air. It was a sound so unexpected and startling that it caused everyone in the room to freeze. Vaella, the silent and still babe, had come alive with a cry that seemed to resonate with a power far beyond her fragile form.

"By the Seven," Mellos muttered, his eyes wide with astonishment. He moved to Vaella's side, noting the newfound vitality in her eyes, the strength in her cries. She was more alive now than she had been since her birth.

The servants exchanged uneasy glances, their grief for Baelon now mingled with a sense of unease. Mellos looked down at the wailing Vaella, his mind racing. It was an old superstition, a whisper from the past: when one twin died, the other sometimes took their soul, their strength. It was said to be a bad omen, a dark portent.

Mellos kept his thoughts to himself, though the notion unsettled him deeply. "It is a tragedy," he said aloud, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "The Princess Vaella has found her voice, it seems, but the loss of Prince Baelon is a heavy blow to us all."

One of the servants, a young woman with tear-streaked cheeks, looked at Mellos with a mixture of fear and confusion. "What does it mean, Maester?" she asked. "Why now?"

Mellos sighed, shaking his head. "I do not know," he admitted. "But we must inform the King. This loss... it will cripple him."

The servants nodded solemnly, their hearts heavy with the task ahead. As they prepared to deliver the devastating news to King Viserys, Mellos turned back to Vaella. The babe had quieted, her cries giving way to a strange, serene silence. He couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had shifted in the balance of life and death within this room.

"I will note this in my journal," Mellos murmured to himself, making a mental note to document the strange events surrounding the twins. He would keep his suspicions to himself for now, but the memory of Vaella's piercing wail would haunt him for years to come.

As the maids and servants moved to carry out their somber duties, the weight of the tragedy settled over the Red Keep like a shroud. The joyous celebrations of new life had been overshadowed by death, and the realm would feel the ripples of this loss for years to come. King Viserys, now a father and a widower, would have to navigate the treacherous waters of grief and responsibility, his heart forever marked by the sorrow of this day.

...

The day of the funeral dawned cold and overcast, the sky heavy with clouds that mirrored the somber mood of the assembled mourners. All gathered before the grand pyre that had been erected outside the Red Keep, a stark testament to the loss of both Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon. The scent of incense and the crackling of torches filled the air, but a profound silence hung over the gathering, broken only by the distant sound of waves against the shore.

King Viserys stood closest to the pyre, his shoulders slumped and his eyes red-rimmed from sleepless nights of weeping. His grief was a palpable thing, weighing down the very air around him. He seemed almost a ghost of himself, hollowed out by the dual tragedies that had befallen him.

A little further down, Rhaenyra stood with her newborn sister Vaella cradled in her arms. She held the babe tightly, as if drawing strength from her tiny, warm presence. Vaella was silent, her indigo eyes wide and watchful, taking in the scene with an uncanny stillness.

Behind Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon Targaryen watched with a mixture of sorrow and concern. He stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. "It's time," he said softly. "Your father needs you now."

Rhaenyra turned her tear-streaked face towards her uncle, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and resignation. "I will never be a son," she whispered, her voice trembling. "And neither will Vaella."

Daemon's expression softened, and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "You are stronger than any son, Rhaenyra. And your father needs that strength now more than ever."

Taking a deep breath, Rhaenyra nodded. She stepped forward, feeling the weight of her duty pressing down upon her young shoulders. She could feel the eyes of the gathered nobles and courtiers upon her, their silent expectation adding to her burden. She glanced at her father, who seemed lost in his own world of sorrow, barely aware of his surroundings.

With tears streaming down her face, Rhaenyra looked up at Syrax, her beloved dragon, who waited patiently beside the pyre. The golden beast’s eyes glowed with a fierce intelligence, and she seemed to understand the gravity of the moment.

"Dracarys," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice breaking.

In an instant, Syrax unleashed a torrent of dragonfire. The flames roared to life, consuming the pyre in a brilliant blaze that lit up the overcast sky. The heat was intense, and the air filled with the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh. The mourners stepped back, shielding their faces from the searing heat, but Rhaenyra stood her ground, her eyes fixed on the flames.

The crackling of the fire was accompanied by the soft sobs and murmurs of those gathered. The loss of their queen and the young prince was a blow to the realm, and the grief of the people was a reflection of the profound sorrow felt by their king.

Rhaenyra looked down at Vaella, her tiny face illuminated by the firelight. "You are all I have left of her," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her sister’s forehead. "I will protect you, always."

Vaella gazed up at her, silent and solemn, as if she understood the weight of her sister's words. Rhaenyra felt a fierce protectiveness surge within her. She might never be the son her father had wished for, but she would be strong for him, for her family, and for her realm.

As the pyre burned, Rhaenyra stood with her sister in her arms, a silent vow forming in her heart. She would honor her mother's memory, and she would ensure that Vaella grew up knowing the love and strength that had defined their mother. The flames roared higher, a testament to the fire that burned within the Targaryen bloodline, a fire that Rhaenyra vowed would never be extinguished.

...

Six months had passed since the tragic deaths of Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon, and King Viserys had made a decision that shocked the realm. He chose to marry Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his Hand, Otto Hightower. This alliance was seen by many as a strategic move to stabilize the kingdom, but it also stirred whispers and discontent among the nobles. In a further surprising move, Viserys named his daughter Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne, a decision that defied tradition and set tongues wagging throughout Westeros.

Another year passed, and Queen Alicent gave birth to a son, Aegon. The realm celebrated the birth of a male heir, but the decision to place him in the nursery with Vaella, who continued to grow normally and thrive, added an interesting dynamic to the royal family. Despite Rhaenyra's attempts to give her sister a dragon egg to hatch, Vaella showed no interest in any of them. After several unsuccessful tries, Rhaenyra stopped bringing the eggs, accepting that Vaella was different in her own way.

The connection between Aegon and Vaella was immediate and profound. Vaella's quiet presence seemed to calm the newborn prince, who basked in the comfort of his half-sister's company. This bond often agitated Rhaenyra, who felt a mixture of protectiveness and jealousy. She would frequently 'steal' Vaella away from the nursery, taking her for walks around the Red Keep or in the gardens, much to the dismay and complaints of the servants. Aegon would become fussy and cry until Vaella was returned to him, a fact that both frustrated and amused Rhaenyra.

One sunny afternoon, Rhaenyra and Vaella were walking through the lush gardens of the Red Keep. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided a serene backdrop. Vaella, now a curious toddler with pale blonde hair and indigo eyes, held tightly to Rhaenyra's hand, her steps wobbly but determined.

"Do you like the flowers, Vaella?" Rhaenyra asked, kneeling down to pick a bright red rose and handing it to her sister.

Vaella nodded, her eyes wide with wonder as she examined the flower. "Pretty," she murmured, her voice soft and clear.

Rhaenyra smiled, but her expression quickly turned somber. "You know, sometimes I wish things were different," she said, more to herself than to Vaella. "I wish Mother were here to see you grow. She would have loved you so much."

Vaella looked up at her sister, her indigo eyes filled with an understanding far beyond her years. "Mama," she said simply, reaching up to touch Rhaenyra's face.

Rhaenyra's heart ached with the weight of her sister's innocence and the loss they both shared. "Yes, Mama," she whispered, hugging Vaella tightly. "But you have me, and I will always be here for you."

As they continued their walk, they passed a group of servants who were nervously whispering among themselves. One of them, a young maid, approached Rhaenyra hesitantly. "Your Grace, Prince Aegon is very fussy. He won't stop crying without Princess Vaella."

Rhaenyra sighed, feeling the familiar pang of frustration. "He can wait a little longer," she replied curtly. "Vaella needs fresh air and sunshine."

The maid bowed her head, retreating with a worried glance. Rhaenyra led Vaella to a shaded bench under a sprawling oak tree, lifting her sister onto her lap. "You know, Vaella, sometimes I feel like I can't do anything right," she confessed, brushing a strand of hair from Vaella's face. "But when I'm with you, it feels like everything is okay."

Vaella looked up at her with a solemn expression. "Love Nyra," she said, wrapping her small arms around her sister's neck.

Rhaenyra felt tears prick her eyes, but she blinked them away, smiling through her sadness. "And I love you, my sweet Vaella," she whispered. "Always."

As they sat together in the peaceful garden, the bond between the sisters grew stronger, a beacon of light amidst the complexities of court life and the looming shadows of their past. The challenges ahead were many, but in each other's company, they found solace and strength to face whatever the future held.

...

Two years had passed, and Vaella continued to grow normally, blossoming into a lively child. She spent her days in the company of her half-brother Aegon, who refused to be parted from her for long. This inseparable bond often infuriated Rhaenyra, who cherished her moments alone with Vaella but had to contend with Aegon's tantrums whenever his sister was taken away.

Despite Rhaenyra's best efforts, Aegon and Vaella were rarely separated. The young prince's attachment to his half-sister was so strong that the servants, exasperated by Aegon's constant cries, eventually allowed the two children to sleep in the same crib. It was the only way to ensure Aegon's peaceful slumber.

In the royal chambers, Alicent Hightower, now visibly pregnant with her second child, often expressed her concerns to King Viserys about this arrangement. One evening, as she lay in bed with Viserys beside her, she broached the subject once more.

"This is not healthy, Viserys," Alicent said, her voice tinged with frustration. "Aegon is far too dependent on Vaella. They should not be sleeping in the same crib. It's not proper."

Viserys, weary from the day's duties, sighed and rubbed his temples. "They're just children, Alicent. They'll grow out of it. Let them be."

Alicent's eyes flashed with irritation. "It's not just about them growing out of it. It sets a bad precedent. Aegon should be learning to be independent, not clinging to his sister all the time."

Viserys shrugged, clearly not wanting to engage in another argument. "They're happy, and they're safe. That's all that matters."

Alicent opened her mouth to retort, but then thought better of it. Instead, she turned away, fuming silently. Her pregnancy had made her more sensitive to the disturbances in the household, and Aegon's dependency on Vaella was just one of many concerns weighing on her mind.

Meanwhile, in the nursery, Rhaenyra watched as Aegon and Vaella played together. Aegon's laughter echoed through the room as Vaella chased him, her own giggles filling the air. Rhaenyra felt a mix of love and exasperation as she approached them.

"Vaella, come with me," Rhaenyra said, holding out her hand. "Let's go for a walk."

Aegon's face immediately crumpled, and he clung to Vaella. "No! Vaella stays here!"

Rhaenyra's patience was wearing thin. "Aegon, you can't always have her with you. She needs to spend time with me too."

Aegon shook his head vehemently, his eyes filling with tears. "No! Vaella stays!"

Rhaenyra sighed, knowing that any attempt to separate them would end in another tantrum. She knelt down and gently pried Aegon's hands from Vaella. "I'll bring her back soon, I promise."

As she led Vaella out of the nursery, the sound of Aegon's wails echoed down the hallway. The servants exchanged resigned looks, knowing it was only a matter of time before Vaella would be brought back to soothe the young prince.

In the gardens, Rhaenyra and Vaella walked hand in hand. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the path. Rhaenyra looked down at her sister, her heart aching with a mix of love and frustration.

"Why do you let him cling to you so much, Vaella?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone softer now that they were alone. "Don't you want to have time just for us?"

Vaella looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Aegon needs me," she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "He cries when I'm not there."

Rhaenyra's heart softened at her sister's words. She knelt down to Vaella's level, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I know he does, but I need you too, Vaella. You're my sister, and I love you."

Vaella smiled and wrapped her arms around Rhaenyra's neck. "I love you too, Nyra. Always."

As they embraced, Rhaenyra felt a renewed sense of determination. She would find a way to balance her love for Vaella with the demands of their unusual family dynamic. No matter the challenges, she would protect and cherish her sister, just as she had promised on that fateful day by the pyre.

Back in the royal chambers, Alicent lay awake, her thoughts troubled. She placed a hand on her growing belly and sighed. The future seemed more uncertain than ever, but she vowed to do whatever it took to ensure the safety and well-being of her children. As she drifted off to sleep, her mind remained filled with the complexities of their intertwined destinies, each step a delicate dance in the ever-shifting sands of power and family.

...

Vaella was six years old, and her fascination with dragons had only grown with time. Despite her lack of interest in dragon eggs, her eyes would light up whenever she saw Syrax, Rhaenyra’s majestic golden dragon. One crisp morning, Rhaenyra decided it was time for her sister to experience the thrill of flying.

Rhaenyra led Vaella to the Dragonpit, where Syrax awaited. The dragon’s eyes gleamed with intelligence as Rhaenyra approached, her scales shimmering in the early morning light. Vaella’s excitement was palpable, her small hand gripping Rhaenyra’s tightly.

“Are you ready, Vaella?” Rhaenyra asked, a smile playing on her lips.

Vaella nodded eagerly. “Yes, Rhaenyra. I want to fly!”

As Rhaenyra helped Vaella climb onto Syrax’s back, the young girl’s laughter filled the air, a sound of pure joy and exhilaration. With a final check to ensure Vaella was secure, Rhaenyra mounted behind her and gave Syrax the signal to take flight.

The dragon’s powerful wings beat against the air, lifting them off the ground. Vaella’s eyes widened in wonder as the Red Keep grew smaller below them, the world unfolding in a breathtaking panorama. The wind whipped through their hair, and Vaella’s laughter echoed in the skies.

Meanwhile, back in the nursery, Aegon was throwing a fit. He had watched in dismay as Rhaenyra took Vaella away, his cries growing louder with each passing moment. Alicent, now heavily pregnant with her third child, tried to soothe him, but Aegon was inconsolable.

“Where is Vaella?” Aegon wailed, tears streaming down his face. “I want Vaella!”

Alicent knelt beside her son, her patience wearing thin. “Aegon, you need to learn to be apart from Vaella. She has other things to do, and you need to be strong without her.”

Aegon shook his head vehemently, his face red with anger and frustration. “No! You can’t take Vaella away from me! Rhaenyra can’t take her away either!”

In his tantrum, Aegon grabbed one of his toys—a wooden dragon—and threw it across the room, where it shattered against the wall. His screams grew louder, and Alicent’s attempts to calm him seemed only to fuel his rage.

“Aegon, please,” Alicent said, her voice strained. “This behavior is unacceptable. You must learn to control yourself.”

But Aegon was beyond reason, his cries echoing through the halls of the Red Keep. Alicent stood, her hands clenched at her sides, her irritation mounting. She had tried to reason with Viserys about their son’s dependence on Vaella, but he had merely shrugged it off, much to her annoyance.

As Aegon continued to scream for Rhaenyra to bring Vaella back, Alicent felt a surge of frustration. She stormed out of the nursery, determined to find Viserys and make him understand the gravity of the situation.

She found him in the council chamber, discussing matters of state with her father, Otto Hightower, and other advisors. Ignoring the decorum, Alicent marched up to him, her eyes blazing with anger.

“Viserys, we need to talk,” she said, her voice low but fierce.

Viserys looked up, surprised by her sudden appearance. “Alicent, what is it?”

“It’s Aegon,” she said, struggling to keep her composure. “He’s in the nursery throwing a tantrum because Vaella is not there. He’s become too dependent on her, and it’s not healthy. You need to take this seriously.”

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alicent, they’re just children. Siblings often form close bonds.”

“This is more than that, and you know it,” Alicent snapped. “He can’t be apart from her for even a moment without falling apart. This dependency will only grow if we don’t address it now.”

Viserys looked at her, seeing the worry and frustration etched on her face. He nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll speak with Aegon. But give them time, Alicent. They’re still so young.”

Alicent sighed, feeling a mixture of relief and lingering frustration. “Thank you, Viserys. I just want what’s best for them.”

Meanwhile, high above the Red Keep, Rhaenyra and Vaella soared through the skies on Syrax. The city of King’s Landing spread out below them like a tapestry, and Vaella’s eyes sparkled with wonder.

“This is amazing, Rhaenyra!” Vaella shouted over the wind, her laughter infectious.

Rhaenyra smiled, her heart swelling with pride and love for her sister. “I knew you’d love it, Vaella. There’s nothing quite like flying.”

As they flew, Rhaenyra felt a sense of peace. Despite the challenges and frustrations that awaited them on the ground, up here, they were free. She vowed to cherish these moments with Vaella, to protect and nurture her sister as best she could. For now, they had the sky, and that was enough.

...

As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the Red Keep, Rhaenyra and Vaella returned from their exhilarating flight on Syrax. The dragon landed gracefully in the courtyard, and Rhaenyra helped Vaella down, her heart still racing from the thrill of their adventure. The moment their feet touched the ground, Aegon came running toward them, his face streaked with tears and his cries echoing off the stone walls.

"Vaella!" Aegon wailed, rushing to her and wrapping his small arms tightly around her. "You’re back!"

Vaella hugged him back, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. "I’m here, Aegon. I’m here."

Rhaenyra watched, her annoyance simmering beneath the surface. "Aegon, you can’t just cling to Vaella like that all the time," she said, her tone sharp. "She needs her own space too."

Aegon looked up at Rhaenyra, his eyes filled with defiance and tears. "You can’t take her away from me! She’s mine!"

Rhaenyra’s patience was wearing thin. She knew it was foolish to argue with such a young child, but the possessiveness in Aegon’s voice grated on her. Vaella was the last connection she had to their mother, and the thought of sharing her sister in this way was intolerable.

"Vaella is not yours, Aegon," Rhaenyra snapped, her voice cold. "She is her own person, and you don’t own her."

Aegon’s face crumpled, and he let out another wail, his small body shaking with the force of his tantrum. "No! No! Vaella is mine! You can’t have her!"

The servants in the courtyard exchanged weary glances, clearly exasperated by the scene unfolding before them. Vaella stood in the middle, unsure of what to do, her eyes darting between her sister and her brother.

"Aegon," Vaella said softly, trying to soothe him. "It’s okay. I’m here now."

Alicent, drawn by the noise, arrived in the courtyard, her face set in a mixture of concern and frustration. "What is going on here?" she demanded, her gaze shifting from Rhaenyra to Aegon, who was still clinging to Vaella.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger as she looked at Alicent. "Your son doesn’t understand that Vaella isn’t his to command," she said sharply. "He needs to learn some boundaries."

Alicent’s expression hardened. "Rhaenyra, he’s just a child. He doesn’t understand these things yet."

Rhaenyra’s temper flared, and she took a step forward. "And he never will if you keep coddling him like this! Vaella is not his to cling to every time he wants. She’s my sister too, and I won’t have her treated like a toy!"

Alicent’s face went pale, and she took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. "This isn’t helping anyone, Rhaenyra. We need to find a way to help Aegon understand without making things worse."

Rhaenyra’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. "Vaella is all I have left of my mother. I won’t let him take her from me."

With that, Rhaenyra turned on her heel and stormed away, leaving the courtyard in tense silence. Alicent watched her go, a sigh escaping her lips. She turned her attention back to Aegon, who was still clinging to Vaella, his sobs quieter but no less heartbreaking.

"Come here, Aegon," Alicent said softly, kneeling down to his level. "It’s okay. Vaella isn’t going anywhere."

Aegon looked up at her, his face streaked with tears. "But she left me. Rhaenyra took her."

Alicent gently pried his hands from Vaella and pulled him into a hug. "I know, darling. But sometimes Vaella needs to do things with Rhaenyra too. You’ll see her again soon, I promise."

Aegon nodded, sniffling, but his grip on Vaella’s hand remained tight. Vaella, sensing his distress, squeezed his hand back, her expression one of quiet understanding.

Alicent sighed, looking at the two children. "Let’s get you both inside. It’s getting late."

As she led them back into the Red Keep, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of worry. The tensions between Rhaenyra and Aegon were growing, and she knew that unless something changed, these small conflicts could become much larger as they all grew older. For now, she focused on comforting her son and ensuring that Vaella felt secure, hoping that they would find a way to navigate these troubled waters together.

...

Fifteen-year-old Vaella Targaryen sat quietly beside her father, King Viserys I, in his chambers. The room was filled with the intricate model of Old Valyria that Viserys had been painstakingly working on for years. The delicate spires and towers of the ancient city gleamed under the soft light of the candles, casting intricate shadows on the walls. Vaella's small hands delicately placed a tiny bridge between two towers, her face scrunched up in concentration.

Viserys, now looking much older than his years, his health visibly deteriorating, watched his daughter with a fond smile. Despite his efforts to hide it, Vaella knew he was unwell. The signs were clear in the way he moved, slower and more deliberate, and the occasional wince of pain that crossed his features.

"You're doing wonderfully, Vaella," Viserys said, his voice soft but filled with pride. "You have a steady hand."

Vaella smiled up at him, her indigo eyes bright. "Thank you, Father. I love working on this with you."

Viserys nodded, his gaze drifting to the model before him. "It's a piece of our history. A connection to our roots." He paused, then turned to her. "How was your time with your nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys?"

Vaella's face lit up. "It was interesting. Maester Mellos was teaching us about Targaryen history, the stories of our ancestors. Then Laenor told us about the great sailors who ventured all the way to the Summer Isles. I love hearing about their adventures."

Viserys chuckled, a raspy sound that ended in a slight cough. "I'm glad you're learning and enjoying your time with them. It's important to understand where we come from." He hesitated for a moment before asking, "And how is Aegon handling the changes?"

Vaella's smile faded slightly, and she frowned, her brow furrowing. "Not very well, Father. He doesn't like it when I'm away. He gets upset and still sometimes throws tantrums."

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples. "Aegon has always struggled with separation. He has a strong bond with you."

Vaella nodded, looking thoughtful. "I know he loves me, and I love him too. But sometimes it's hard. He doesn't understand that I need to spend time with others too."

Viserys placed a gentle hand on Vaella's shoulder. "It's not easy being the center of someone's world. Aegon needs to learn that you have your own life, your own interests."

Vaella looked up at him, her eyes filled with determination. "I'll help him understand, Father. I'll be patient with him."

Viserys smiled, his eyes softening. "You're wise beyond your years, Vaella. Your kindness and patience will serve you well." He paused, his expression turning more serious. "And how are you, my dear? How are you handling all these changes?"

Vaella shrugged slightly. "It's a lot, but I have you and Rhaenyra. And I love spending time with my nephews. They make me laugh and I enjoy learning with them."

Viserys nodded, feeling a pang of pride and sorrow for his young daughter. "You're a strong girl, Vaella. Stronger than you know. Always remember that."

Vaella hugged her father tightly, feeling the frailty in his embrace but also the warmth of his love. "I will, Father. I'll always remember."

...

In a quieter corner of the Red Keep, Aegon paced back and forth, his young face twisted in frustration. His younger brother, Aemond, sat nearby, trying to focus on a book but finding it impossible with Aegon's incessant complaining.

"They took her again, Aemond! They took Vaella to spend more time with Rhaenyra and her bastards," Aegon fumed, kicking at a loose stone on the floor. "They think those boys are more worthy than me!"

Aemond looked up from his book, his blue eyes sharp. "You shouldn't talk like that, Aegon. It's dangerous."

Aegon scoffed, his face a mask of indignation. "Why shouldn't I? Mother calls them bastards all the time. Everyone knows it's true."

Aemond closed his book with a sigh, setting it aside. "Just because Mother says it doesn't mean you should repeat it. It's disrespectful, and it will get you into trouble."

Aegon glared at his brother, his anger unabated. "You’re just jealous because Vaella likes me more than you."

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued despite his annoyance. "Why is Vaella so special to you, Aegon? Why do you always want her around?"

Aegon’s expression hardened. "You're stupid for even asking that, Aemond. She just is. Nobody loves me like Vaella does. She understands me."

Aemond rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall. "That's stupid. She's just a girl. She can’t make everything better."

Aegon stepped closer, his fists clenched at his sides. "Shut up, Aemond. You don't understand anything."

Aemond shrugged, his expression indifferent. "Maybe I don't. But I heard Maester Mellos talking to Mother once. He said Vaella ate her twin. Maybe that’s why you think she’s so special. She’s got something extra from her dead brother."

Aegon’s face contorted with a mixture of horror and fascination. "What are you talking about?"

Aemond smirked, enjoying the shift in power. "It’s true. Mellos said Vaella didn't cry when she was born, not until her brother died. Maybe she took something from him. Maybe that’s why you feel so close to her."

Aegon stood silent for a moment, absorbing his brother’s words. Then, a twisted smile spread across his face. "Good. If her dead brother gave her something extra, then it's better for me. He would have taken her from me too."

Aemond frowned, not expecting that reaction. "You’re strange, Aegon. You know that?"

Aegon shrugged, a hint of madness in his eyes. "Maybe. But Vaella is mine. And no one will take her from me. Not Rhaenyra, not anyone."

Aemond sighed, shaking his head. "You’re going to get us all in trouble one day, Aegon. Mark my words."

Aegon ignored his brother, his mind already returning to thoughts of Vaella and the frustration of being separated from her. He would find a way to keep her close, no matter what it took.

…

The morning sun cast long shadows over the Dragonpit as Jacaerys, Lucerys, Aegon, Aemond, and Vaella made their way to the massive structure. The air was filled with the heady scent of dragon musk and the sound of wings flapping. Inside the pit, three dragons awaited their riders, their scales shimmering in the sunlight. Vaella stood quietly by Aemond's side, the two of them the only ones without dragons to bond with. While Aemond's frustration was evident, Vaella seemed content, her serene demeanor a stark contrast to her younger brother's visible agitation.

As the dragons were led out one by one, Vaella watched with a mix of awe and quiet longing. When Sunfyre appeared, his golden scales glinting brilliantly, Aegon eagerly grabbed Vaella's hand and pulled her along. "Come on, Vaella, let's attend to Sunfyre together."

Vaella allowed herself to be led, her eyes widening as they approached the magnificent dragon. She gently stroked Sunfyre's scales, feeling the warmth emanating from his body. Aegon stood beside her, his pride evident as he showed off his bond with the dragon. Vaella smiled softly, her affection for her brother momentarily overshadowing her usual frustrations with him.

Later, once the dragons were fed and content, Aegon let go of Vaella's hand and turned his attention to Aemond. There was a mischievous glint in his eye that Vaella did not like. Aegon, Jacaerys, and Lucerys huddled together, whispering and giggling before calling Aemond over.

"Come here, Aemond!" Aegon shouted, his voice filled with feigned excitement. "We found a dragon for you!"

Aemond's eyes lit up with a mixture of excitement and suspicion. He approached cautiously, glancing back at Vaella for reassurance. She gave him a small, supportive smile, but her unease grew.

As Aemond drew closer, the boys stepped aside to reveal a pig adorned with makeshift dragon wings and a painted snout. "Behold, the Pink Dread!" Aegon announced with mock grandeur, barely able to contain his laughter.

Jacaerys and Lucerys burst into laughter, pointing at the pig and doubling over with mirth. Aemond's face turned bright red with humiliation, his eyes welling up with tears. Vaella's expression darkened, her initial amusement giving way to anger.

"Aegon, Jace, Luke, that's enough!" Vaella's voice was sharp, cutting through the laughter. "How dare you humiliate Aemond like this?"

Aegon's laughter faltered as he met Vaella's furious gaze. "It was just a joke, Vaella. We didn't mean—"

"Do I deserve the same?" Vaella interrupted, her voice cold. "I don't have a dragon either. Is this how you plan to treat me too?"

Aegon stumbled over his words, his face turning pale. "No, Vaella, I didn't mean—"

But Vaella had already turned on her heel, her expression stormy as she walked away from the Dragonpit. Aegon rushed after her, desperation in his voice. "Vaella, wait! Please, don't be mad at me. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Vaella stopped and spun around to face him, her eyes blazing with anger. "You always do this, Aegon. You act without thinking and hurt the people who care about you. Aemond looks up to you, and this is how you treat him?"

Aegon reached out, but Vaella stepped back, shaking her head. "I thought you were better than this."

"Vaella, I'm sorry," Aegon pleaded, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to hurt you or Aemond. Please, forgive me."

Vaella took a deep breath, her anger still simmering but her voice softening slightly. "Apologize to Aemond. Make it right with him. And think before you act next time."

Aegon nodded, his eyes filled with regret. "I will. I promise."

As Vaella turned and walked away, Aegon stood there, watching her go with a heavy heart. He knew he had to make amends, not just with Aemond but also with Vaella. The bonds of family were fragile, and he had to learn to cherish and protect them.

Inside the Dragonpit, Aemond stood alone, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Vaella approached him, her expression softening. "I'm sorry they treated you like that, Aemond. You deserve better."

Aemond looked up, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Vaella. You're the only one who seems to understand."

Vaella hugged her brother tightly. "We'll find our own dragons one day, Aemond. Until then, we have each other."

As they walked away together, the bond between them strengthened, a promise of loyalty and support in a world filled with uncertainty and strife.

…

That evening, Vaella sat in her chambers, the events of the day weighing heavily on her mind. The candles flickered softly, casting gentle shadows on the walls, as she tried to find some semblance of peace. Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door.

“Vaella, it’s me,” Aegon’s voice came through the door, hesitant yet determined.

Vaella sighed, already knowing why he was here. “Come in, Aegon.”

Aegon entered, closing the door behind him. He looked uncertain, his usual bravado tempered by a mix of guilt and frustration. “I wanted to apologize again. The idea was Jace and Luke’s, not mine.”

Vaella made a grimace, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Then why does it reek of you, Aegon?”

Aegon’s irritation flared, and he stepped closer, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why do you care so much about annoying Aemond? He’s just—”

“He’s my brother too, Aegon,” Vaella interrupted sharply, her eyes blazing. “Just like you are.”

Aegon pressed on, his voice lower but intense. “But you love me more, don’t you?”

Vaella frowned, seeing the familiar possessiveness in Aegon’s eyes. It had not diminished with time, if anything, it had grown. “Aegon, I will always love you. But I also love Jace, Luke, Aemond, and even little Joffrey. We’re all family.”

Aegon stepped even closer, their faces now mere inches apart. “But you love me more, right?” he asked, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper.

Vaella’s heart pounded in her chest, her emotions a whirlwind of love, frustration, and understanding. She met his gaze steadily, her voice soft but firm. “Yes, Aegon. I love you more.”

Aegon’s tense expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead, a gesture that held both affection and possessiveness. He then began to shed his attire, his movements slow and deliberate. Vaella watched him, her own feelings a mix of resignation and affection.

“Aegon,” she warned gently, “if your mother finds out we’re sharing a bed again, she’ll yell at both of us.”

Aegon shrugged, climbing into her bed with a dismissive smile. “Let her yell. I don’t care. Come here.”

Vaella’s resolve wavered, and eventually, she couldn’t help but smile. She slipped into the bed beside him, the ritual familiar and comforting. They had been sharing a bed since they were babes, a habit that had persisted despite Alicent’s disapproval.

As they lay together, Aegon wrapped his arms around Vaella, holding her close. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The warmth of his embrace was soothing, a reminder of their unbreakable bond despite the chaos around them.

They didn’t fall asleep right away. Instead, they lay in the quiet, drawing comfort from each other’s presence. Vaella felt Aegon’s breath against her hair, his hold on her gentle yet possessive. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax for the first time that day.

“Vaella,” Aegon murmured, his voice soft in the darkness. “I promise I’ll never let anyone come between us. Not Rhaenyra, not anyone.”

Vaella sighed, her heart aching with a mixture of love and sadness. “I know, Aegon. And I’ll always be here for you.”

They held onto each other, finding solace in their shared closeness. The world outside might be fraught with tension and uncertainty, but in this moment, they were simply a brother and sister, bound by love and loyalty.

…

Alicent Hightower strode through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, her frustration mounting with each step. She had been looking for her eldest son, Aegon, to confront him about the cruel prank he and Rhaenyra’s sons had played on Aemond. Finding his chambers empty had only intensified her annoyance, as she knew exactly where he would be—once again with his half-sister, Vaella.

Alicent had tried her best to separate the two as they grew older, understanding the potential complications their bond could bring. But no matter her efforts, Aegon always found his way back to Vaella, their connection unbroken. She couldn't help but recall Maester Mellos’ words about Vaella being strange since birth, and the implications of that observation gnawed at her.

Meanwhile, in Vaella's chambers, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to Alicent's rising tension. Vaella and Aegon lay in her bed, still entwined in their embrace. Aegon’s lips trailed down her cheek to her neck, eliciting a soft hitch in her breath. She clutched at him gently, feeling the warmth of his body against hers.

“Aegon,” she whispered, her voice breathy with both pleasure and concern, “promise me again you won’t mock Aemond like that again.”

Aegon’s kisses paused for a moment as he sighed. “I promise,” he murmured before resuming his tender exploration. His hands roamed over her curves, their touch growing more familiar and intimate with time. His movements against her nightgown became more urgent, her quiet moans filling the room.

Just as Aegon’s urgency peaked and he found release, spilling his seed onto Vaella’s thigh, the door to her chambers swung open. Both Aegon and Vaella sat up abruptly, alarmed and disheveled.

Alicent’s worried frown deepened as she took in the sight before her. She quickly closed the door behind her, her gaze intense. “Did you do it?” she demanded, her voice strained with a mix of anger and fear.

Vaella blushed deeply, realizing the insinuation behind Alicent's question. “No, Mother. We didn’t… we never go that far,” she stammered, her words tumbling over each other.

Alicent sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly with relief, though her irritation remained. She turned her focus to Aegon. “And what about the pig, Aegon? The Pink Dread?”

Aegon deflected, his tone dismissive. “It was Jace and Luke’s idea.”

Alicent scolded him, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t lie to me, Aegon. You were just as much a part of it.”

Aegon rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation. “Fine, whatever,” he muttered.

Vaella interjected, her voice calm but firm. “I made him promise not to mock Aemond again, Mother.”

Alicent’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at Vaella. Despite the tension, she recognized the sincerity in her stepdaughter’s words. “Good. That’s good,” she said quietly. Before leaving, she turned back to them, her expression resolute. “This is the last time you two will share a bed.”

Vaella nodded, understanding the gravity of Alicent’s words but knowing deep down it was a promise neither she nor Aegon intended to keep. “Yes, Mother,” she replied.

Alicent gave them one last look, a mixture of concern and resignation in her eyes, before she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

As the door clicked shut, Aegon sat up again, his demeanor shifting from defiance to a more contemplative mood. “She won’t keep us apart, you know,” he said softly, reaching out to take Vaella’s hand.

Vaella squeezed his hand gently, a small smile playing on her lips. “I know, Aegon. But we should be careful.”

He nodded, pulling her closer. “Always,” he promised.

They lay back down together, the quiet of the room wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. In the stillness of the night, they found solace in each other's presence, knowing that no matter what, they would face the world together.

…

The meeting of the small council was underway in the grand chamber of the Red Keep. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles and the tension of unresolved conflicts. Rhaenyra, dressed in her regal black and red attire, sat at the head of the table, her face composed but her eyes betraying the urgency of her thoughts. King Viserys, though visibly weakened by his illness, was present, his presence lending an air of gravitas to the proceedings. Alicent Hightower, her face a mask of controlled composure, sat beside him, her eyes watchful and calculating.

As the discussions turned to matters of succession and alliances, Rhaenyra seized the moment to present her proposal. "To ease the tensions between our families," she began, her voice steady and clear, "I propose that my son, Jacaerys, be betrothed to Helaena. This union would strengthen our family bonds."

A murmur ran through the room, and all eyes turned to Alicent, who clenched her hands in her lap to keep her composure. "And to further show goodwill," Rhaenyra continued, "when Syrax lays her next clutch of eggs, Aemond may choose an egg for himself."

Alicent's face tightened, her distress at the idea of her daughter marrying a boy widely rumored to be a bastard threatening to show. She forced herself to remain calm, her voice measured as she replied. "While your proposal is... thoughtful, Princess, I counter with a suggestion of my own. Let Aegon and Vaella be engaged to each other instead."

Rhaenyra's eyes flashed with anger, but she controlled her temper. "That is out of the question," she said firmly. "Vaella deserves more than a life tied to Aegon."

Viserys, who had been silent, finally spoke up, his voice weak but resolute. "I agree with Rhaenyra. Aegon is my son, but he is not suitable for Vaella."

Alicent's composure slipped for a moment, her eyes blazing with frustration. "You did nothing to sever the link between them, Viserys. And now you dispute this match? How can Rhaenyra's son be good enough for Helaena, but our son is not good enough for Vaella?"

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples. "Aegon is impulsive and lacks the qualities necessary to care for someone as precious as Vaella. She deserves a kind and understanding partner."

Alicent stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "This is not about what Vaella deserves," she snapped, her voice shaking with barely controlled anger. "This is about your favoritism, your willingness to sacrifice my children’s future for the sake of Rhaenyra's."

Rhaenyra remained seated, her expression unyielding. "Alicent, this is not about favoritism. It's about what is best for Vaella and the realm. Jacaerys and Helaena's union would benefit everyone."

Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, her frustration and anger boiling over. "I will not allow my daughter to be used as a pawn in your game, Rhaenyra. This discussion is over."

With that, Alicent turned and stormed out of the chamber, her mind churning with resentment. How could Rhaenyra's bastard be deemed good enough for Helaena, yet Vaella be too good for her son? The injustice of it all gnawed at her, fueling her determination to find a way to secure her children's future.

Back in the council chamber, an uneasy silence settled over the room. Viserys looked tired, his earlier resolve waning. "Let us continue," he said quietly. "There are other matters to discuss."

Rhaenyra nodded, her mind already moving to the next topic, but the tension from the earlier confrontation lingered. She knew that Alicent's anger was far from quelled and that the coming days would bring new challenges. But for now, she focused on the task at hand, determined to protect her family and secure a future where they could all find peace.

…

Vaella Targaryen noticed the change in the atmosphere of the Red Keep after the birth of her sister Rhaenyra's third son, Joffrey. The castle felt like a simmering pot, ready to boil over. The departure of Harwin Strong and his father, Lyonel, back to Harrenhal only added to the tension. Whispers and sideways glances became more frequent, and the sense of unease permeated the halls.

One afternoon, as Vaella was wandering the corridors, she overheard some of the servants talking in hushed tones. "Did you hear? Princess Rhaenyra is taking her family to Dragonstone."

Vaella's heart skipped a beat. The idea of her sister leaving was unthinkable. She hurried through the winding passages, her mind racing with worry and confusion, until she found Rhaenyra in her chambers, packing her belongings.

"Rhaenyra!" Vaella cried, bursting into the room. "Is it true? Are you leaving for Dragonstone?"

Rhaenyra turned to her, her face calm but her eyes betraying the storm of emotions within. "Yes, Vaella. We are leaving."

Vaella felt a lump in her throat. "But why? Father will be devastated. And I can't bear the thought of losing you. Please, you can't leave me here."

Rhaenyra walked over to her sister and placed her hands on Vaella's shoulders. "You know why I must leave," she said gently. "The situation here is becoming untenable. For the safety of my children and myself, we need to be away from the court and its intrigues."

Vaella's eyes filled with tears. She knew the truth about the parentage of Rhaenyra's children, but it mattered little to her. They were her nephews, and she loved them dearly. "But people will talk no matter what you do," she said, her voice trembling. "Why can't I come with you?"

Rhaenyra sighed, her heart aching at the sight of her sister's distress. She pulled Vaella into a tight embrace. "You are so brave, Vaella," she whispered. "But I need you to stay here and look after our father. His health is failing, and he needs someone he can trust by his side."

Vaella clung to Rhaenyra, her tears soaking into her sister's dress. "I don't want to lose you," she said, her voice muffled.

Rhaenyra pulled back slightly, looking into Vaella's indigo eyes. "You won't lose me. We'll write to each other, and I'll visit whenever I can. But you must promise me that you'll be strong and take care of Father. He needs you more than ever now."

Vaella nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of the responsibility. "I promise," she whispered.

Rhaenyra kissed her sister's forehead, a bittersweet smile on her lips. "You are my heart, Vaella. And I know you will do great things. Stay strong, for both of us."

As Rhaenyra continued to pack, Vaella stood by, feeling a mix of sorrow and determination. The castle felt more oppressive than ever, but she knew that her sister was right. She had to be strong for their father, to be the anchor he needed in these troubled times.

The day Rhaenyra and her family left for Dragonstone, Vaella stood beside her father, watching the dragons take flight. The sky was filled with the beating of powerful wings, and Vaella felt a tear slip down her cheek. She glanced at Viserys, who looked frail and weary, a shadow of the king he once was. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

"Don't worry, Father," she said softly. "I'll be here for you. Always."

Viserys looked down at his youngest daughter, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sadness. "Thank you, Vaella," he whispered, his voice trembling. "You are my strength."

As the dragons disappeared into the horizon, Vaella felt a sense of resolve settle over her. She would honor her sister's trust and protect their father, no matter the cost.

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

i’m genuinely shocked by this:

how can someone miss the point by such a large margin that they end up implying that Rhaenyra’s cause would have had no positive impact on the women of the realm?

how can one’s thought process be so far removed from the actual reality? is this the inconsistent logic one must tangle in to become a green? have these people never sat in a history class before?

jeyne arryn anyone? does she not exist to them? a point actually made in the book (not one twisted by the greens to advance their agenda) was that her rulership of the vale would’ve been seriously endangered and put into question if the greens won. but that is conveniently ignored by these interesting… folks.

i can understand the anger this person has with the horrible dance of the dragons adaptation and its treatment of female characters. and i mean it. especially when i say female characters. because alicent isn’t the female character who’s actually getting the shortest end of the stick. it was rhaenyra and rhaenys who were the most grievously declawed. rhaenyra is queen. her council is supposed to be her council. the war is supposed to be her war for her throne, not for some stupid prophecy that should’ve logically been lost a long time ago. and rhaenys is a baratheon with a temper and a dragon rider who would’ve burnt the greens and melted their bones if she had the chance. but for some reason the show decided to make a whole new character and slap rhaenys name on it.

to be clear: rhaenyra and rhaenys were powerful in their own right. they had dragons and were a part of the royal dynasty with claims to the throne. their power is theirs. it is derived from them.

alicent’s power is derived from the power of the men she is related to. that’s literally what the queen dowager title means. her influence is dependent on if the men in her life and her children listen to her. they don’t have to, and many characters don’t listen to her in the book, which is why i say she wasn’t the most grievously declawed.

it’s also hilarious that this person considers the queen dowager position to be the most powerful position in the greens court. they must have never read a cersei chapter as she faces her loss of power, which showcases the fickle nature of the power women hold in the westerosi patriarchy.

the correct sequence of power in the greens court is: the usurper king. then the hand. then the princes, specifically the usurper kings brothers, and then the queen consort, as they have dragons and claims to the throne. then the lords who can call on armies and fleets and have coffers that run deep. then the queen dowager, who has little influence outside of kings landing and therefore not as much influence in court as others.

the case the screenshotted post tries to make is that non-targ women’s positions aren’t advanced by rhaenyra being queen, which, as i pointed out above, is not true, nor is it what rhaenyra is fighting for. rhaenyra fought for her throne, which she had a legal claim to. that’s all. many houses joined her instead of joining the usurpers because of many different reasons, but, imo, three of the most important reasons for joining the blacks/staying neutral were 1) women’s inheritance rights (and women in general) should be respected 2) the head of the houses heir and the heirs right to inherit should be respected 3) oaths should be respected.

i also want to point out that women, most obviously targaryen women, did lose power after rhaenyra’s death and due to the concessions made to the greens and their ideology by the blacks for peace along with anti-rhaenyra propaganda that set women’s inheritance rights and the general power they could hold back by quite a lot.

and funnily enough, we see this first with jaehaera, who, while was a queen, was most likely murdered by the character who was supposed to be guarding her because no one gave a shit about a targaryen girls status and the potential consequences of killing her because they knew they could get away with it; and her death directly led to alicent’s line ending. the reality is that there were practically no consequences, as it seemed to have been easily covered up as a suicide, because the targaryens lost so much power after the dance, which directly put the targaryen women in the line of fire. if the targaryen women couldn’t be used they’d be discarded. and jaehaera, a simple girl who’s entire family was all dead besides one, and who’s father was greatly disliked by many, was an eyesore to those who wished for more power. so she was killed. brutally.

and the reason the women of house targaryen were so vulnerable? it’s because they had no claim to anything anymore! no one could try to use jaehaera for power so no greedy lords sought her favor nor did any want to protect her! and jaehaera is just the start because afterwards we get the maidens in the vault, then viserys ii is installed over daena, and then everything about naerys and her horrid husband, maekar over daenora, and eventually everything concludes with young princess rhaenys and rhaella over a hundred years later. tragic.

it’s literally downhill after rhaenyra’s death.

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟔   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |  VARIOUS LOCATIONS, OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

This was the second time Leonor had met Mencia Cipac, but it was the first time that felt like a real introduction. She found Mencia by the buffet laid out primarily for the crew. Mencia appeared to be expending a great deal of concentration as her long fingers hovered over the options, fluttering as she considered each one, pinching together over a choice only to pass over it. ‘Watching your figure?’ Leonor asked once her heels announced her approach. Mencia turned. There was a slimy piece of meat between her fingers, and Leonor wrinkled her nose. ‘Trying to decide if I want to practice vegetarianism today,’ was her response. Leonor regretted her question once a look of recognition clicked on Mencia’s face. That regret, she suspected, might cast long shadow over the rest of this conversation, and the formal one to take place next, too.

❧ another sleeper favorite ?? i didn't realize how profoundly sad this one is to me until i was editing the final screenshots for it. i'm not sure how many there will be, but this is one of those scenes that demonstrates what i love about prequels. you really get to see the shimmering possibility, knowing what happens if not how, and knowing that it is, at the end of the day, bound to tragedy. rip 2 leonor.

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

This was the second time Leonor had met Mencia Cipac, but it was the first time that felt like a real introduction. She found Mencia by the buffet laid out primarily for the crew. Mencia appeared to be expending a great deal of concentration as her long fingers hovered over the options, fluttering as she considered each one, pinching together over a choice only to pass over it. ‘Watching your figure?’ Leonor asked once her heels announced her approach. Mencia turned. There was a slimy piece of meat between her fingers, and Leonor wrinkled her nose. ‘Trying to decide if I want to practice vegetarianism today,’ was her response. Leonor regretted her question once a look of recognition clicked on Mencia’s face. That regret, she suspected, might cast long shadow over the rest of this conversation, and the formal one to take place next, too.

Mencia misread the thoughts splayed on Leonor’s face. Once she swallowed the meat and rubbed her fingers into a napkin, she sought to reassure her.

“Stakes are low,” she offered. “I have softball questions.”

Leonor nodded. What did that mean? There was a spectrum of possibility and, although she had a hunch where Mencia sat, there were ways to find out for sure. With caution, she asked, “And if you could ask me one question, and I had to answer truthfully, what would it be? Hardball.”

It surprised her that Mencia didn’t take any time to consider it, although she realized that expectation was a mistake, too. More unnerving than anything else was the fact that Leonor had featured prominently in almost all of Mencia’s public writings. Yet, they didn’t know each other at all. She, as a journalist and an author, had devoted untold hours to contemplating Leonor’s life—the influence of her parents and grandmother, the quainter contours of her childhood, how she had come into her role as an heir, what could be gleaned from comparing her coming-of-age experience to that of other royal children. Leonor hadn’t read any of it. However, she did her research before these kinds of obligations, and she knew in a passive way that Mencia’s definitive book on “royal childhood” existed. Being an object of curiosity, of concern, of desire was one thing. Leonor hadn’t ever confronted how she felt about being an object of study. Now, finding herself beneath the microscope in an almost literal sense, she felt detachment—an estrangement from that very reality and the emotions it should engender, as if Mencia Cipac wasn’t a real person who was standing before her.

She wondered if Mencia felt the same way about her.

“I would ask—well.” Mencia cleared her throat and raised a hand, palm upward. She gesticulated with animation as she continued, “You can be anyone and do anything now. So, who is Leonor, if she’s not a princess anymore?”

Without pause, Leonor retorted, “That’s a dumb question. I still have my title.”

“As a symbol, a consolation prize. There are princesses in name only, like your aunts." Quickly, she followed up with a question. It wasn't asked with malice; there was no indictment in her tone. In fact, her tone softened as she spoke the words. "It doesn’t actually mean anything now, does it?”

Mencia's curiosity was gentle, but Leonor could only take it like a strike across the face.

“It does to me." There, abruptly, the emotions lunged forward.

Mencia replied, softer still, “Does it?”

Leonor considered for a moment whether she hated this woman, then she waved a hand to end the conversation. “Forget it," she said finally, turning away. “I hope your ‘softballs’ are better.”

Mencia allowed her walk away, but Leonor felt her eyes even once she was across the room and surrounded by makeup artists and assistants with questions about the lighting, her “good side,” whether she liked her water sparkling or still. Yet, it was easy to slip back into the professional mask that fit so well.

This would be deeply personal—that prelude, or opening volley, as it were, demonstrated as much—but it was exactly what she had told Renzo it was: work. People like Mencia Cipac got to eviscerate her on live television, and it was her job to comment in an aloof yet polite tone, ‘Why, yes, my insides are an interesting color, aren’t they?’ He had been correct that it would hurt. What she told herself then and as someone powdered her nose now was that it always did. Better yet, she couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t know how to handle the hurt inflicted on her—her, her People’s Princess Leonor.

In the back of Leonor's mind, however, Mencia’s question sowed some doubt. She didn’t handle the hurt as well when she was simply Nora. This self, as fragile as a newborn, was much less accustomed to this abuse. It had endured a kind of violence in the last year that she wasn’t wholly able to face. There was an open wound that wouldn’t heal, and she pressed on the tenderness around it as if testing her tolerance for the pain that caring for it would induce. Her tolerance wasn’t very high. More than just the question, Mencia’s insistence that Leonor had been stripped of something essential to her identity worried her. Was the mask cracked? Standing by the buffet with its heavy, nausea-inducing scents, had she looked Princess Leonor in the face and been able to see the unformed girl shrinking away beneath? If so, Leonor didn’t know how to fix it.

So, it couldn’t be.

She sealed off that shadowy area of her mind by the time they sat almost knee-to-knee with cameras trained on their faces. It wouldn’t be a live broadcast, but the announcement that they were rolling had the same effect. Mencia was a professional, too. Whatever she had said to Leonor was folded away, and they began talking as if they hadn’t tested the waters off-camera some fifteen minutes ago.

“My first question is straightforward,” she began. “But I imagine it’s on the mind of anyone who’s kept up with your life: are you okay?”

Leonor’s answer came with the plastic smile and good-natured laugh that such a question demanded. “Of course. We’re all much more ‘okay’ than we were a few months ago, and I’m grateful for that.”

Mencia nodded. “Diplomatic. Let’s get specific. You hadn’t been seen touching even a cigarette until six months ago, and now there’s constant chatter about serious substance abuse. Rumors about a contingency suite waiting at the Bancroft Center, in fact, given recent escapades. So, what is your experience—what’s your truth?”

Again, Leonor was prepared, and she translated the agitation into amusement as she had been taught. “Those rumors are categorically false,” she said, her voice firm. Mencia held her gaze, but Leonor was comfortably walking the line between truth and lies. “I won’t deny that I enjoy partying with my friends—there are photographs, of course—but what I choose to do with my free time isn’t newsworthy as long as it’s responsible and reasonable—which, it is.”

“New friends, right?” Mencia probbed.

Leonor shrugged. “I’m sure it’s relatable to expand your circle of acquaintances as you grow up. I’ve done a lot of growing up these last few years, even without accounting for what happened with my mother.” She added, cracking an honest smile, “You’re the expert on that, aren’t you, Miss Cipac?”

Mencia laughed, and Leonor noted she had a pleasant, almost unexpectedly delicate laugh. “Yes, I am,” she conceded. “There is an expectation that I sit here and grill you about the changes in your life, and I suspect it’s because many people are uncomfortable with change, particularly the kind that accompanies growing up. It’s hard for everyone, even our princesses.  I don't think I'm supposed to editorialize here, but it must be said.”

“Yeah, it is,” Leonor agreed. “I’ve tried to be a little adult for as long as I can remember, but maturity isn’t a straight line. And I’m not the same at twenty-one as I was at six, or sixteen, or even nineteen or twenty.”

Mencia raised her note card to her lips, contemplating what to ask next. Then, she asked, “How’s your relationship with your father these days? We don’t see much of him. I won’t get into the speculation—any of it—but I am interested in your experience, including how it varies from, say, that of your brothers."

Leonor realized that the conversation took a turn she wasn’t ready for. It wasn’t the question about her father, for which she had prepared, but rather the fact that Mencia wasn’t actually here to extract damning admissions born of frustration and embarrassment from her. Despite real misgivings, she had asked for Mencia Cipac to replace the journalist originally slated to conduct this anniversary interview.

The switch hadn’t made it any less nerve-wracking, but the way Mencia intervened at the Maypop Resort with what felt like genuine insight and concern had been arresting, once she allowed herself to consider it. She made the call while waiting for her plane back to Nakawe, before she shut off her mind again. Once Renzo gave her permission to go to him, the handful of hours in between felt agonizing. Feigning composure provided one distraction. Yet, as she sat in the back of her chauffeured car, then waiting in the airport's deserted private lounge, her thoughts spiraled. They circled as if down a drain—somewhere dark and narrow, constricting, suffocating.

That's what impending events felt like, at any rate. Soon, it would be the Water Time, and death would be everywhere, but she wouldn't be able to mourn just yet. A year hadn't passed. Rituals mattered. Rules mattered. She had already broken such a crucial one, and she couldn't risk another. So, they would mourn others instead, and she would be mindful. The time for hunters would come next. It gave way to the time of the sun, and that would—in a terrible turn of irony—forever become the darkest time of the year. More than just the calendar's ceremony, Leonor's sense of what was to come hinged on the royal obligations to which she still clung. This interview was among them; it was at the intersection of her twin losses, asking her to play daughter and princess, each versions of herself that did feel dead in their own ways.

Now, she remembered why she had made that call in the first place.

“Well, Mencia, it is strained,” Leonor said, letting the words spool out with control. “Loss does that, I think. When a family loses someone, it affects everyone left behind. It affects your relationships, somehow. For us, it has been hard to ... maintain ties while bereaved. His grief as a husband was different from mine as a daughter, right? Even if we both know what we’ve lost, together, as a family.”

Mencia nodded. “And your brothers? Are you close with them?”

Leonor allowed herself to remember the bright spots of their recent reunion and smiled. “I was on the beach with Mateo recently, and it was almost idyllic. We should be together more often, but life can get in the way. And, of course, with Gil, too. Mateo's grown up a lot as well, so maybe it's easier for us to connect than it used to be. Mama would like that.”

“Gil has a gaggle of cousins his age these days, as I understand it. Alright, on the topic of connections—“ Mencia began, pivoting while Leonor cringed. “Let’s set aside the gossip. Here's my question. A lot of people expected you would be married with children of your own sooner rather than later. That might have been an unfair assumption based on the idea that you were emulating your mother and grandmother in every other respect. Of course, we know that their choices were ultimately not easy or uncriticized. And, you said it yourself: people change. They grow up. Plans that were abstract before become real possibilities. So, right now, do you see that in your future, sooner or later—marrying, becoming a mother yourself? Do you want it to be?”

Perhaps naively, Leonor had a answer for a different question on the tip of her tongue. Mencia’s actual interest went deeper, and it was harder to brush off now that she had opened herself up to honest answers. She smiled like a pageant girl because she didn’t know what else to do. It gave the illusion that she was tickled by the prospect rather than terrified. A dozen answers flashed through her mind, all species of the same kernel of truth: she didn’t know. What she did know, however, was that it wasn’t the answer Uspanians wanted. They expected certainty because that’s what she was trained to give. More than that, they wanted to be able to hang their most romantic life aspirations on her; she was supposed to give them fantasies to bright their own lives, and that included a fairytale future with someone who completed her, plus their children, who would become reliable vessels for The People just like their mother before them.

Even if her job as a royal had shrunk down to its most inalienable parts, chief among them remained motherhood. To suggest that wasn’t a possibility, or that she was going to endanger it for unexplainable reasons, was risky. Indeed, she couldn’t say that marriage was synonymous with violence in her heart—that she knew better but believed a husband was someone who hurt you and loved you in equal measure. She couldn’t suggested that the title of “wife” had been soiled, too, in her heart. It was a small word, and it wasn’t sacred in an old way like “lover” or “mother, but she couldn’t remind the audience of that. Maybe she could begin to imagine herself traveling the world with someone and perhaps, by accident, having children whom other people ensured safety and security. Of course, the comparisons to her aunt Blanca were everywhere already, and they were not considered flattering, positive portents of a life well lived. She should aspire in public to be like Lorraine, or Olalla at worst—respectable, rooted, reliable.

Leonor suspected Mencia would understand if she admitted she didn’t know what she wanted yet, but they weren’t having this conversation for themselves.

As she finally began to answer, she clasped her hands tighter to prevent herself from fidgeting. “I love my mother. I idolized her, but I also love her because she loved me so well. She wasn’t perfect, but her love was. Being loved by her … I knew a lifetime of prayer wouldn’t cover it, how grateful I needed to be for her, but it’s something you don’t fully appreciate until it ends. Like a perfect day. Mama was nurturing, and she really saw my brothers and I as more than just extensions of herself—of the family. When I feel like I can give a child that, it’ll be the right time.”

Mencia smiled, and it was the kind of smile that tugged at the broken seams of Leonor’s heart. ‘She’s proud of me,’ she thought, allowing herself to smile, although not for the cameras.

“And marriage?” Mencia followed-up, apparently still determined to do her job.

“Similar."

In another pause, Leonor considered how significant whatever she said next might be. Perhaps it wouldn't matter at all. Yet, the small taste of torment that possibility aroused only further confirmed that she wanted to speak with care. “When I love someone enough—when I love them like First Mother loved First Father, so much that we ought to become one person but love each other too much to allow it—then it'll be time. They created love and children, not marriage, after all. First things first.”

“Well said, my princess." There was quiet for a moment, but Leonor's gaze remained low, so Mencia quipped, "I suppose they’ll slip an advertisement break in right about here—something unromantic, perhaps detergent or laxatives."

At this, Leonor had no choice but to laugh.

The conversation was easier after that. Mencia wanted to know about her work—how she liked collaborating with her uncle, if she shared her mother’s passion for higher education, what other passions she might pursue when their initiative was done. She wanted to talk about hobbies, which allowed Leonor to indulge in memories of watching her mother create beautiful watercolors and strolling galleries with her, hand in hand, rapt. The purpose of the interview was ultimately in that vein; there was red meat to entice viewers, but it was a memorial broadcast for a beloved woman. Leonor’s job was to speak to one of her many sides, the one that was a good mother. Her brothers were spared the task, and she tried to weave them into the narrative as best she could. When they finished, Leonor felt as if she had done her job.

Much later, she could allow herself to acknowledge that, if her mask had seemed cracked, she managed the crisis to the best of her ability. It was that impending recognition, however, that motivated her to reconsider her assessment of how the interview went. She sat in her chair while Mencia stood up, stretching and talking idly with the media people that stood around watching. Their conversation had last for just under an hour. Leonor wanted to stretch and walk around, too. An antsy sensation was rising up in her, something pacing might blunt. The smile of satisfaction slipped slowly from Leonor’s face as she retraced the conversation in her mind. As if rewinding a tape, it became ugly and unrecognizable.

“We have to do it again,” she declared, standing up. Her voice was loud and clear. Eyes turned to her. “Same questions. Redo.”

Mencia was wrong. Because her title was more than just a symbol or a post-death consolation prize, the room perked up when Leonor spoke. These people were divinely ordained as servants, and they understood that, if not in those exact terms. Leonor understood it in those terms, although she didn't always believe it. Somewhere along the line, that streak of cosmic egomania became uncouth. They dispensed with it. There was a loftier ideal in the family, just as old but better suited to have survived the age of revolutions—that they, the House of Tecuani, were burdened with service to these people, their People. It was true. It was why Leonor sat down to entertain them all with reflections on her dead mother, her poisoned father, the inscrutable future of her womb. Still, they leapt into action as soon as she issued this unreasonable, unilateral command. This grand exchange favored her; it was, more than the particularities of an occupational title, her birthright.

For her part, Mencia looked surprised. She hesitated and then, aided by the dragging weight of resignation, slowly lowered herself back into her chair.

TRANSCRIPT:

MENCIA | I'm sorry, I assumed you had someone lined up already.

??? V.O. | Well, plans change.

MENCIA | You could’ve called me first, but you didn’t.

??? V.O. | You were requested by name last minute. So, is that a yes?

She was the same age as me. I watched her on television as a child. She looked sweet. I would think to myself, “If I met her, if we lived in the same town, if she was my neighbor, we would be friends."

She wouldn’t say mean things. Wouldn’t have made fun of my nose or hair or the way I stuttered. Maybe could have taught me how to be like her. To smile nicely, to talk well, to be so sweet that everyone in the country loved you. If not, she would have been nice to me anyway.

I met her once, as a teenager. Education was her pet project even back then. She’d never been a student herself, not in Uspana’s schools, but they picked a few of us to get a scholarship she was sponsoring. We got to spend an afternoon with her, myself and some other girls.

It wasn’t what I’d imagined when I was younger. Talking to her wasn’t easy. But, I figured out that it was because the other girls were louder and more demanding of her attention, not because she didn’t like me.

I read the papers. I watched the coverage of her wedding. But, you know, life moved on for me, too. I didn’t get married. I went to college. My parents were psychologists, and I decided I’d join them.

My childhood was difficult in ways that had nothing to do with the life they provided for me. I was intrigued by that. I wanted to help other children who weren’t comfortable in their own skin. That was the plan.

Then, you were born.

Not news to you, but a new royal baby was quite the occasion. Sebastian was eight years earlier, which felt like a lifetime—plus, he wasn’t an heir. Funny, isn’t it? So close to your uncle. Anyway, I got a question in my head and wrote an article. Haven’t stopped writing about it since. “What does it mean for a child to be raised as royalty?” A lot, as it turns out.

MENCIA | Anyway, that’s how I “got into this.” People don’t usually ask.

LEONOR | Interview your interviewer. Basic prep work.

MENCIA | Stakes are low. I have softball questions.

LEONOR | And if you could ask me one question, and I had to answer truthfully, what would it be? Hardball.

MENCIA | I would ask—well. You can be anyone and do anything now. So, who is Leonor, if she’s not a princess anymore.

LEONOR | That's a dumb question. I still have my title.

MENCIA | As a symbol, a consolation prize. There are princesses in name only, like your aunts. It doesn’t actually mean anything now, does it?

LEONOR | It does to me.

MENCIA | Does it?

LEONOR | Forget it. I hope your "softballs" are better.

MENCIA | My first question is straightforward. But, I imagine it's on the mind of anyone who's kept up with your life: are you okay?

LEONOR | [laughs] Of course. We're all much more "okay" than we were a few months ago, and I'm grateful for that.

MENCIA | Diplomatic. Let's get specific. You hadn't been seen touching even a cigarette until six months ago, and now there's constant chatter about serious substance abuse. Rumors about a contingency suite waiting at the Bancroft Center, in fact, given recent escapades. So, what is your experience—what's your truth?

LEONOR | Those rumors are categorically false. I won’t deny that I enjoy partying with my friends—there are photographs, of course—but what I choose to do with my free time isn’t newsworthy as long as it’s responsible and reasonable—which, it is.

MENCIA | New friends, right?

LEONOR | I'm sure it's relatable to expand your circle of acquaintances as you grow up. I've done a lot of growing up these last few years, even without accounting for what happened with my mother. You're the expert on that, aren't you, Miss Cipac?

MENCIA | [laughs] Yes, I am. 

MENCIA | There is an expectation that I sit here and grill you about the changes in your life, and I suspect it's because many people are uncomfortable with change, particularly the kind that accompanies growing up. It's hard for everyone, even our princesses. I don't think I'm supposed to editorialize here, but it must be said.

LEONOR | Yeah, it is. I've tried to be a little adult for as long as I can remember, but maturity isn't a straight line. And I’m not the same at twenty-one as I was at six, or sixteen, or even nineteen or twenty.

MENCIA | How's your relationship with your father these days? We don't see much of him. I won't get into the speculation—any of it—but I am interested in your experience, including how it varies from, say, that of your brothers."

LEONOR | Well, Mencia, it is strained.

LEONOR | Loss does that, I think. When a family loses someone, it affects everyone left behind. It affects your relationships, somehow. For us, it has been hard to ... maintain ties while bereaved. His grief as a husband was different from mine as a daughter, right? Even if we both know what we've lost, together, as a family.

MENCIA | And your brothers?

LEONOR | I was on the beach with Mateo recently, and it was almost idyllic. We should be together more often, but life can get in the way. And, of course, with Gil, too. Mateo's grown up a lot as well, so maybe it's easier for us to connect than it used to be. Mama would like that.

MENCIA | Gil has a gaggle of cousins his age these days, as I understand it. Alright, on the topic of connections—

MENCIA | Let’s set aside the gossip. Here's my question. A lot of people expected you would be married with children of your own sooner rather than later. That might have been an unfair assumption based on the idea that you were emulating your mother and grandmother in every other respect. Of course, we know that their choices were ultimately not easy or uncriticized. And, you said it yourself: people change. They grow up. Plans that were abstract before become real possibilities. So, right now, do you see that in your future, sooner or later—marrying, becoming a mother yourself? Do you want it to be?

LEONOR | I love my mother. I idolized her, but I also love her because she loved me so well. She wasn’t perfect, but her love was. Being loved by her ... I knew a lifetime of prayer wouldn’t cover it, how grateful I needed to be for her, but it’s something you don’t fully appreciate until it ends. Like a perfect day. Mama was nurturing, and she really saw my brothers and I as more than just extensions of herself—of the family.

LEONOR | When I feel like I can give a child that, it’ll be the right time.

MENCIA | And marriage?

LEONOR | Similar. When I love someone enough—when I love them like First Mother loved First Father, so much that we ought to become one person but love each other too much to allow it—then it'll be time. They created love and children, not marriage, after all. First things first.

MENCIA | Well said, my princess. I suppose they’ll slip an advertisement break in right about here—something unromantic, perhaps detergent or laxatives.

[Leonor chuckles]

[purpleserpents]

insane ramblings

trying not to lose too much sleep over the latest leaks (and failing).

genuinely miserable thinking about alicent’s potential suicide attempt. the only thing that would make it even worse if she does it during some sort of random journey with criston outside of kings landing. there is speculation that this scene is somewhere in the crownlands. at the same time there is speculation that criston is not present in this scene because fabien wasn't on set with olivia.

my only sliver of hope is the rhaenicent end of season reunion, which i would say it's almost guaranteed. i'm guessing that they'll probably parallel the sept scene fairly heavily. i would love to see the inversion of roles taken to the fullest extent. in 2x03 alicent looks so regal in the sept, and rhaenyra meets her as a septa, dressed as a common servant of the realm. it would be crazy to now see dragonstone rhaenyra in her best dragon scale dress meeting alicent at her lowest point of the season, disheveled and suicidal, begging for some semblance of peace. i would probably cry but it would make for great storytelling.

my fear is that they’ll take the parallel too far because they can’t write for shit and alicent will leave somewhere that will make the story worse. olivia has mentioned alicent finding freedom in the final arc of this season, and this is really what's eating at my brain. the places alicent could go longterm:

dragonstone: if the rhaenicent reunion happens, she will have to stop at dragonstone regardless. some possible theories: 1) alicent could be taken prisoner here, but the fandom consensus seems to be that it's too early for that. this would also be the complete opposite of alicent finding her freedom, as olivia has implied. so i think this one is unlikely. 2) alicent stays in dragonstone with some sort of agency. i think the best possible version of this would be a full alicent turncloak arc. this would obviously be another huge deviation from the books, but i've seen some really interesting speculation about how if alicent had switched sides, TB could have spun it as alicent being taken captive, which would look a lot less bad. this would be so good -- it would call into question the way that history has been written, which is the best space for the show to exist in imo. there is also the snippet of rhaenyra saying "history will paint you as a villain" in a teaser, with the word "villain" being possibly dubbed in another language in the feminine form (i haven't confirmed this myself). this line could be definitely be said to alicent during their reunion, and, in my wildest dreams, could be part of the turncloak arc. the main thing that stands in the way of alicent turncloak actually happening (besides bad writing and the centuries long oppression of lesbians) is helaena. i don't think alicent could leave helaena and jaehaera alone. one day i will write about alicent, helaena, and jaehaera flying to dragonstone with dreamfyre, because i am insane. (but, seriously, if you were to write a turncloak alicent arc, it would be genius for alicent to bring her clairvoyant daughter - the enemy queen - and aegon's only heir over to the other side). they will never write this because they hate me.

oldtown: it would be an insane amount of traveling, especially if she has to meet rhaenyra first, but the leaks suggest she's going to oldtown. on one hand, they might be able to do something cool with daeron (thought he hasn't been cast). on the other hand, i think it would take some really good writing to paint alicent going back to her shitty father in oldtown as her "finding her freedom." to me, alicent going to her home town to be lady hightower would be a major character set back. it would be a different scenery, she would be far from her royal sons, but she would still be stuck in duty, just in a new font. i honestly don't want them to add oldtown scenes to the show. it will be another location, another story thread to follow. hopefully they don't do that, but they might choose to for some new season 3 terrain

nowhere?: alicent is clearly starting some sort of spiritual journey in kings landing in the last episode alone. hitting her breaking point, even leaving kings landing for the suicide attempt + rhaenicent reunion could be a freedom arc for a while, even if she comes back. i think it is possible that she will just come back to kings landing, and that we are associating freedom too much with alicent's physical location.

no matter what happens, the leaks feel insane but fairly plausible. the most unrealistic thing i see is the amount of fast traveling. having alicent do a continental tour of westeros feels like a really dumb way to attract similar criticism to later seasons of got.

i have to laugh, i could be living my life like a normal person if i had never started this show

[hellbornsworld]

BTS X READER WATTPAD RECOMMENDATIONS(2) ⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆

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[veneritia]

april 2024 camp nano wip intro - when comes the dawn

this is just something silly :)

taglist: @bloomingwrites @writinglyra @zmwrites @trapped-inadystopianovel @inky-duchess @aalinaaaaaa @seasteading @kaatiba @lazulis-stuff @serpentarii @sourrcandy @charlesjosephwrites @marrowwife @forever-and-almost-always @halcionic

Slide transcripts under the cut!

[TRANSCRIPT BEGINS]

Slide 1: Title slide

When Comes the Dawn, book 1 of 2

Slide 2: wdym my fantasy story has to have magic?

Set in a fantasy world loosely set in the late antiquities/early middle ages., where everyone alive has the capability to harness magic. But actually using it requires strict and intensive education (and maybe a phD or 5) so most people only know very basic spells.

In Trinitarian belief, it’s believed that the goddess Meidther gave her blood to bring humans to life, and because of that people are imbued with magic. No living person can be alive without magic because it’s literally impossible! Wait -- the emperor of Aetier has a what????

So there’s this weird phenomenon where on very rare occasions, babies will be born without magic. Called “deadbornes”, these babies are incompatible with life and usually end up passing away minutes to days later. With one notable exception (we’ll circle back to this later)

Slide 3: the set-up

The Empire of Aetier (or if you ask any local: “the gods’ specialist little empire”) has a very unique way of handling succession in the imperial family. That way is murder. Just murder. All heirs plot against one another in a formal-informal system called “The King’s Game.” It’s supposed to be a competition of skills, but it’s kind of warped itself into state-sanctioned fratricide (NOT to be confused with a battle royale. That’s just uncouth /j)

The last King’s Game ended 22 years ago, when Dantalion vi Aetier defeated and killed his half-sister in battle. As the victor, he crowned himself the new Vasilier of the empire and proceeded to bring in a new golden age of prosperity for his people. And nothing is wrong and everything is beautiful, and there is no way this can go wrong

... right?

It all starts on the day Fenice was born... where instead of being the healthy and uber powerful child Dantalion expected her to be, Fenice turns out to be a deadborne. Deadbornes are considered harbingers of ill omens, and siring one is a terrible way to start your new reign. And even stranger still is the fact that Fenice...doesn’t die? Someone call the priest and ask them what does it mean if your death omen refuses to go away

Slide 4: The plot

The end of the Hesperia-Aetier war brought new lands under the Empire’s rule, and with it, new ways to gain power and prestige in the Imperial Court. The biggest thorn in the empire atm is that Hesperia’s last king is still wandering the lands somewhere, waiting to strike.

Imperessa Fenice vi Aetier (who’s still alive and kicking) just lost her mom in the war, and now she’s desperate to prove herself to her estranged father that she’s more than a disappointment and wasted potential. And what better way to do that than to succeed him as the next Vasilier?

The problem? Only those that undergo an Ascension are considered legitimate contenders for the throne. The other problem? Dantalion won’t give her one.

Fenice: “Trade offer: I receive my own province to rule and an Ascension. You receive the head of the deposed king of Hesperia.” Dantalion: “Deal. But you have to marry his brother though” Fenice: “What”

[in big, bold, italicized font] disclaimer: this is not a romance

Slide 5: The plot pt. 2

Now wedded and gifted with a province of her own to rule , Fenice actually has to set-up her own power base and follow through with her end of the deal to find and kill the runaway king, as well as extinguish the rebellions he’s so keen on igniting.

But the more she looks for him, the more she realizes he’s being backed by someone much more powerful. But who?

And on totally unrelated note, there seems to be some weird rumors going around of some guy claiming to be Aretos vi Aetier, the son of the very same person Dantalion killed during the King’s Game 20+ years back. But that’s obviously fake news. Surely no one will fall for it!

Slide 6: The POV characters

[image description, the slide is split into two parts with fenice on the left and nikephoros on the right. end image description]

[heading ] fenice vi aetier

[image description: a face claim of the character is displayed on an arched frame, the model is female,has long red hair, pale skin, and an intense gaze]

20, she/her, imperessor of Aetier, Kaisarim of Isidore

the deadborne child that just won’t die

The most calculative and petty bitch you will ever meet

Has the constitution of a sick Victorian lady

Has an inferiority complex so bad it loops back around to a superiority complex

May have met god. not entirely sure

(Debuff) (unremovable) an off-putting aura that cancels out all magic in her immediate vicinity

Ginger

She’s soooo aroace

[heading ] nikephoros deominos

[image description: a face claim of the character is displayed on an arched frame, the model is male, has short light brown hair, is wearing a red sweater, and has his chin tucked into the crook of his arm, while leaning off the arm of a sofa. end image description.]

24, he/him, prince-consort, prince of Hesperia

has been having the worst day of his life for 5 years in a row and counting

his country? conquered. his brother? in hiding. his sister? captive. himself? trying not to die of liver failure

the opposite of a wife guy, the only person he hates more than his wife is his father-in-law loves his family, would be nice to see them though.

generally a nice guy but recent events has him very stressed and angry 24/7

has murderous urges almost all the time

At the bottom middle of the slide it says "married in body but divorced in spirit."

Slide 7: Major characters (spar's notes edition)

(no pictures bc face claimsare hard :(

[heading] dantalion vi aetier

47, he/him, vasilier of the empire

a living legend that all history nerds of the future would study

the dilfiest dilf to ever dilf

has many kids. is a father to maybe one of them

has many wives. is a husband to one, maybe two of them

canonically extremely pretty

surprisingly the only vi aetier to recieve the “kinslayer” epithet despite all previous generations also...slaying kin

Is a wife guy but for a specific wife only

conquered Hesperia as a pride thing

[heading] titania of taul

45, she/her, late vasilia of the empire

the most badass woman to ever walk the face of the earth

mother to fenice and first wife to the guy on the left

she dies before the book starts but she’s still present in the story because death has nothing on her

has many fun epithets such as “the strongest mage,” and “the scourge of men”

Titania is to Hesperians as Hannibal was to the Romans

A+ fighter, B+ mom

Not brought up or relevant in the story, but did you know no one knows who her mother is. One day, her dad just walked out into the wilderness to hunt and then a couple weeks or months later came back with Titania. no explanation was given

Slide 8: major characters cont.

[heading] andras vi drochona

44, he/him, imperessor of Aetier

Dantalion’s only full-blooded sibling, and also his only living sibling

the vasilier’s right hand man

lopped off his own sword arm to prove his loyalty

Designated a forever bachelor by the government

terrible at being comforting

likes to mess with his nieces and nephews

[heading] charles vi aetier

18, he/him, imperessor of Aetier

dantalion’s second child

everyone’s favorite person and can do no wrong

has to always be ok or he’ll detonate like a nuke

achilles coded bi-disaster, take that however you will

a disney prince trapped in game of thrones someone please help this boy out he just wants his family to get along

absolute mama’s boy

[heading] sola eidos

27, he/him

that is not his real name, he made it up

could be the star of his own book ngl

primarily deals in information nowadays but sometimes he misses the adrenaline rush that comes from a well-executed assassination. this is what lands him in fenice’s hands

his secrets have secrets, that’s why his hair is so big

slide 9: major characters cont.

[heading] isandros deominos

28, he him, king of Hesperia

Nike’s older half-brother

Had the worst start of a reign ever. He’s proclaimed king and then immediately has to flee into hiding

hates Aetier with a burning passion

is Stressed TM and in dire need for some hot cocoa

[heading] leda vi bryennia

48, she/her, honored fidari

long story short, she once witnessed Titania fight and covered in blood and had such a massive girl-crush she swore to be Titania’s knight the second she was asked

helped raise fenice and is now serves her as her guardian/protector. that is her child thank you very much

had a shounen-style rivals-to-friends-to-lovers arc with fellow fidari Thetis. It’d be great if it wasn’t for their explosive break-up

[heading] sartore vitae

28, he/him

he can mansplain, manipulate, and manwhore his way into and out of any situation

has a cool eye-patch

is maybe a little too invested with Fenice’s relationship with her father

he WISHES he was as cool as lelouch lamperouge

+ many more characters! (seriously this cast is huge)

slide 10: featuring

way too much extraneous worldbuilding

court intrigue

morally dark gray protagonist

family as your allies and family as your enemies

lots of near-death experiences

no romantic subplot!

too many code geass references

slide 11: camp nano goals

write everyday

2wrte 15,000 words total

reach 50,000 words on my draft

slide 12: fin

[image description: the final slide is full of discord screenshots of funny jokes and commentary about the wip. ]

[end transcript]

[viridianstarlight]

Do you know who you are?

To the world these days, or at least my generation and younger, personal identity matters a whole lot to people.And to these same people, your identity can be whatever you want it to be.

You are identified by your gender, and they say your gender can be whatever you want on any day.

You are identified by your sexuality and relationship status.

You are identified by the colour of your skin.

You are identified by your job.

There’s more, but I think you get the idea.

So in the eyes of these people, I am male, straight and single, white, and a cafe worker. But I don’t really think that describes ‘Cory’.

But we Christians have a different view of identity. Here’s what the Bible says about who we are.

Psalm 139: 15-16 My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

To start with, God knows exactly who you are. He knows everything there is to know about you. So if anyone can show you who you are, it is God.

1 John 3: 1 See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know Him.

We are called God’s children. We are adopted in to the King’s family.

Romans 8:16-18 Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in His sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.

By being adopted in to the King’s family, we are made co-heirs with Christ, sharing in His sufferings and glory.

Isaiah 43:1 But now, this is what the Lord says— He who created you, Jacob, He who formed you, Israel: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.

We belong to God.

Romans 6:6 This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe.

Thanks to Christ’s death and resurrection, our faith in Him clothes us in His righteousness and redeems us of our sins. God looks upon us and sees the perfection of Christ.

Ephesians 2:10 For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.

God is perfect, and so is everything He creates. God does not make mistakes. You are His masterpiece, the crowning reflection of His perfect creativity.

1 Corinthians 6:19 Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God?

Your body is a holy space where God dwells.

Ephesians 1: 4 Even before He made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in His eyes. 

God created the world in the first chapter of Genesis, and even before then, He knew you perfectly and has loved you perfectly since then.

1 Corinthians 12: 27 Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.

You belong as part of something greater than yourself, and you cannot function to your greatest potential separate to the body.

You were created to do things that other parts of the body cannot do, and you were created to benefit the body just as other parts were created to benefit you.

1 Peter 2:9 But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light.

You are a royal priest of the King. In the old testament, only the high priests could enter the holy of holies within God’s temple. But we, belonging totally to God and being chosen by Him, can enter the presence of God at any time.

And this is all thanks to Christ leaving heaven to become a man, taking our sin to the cross and dying in our place, taking our judgement, and in return sharing His righteousness with us.

Do you know who you are? God does.

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- pregnancy, 18+ words and themes overall. Slight angst, brief mention of vomit and sea sickness, attempted r@pe, sexual assault, slight abuse, family death. Description of dying (start)

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

previous chapter here.

CHAPTER 18

The first thing Sandor thought about in the day was you he day dreamt of your safety and the helpless thing inside you that took your body as refuge. He silently prayed that he wouldn’t have to be away from you for any longer. It was also the last thing he thought about before sleeping and dreaming of you. 

But he was more afraid of what his thoughts would be like after his body went quiet. 

Here he layed against the rock bloddied from the fight leg broken unable to move, not that he wanted too. Breanne of fucking Tarth, a women, took him down. He had put up a good and fair fight however but he could feel his life fading before his eyes. The image of you ghosting into his vision you calling his name sweetly as his hand caressed you soft cheek. You smile that warmed his soul. 

Oh he loved to see you smile. He loved to see you happy at his doing. It feels as though you have been together for years on end when it has only taken him 2 months to fall completely under your spell. He knows he won’t survive yet unable to move to end his own hes cursed to lay until he bleeds out or dies from starvation. But at least he will go out knowing he was loved and loved back. 

————

You stand against the side of the boat as you watch the rocky shore pass by slowly. 

“Your highness.” A man speaks to you. You turn around seeing the captain of the ship. 

“We are porting to widows watch in 20 minutes.” He says you nod. 

“I sugesset her highness is tended to by a meister while we take the day to careen. Her ladyship is carrying the further heir is she not?” He asks. 

“Thank you captain i shall take your kindness to the next meisters hut.” You say giving him a smile. He nods giving you a smile back before heading to his previous post. 

Over the course of 20 days or so on and off sea you and joss have become much more that a squire and royal you’ve become friends best friends. you will laugh and dance and tell stories, you’ve told him about your childhood and hes told you about his granted his wasn’t that long ago. 

You’ve celebrated each other birthdays and you now no longer allow him to talk to you anything but plain. 

“My lady.” Joss says walking up to you leaning against the side of the ship you smile at him nudging him with your arm. He chuckles. 

”youre looking more and more like a grown man with that stubble your growing.” You giggle at him. He nods feeling the stubble growing on his face. 

“Yeah. Ill have to find a barber when we dock.” He says. 

“I didn’t say i dosnt suit you.. however the prince Marco fraud over there hasn’t kept a meal down since we got on this boat. That says a lot. Im the pregnant one.” You say joss laughs as you both look over to Marco who wipes his forehead with a cloth. 

“D-do you still think of him?” Joss asks. 

“Of course I do. Everyday i pray for his safety and health just as i do yours. I want him to meet his child preferably in this life and not the next.” You say about Sandor. 

“Would you ever take another man?” Joss asks turning around facing backwards. 

“No..why?” You ask. 

“Even if he died?” He asks again. 

“I dont think, despite out beginning, i could ever take someone else i love him too much and i love what he gave me…why do you ask?” You wonder turning to him your eyes fix on his gaze as he looks across the boat deck to Lucy who hands the prince a glass of water. 

“There’s no point in wanting something if you don’t try for it.” You say to him. He looks back to you a blush forming on his cheeks as he realizes that you know who he was talking about. 

“I-I’ll grab you coat my lady.” He says before hurrying to your quarters below deck. Footsteps make your way to you once more you sigh as you see Marco coming to you. 

“It seems that the uh. The weather for this trip has treated us well?” He smiles. 

“We’ve stayed as close to shore as we can theres been no open water without seeing land through a scoop and were guarded by two man o’ war ships when my parents sent me off to kingslanding we went the long way comanded 4 storms three men died and our sips main mask was missing by the time i arrived and still. I had to endure of that wearing a corset and looking pretty. Meanwhile your vomiting up every fucking meal you consume on the charter of a little turbulence.” You say to him. 

“And yet you still have the energy to mock me.” He snaps back. 

“Yes. Consider it being hormonal.” You bite right back to him and turn to walk off. 

“Why do you fester against me!?” He asks leaving you to stop you back facing him. 

“We’ve been not but 2 feet from each other for 23 days and you prefer to fight on my name instead of getting to know it.” He says. You scoffs and turn back to face him. Joss comes back to you your cloak in hand.

“I dont need to know your name becuase i will not be taking it, as little as you may know, i belong to another. I wont belong to anyone else but him. As a care taken prince I wouldn’t expect you to understand after all your used to feeding off a silver platter and suckling from a gold breast.” You say as joss helps you put on the cover before you both walk to the end of the boat where you’re meant to get off to port for the day. 

————

The day is spent visiting a midwife not allowing a maester to touch you, having a meal with Lucy and joss at the inn you’re staying at and exploring a little before you became to tired and went back to the room. You were unfortunately told that the careening of the underbelly of the boat would take until the night so you should leave in the morning. 

Un happy about the news you reluctantly placed yourself in your room. 

You sit in the bras bath tub alone. You pick at your nails as you lean over the side your raised belly proving it to be a bit of a challenge. Your fingers move up to your hand glazing over the ring that is placed on your ringer. The jewels within it shine against the fireplace light. 

”im sorry i still haven’t made a name for you little one.” You say speaking to the babe within you. 

“But perhaps if your a boy then i will name you after you father? Hmm, and if your a girl I shall name you something beautiful like a flower or the stars. I was going to let your father name you but I'm afraid that wont be the case and id prefer you not go unnamed.” You sigh resting your head on your arm. you open your mouth to speak once again but you hear slight bickering out side your door before it opens. 

“You cannot enter my lord she is bathing!” Joss yells out at prince marco who stumbles into the room clearly drunk you cover your self sinking into the tub further. 

“Get out!” You yell at him. Joss grabs Marco to pull him away but he turns around and lands a hefty punch onto joss’s face causing him to fall to the ground before Marco kicks him. 

“YOU DARE PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME BOY!?” The prince yells before pushing joss out of the room and closing the door behind him bolting the door. Marco turns to you. 

“Get out. How dare you enter my room like this.” You bark out at him. 

“Get up.” He says you ignore his request sinking deeper into the tub. 

“You mock me, taunt me, refuse to conform to your duties as a princes!” He grumbles as he stomps twords you grabbing your hair pulling you. you welp in pain as he pulls you out of the tub. 

“AH! LET GO OW!” You scream out in pain as you drags you. You slip on the seat floor loosing your footing. He pushes you to the floor fighting above you. 

“No- NO STOP!” You scream tears welling up in your face as you fight under him. 

“You will know your fucking place!!” He grunts as he hits you across your face. 

“Ah!” You cry out in pain tear balling from your eyes and you continue to fight him stretching his face. He bails his hand into a first and punches you across your face twice. The taste of metal hits your tounge as your lip is split under the impact. You hear faint pounding behind the wooden door of the room as joss calls your name. The sound of a belt buckle clinking. You stop your fight as he holds you down. Before the imminent pain you could experience hes shoved off you two guards and joss pounce on him as he hollers out a multicellular of curse words before being dragged out of the room.

“Your highness?!.” You hear as Lucy and two others run to you wrapping a sheet around your naked body as they help you sit up. Lucy pulls you into her arms as you sob the pulsing pain in your face far from the pain in your heart. The fear flooded illness that could’ve resulted much worse.

”h-help me d-dress.” You say getting up weakly as she helps you. 

“Are you alright did he-“ 

“No. i want to leave now. Help me dress!” You speak. She and others nod. 

“Joss.” You say before he walks out after the guards. he looks to you holding his side from the rough kick Marco gave, his face bloddied. 

“Th-thank you. We will be t-taking a guarding ship the rest of way.” You say he nods to you before walking out closing the door after himself so your ladies can help you dress. You pull off the sheet holding your stomach before they slip on your undergarments and then and easy dress and shoes. They take the small bag you had packed for the night before you all hurry out. To the shipping dock. 

You board the guarding ship with the others, a few guards and joss, despite his condition help board over your items from the main ship before taking off back to the sea

Next chapter coming soon.

TAGLIST. If you’d like to be added to the tag list please leave a comment down below.

Taglist @stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover ex160-blog1 @midnightprocrastinator

[argikiya]

Bonus/Special/Extra chapters of some of my favorite books/series.

As most of my favorite series or books are getting a lot of bonus chapters but most of the time they are only available in certain special editions which is a true menace and impossible to get hands-on globally, I'm making a guide for the chapters as I've found a lot of helpful Tumblr users/readers already posted them in the internet. So I'll collect them, make a thorough list, and keep editing them if any new material is released. Feel free to comment if you want to add anything or let me know about any other series. I'm keeping the list under the cut to avoid spoilers for those who want to avoid them.

Red, White and Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston

The henry's pov chapter from the new Red White And Royal Blue collector's edition. - set after the incidents in the book

The Folk Of The Air Trilogy - Holly Black

The Cruel Prince Barnes & Noble exclusive short story - A Visit to the Impossible Lands

Some deleted scenes from TCP (AU)

Deleted scenes of The Wicked King from Barnes & Noble exclusive edition

Cardan's letter from Queen of Nothing -(read after finishing the series)

Deleted scene of The Queen of Nothing from Holly Black's newsletter.

Walmart exclusive The Stolen Heir chapters.

The Stolen Heir Barnes & Noble bonus content.

There are also additional Folk of The Air contents and a more detailed list - click here

Legendborn Series - Tracy Deonn

Selwyn's pov chapter and Bloodmarked excerpt - to read after the first book

The Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater

A Very Declan Christmas - Holiday Drabble

300 Fox way Holiday Piece - written as part of an event

A Minor Raven Boys Holiday Drabble -click here

Book #4.5 - Opal

The Secret Sanghai Universe - Chloe Gong

This one could be a little confusing as it is a really long universe containing two separate but interconnected series. So I'm making the list according to the timeline of the book's contents are in (not based on the timeline they were published/released) which list Chloe Gong once shared in her Instagram stories and also available on her website. (Check out her list for more detailed, less-confusing blurb on the contents of each bonus content and their timeline)

A RomaJuliette Christmas Special

The Benedikt & Marshall bonus - Barnes & Noble Exclusive Our Violent Ends Edition

The semi AU romajuliette + benmars fic - click here

Roma's Letters - Barnes & Noble exclusive These Vioent Delights.

Book 1 - These Violent Delights (Post TVD contents ↓)

5. Roma Gets a New Mug

Book 2 - Our Violent Ends

6. The Priest and The Shepherd (Set before Foul Lady Fortune but better if read after reading FLF)

Book 3 - Foul Lady Fortune

Book 3.5 - Last Violent Call

Book 4 - Foul Hearts Huntsman (Post FHH content ↓)

7. In True Delights - The Epilogue of all epilogues

Once Upon A Broken Heart - Stephanie Garber

The three different special edition epilogues of A Curse For True Love

The first epilogue

The second epilogue

The third Epilogue

Simon Snow Trilogy - Rainbow Rowell

My Rosebud Boy A Simon and Baz AU - Rainbow Rowell

This short story was written as a bonus for people who ordered Scattered Showers from the Bookworm in Omaha, Nebraska. It's an alternate universe story about Simon Snow and Baz Pitch, characters from Rainbow's Simon Snow Trilogy. It was printed by the author in a brochure format.

for everyone who's missing out on this cute little gem here is the google drive link - I found it from the tumblr comment section where a generous fan shared the link. Thank you.

All pic credit @pinterest

[thebadgerclan]

Husband and Father

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: Nikolai Lantsov...husband and father...

Part 2 to Heir

You groaned softly as you stretched, reaching across the bed for your husband.  But when your hand met cool, empty sheets, you opened your eyes.  It was nearly 10 bells, but you’d given birth three weeks ago, and no one expected the Queen to be attending to her duties right now.  Slowly, you sat up and rose from bed, pulling on your robe–the sapphire blue silk robe embroidered with golden thread that had been imported from the Shu Han–that Nikolai had gifted you.

Since the birth of your daughter, Rosala, your husband had showered you with gifts: gowns, jewels, books, furs, delicacies from Kerch and the Wandering Isle.  All completely unnecessary, you said, but Nikolai was having none of it.  “You have given me the greatest gift I could ever want.  Let me try to repay you.”  It was pointless to argue, so you accepted his gifts gratefully.

Nikolai had taken to fatherhood well.  He refused to let servants raise his daughter, refused to let you do all the parenting.  When Rosala cried in the middle of the night because she was hungry or needed changed, Nikolai got up as often as you, more than happy to rock her to sleep or give her a bottle.  He would attend council meetings with his daughter swaddled in his arms when you needed to rest, and his council found it so endearing when the King would coo at the Princess when she stirred, or asked for her opinion on a trade deal.

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you made your way into the nursery that adjoined your sitting room to find your husband in the rocking chair, Rosala cradled in his arms.  You lingered in the doorway so you could watch Nikolai and your daughter, and what you observed made your heart melt.  “And then, the beautiful maiden denied the Prince’s request for courtship for the second time.  But the Prince didn’t mind.  For the maiden was so very beautiful and so very kind, that the Prince was willing to wait forever for her.  And the third time he asked for her hand, she accepted.”

You stepped into the nursery, and Nikolai’s eyes lit up.  “My love,” he greeted, torn between looking at his beautiful bride and his precious daughter.  “I thought you were still asleep.”  “I was,” you responded.  “But I woke up and found my darling husband missing.”  Nikolai smiled.  “I see.  Well, someone wanted her breakfast, and we wanted to let Mommy rest.”

It was almost too much, the love you felt for your family; the love of your life and the child you’d wanted for so long.  Nikolai gently shifted Rosala to one side and held out his other arm. “Come here, lovely,” he said, and you carefully settled yourself in his lap, careful not to jostle your daughter.  When you rested your head on his shoulder, Nikolai sighed happily, tightening his hold on you.

“You know, the Royal Astrologers say the world is quite large, but I’ll have to write to them and tell them they’re wrong.”  “Nikolai, have you lost your mind?”  “Quite the opposite, my darling.  You see, I have the entire world in my arms.  You and Rosala, you’re my entire world.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my girls.”  You felt tears pricking at your eyes, but before they could dall, Nikolai wiped them away.

“What did I do to deserve someone like you?” you asked, and your husband kissed you sweetly.  “You are you, my dearest.  That’s all you ever have to do.”  You kissed him again, and a few moments later, Rosala stirred, crying just a bit.  “Oh, is someone jealous?” Nikolai cooed, soothing your daughter.  “I know you love your Mommy, but I love her too, and someone’s been stealing all of her attention lately.  You wouldn’t know who that is, would you, sweetheart?”

You laughed, kissing your husband’s cheek.  “You are too much,” you said, and he laughed as well.  “I am a gem, and you know it.”  After a few more minutes, you extricated yourself from his lap, lifting your daughter from his arms.  “As much as I love having both of you to myself, your council will have your head if you’re late to the meeting.”  Nikolai sighed, standing and kissing your forehead.

“You’re right.  Can’t I just tell them to fuck off?  I’m the King.”  “You could, but then they might not sign your legislation if you do that.”  Your husband groaned, kissing your forehead again and pressing a delicate kiss to Rosala’s forehead.  “I’ll see you later, my loves.  Don’t miss me too much.”  You smiled, accepting Nikolai’s kisses.  “I’ll do my best.”  Nikolai kissed Rosala’s forehead once more before leaving, knowing if he didn’t, he’d be with you and your little girl all day.

***

You stood before the floor length mirror, staring critically at your reflection.  There was a ball tonight being thrown in your honor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get ready.  Your body didn’t look the same as it had nine months ago, and while reasonably you knew that was normal, natural, you couldn’t help but dislike what you saw.  You were a Queen; regal and graceful, and Queens did not have an extra pouch of skin on their bellies.  

Nikolai entered the room, wearing his military dress uniform, his medals and sashes adorning him, and your heart twisted.  He was so beautiful, he always had been, and you envied him.  His body hadn’t been forever changed, his stomach didn’t bear angry red stretch marks.  “My darling, why aren’t you ready?”  You slowly turned to face him, and Nikolai saw your upset at once.

“Y/N, my love, what’s the matter?”  “I don’t look the same,” you said, and your husband came to stand before you, taking your hands in his.  “My…stomach is flabby, I have stretch marks, I don’t look the same as I did before, Nikolai, and I don’t like it.”  He took a deep breath, wishing he could take your insecurities away.  “No, you don’t look the same,” he agreed, but before you could go too far down a rabbit hole, he went on.

“You carried our daughter in your body for nine months, Y/N.  You created an entirely new person,  you kept our little Princess safe and warm until she was ready to meet us, and you did a beautiful job.  Yes, your body is different, but you are by no means ugly or undesirable or any less of my beautiful, perfect, darling bride than you were before Rosala was born.  Y/N Lantsov, there is absolutely nothing that could ever make me love you less or want you less, and if I ever say otherwise, please slap me, because that means I’ve lost my mind.”

There were no words to describe the overwhelming love you felt for your husband, and you buried your face in his chest, arms around his waist.  “You are a force of nature, my love,” Nikolai said.  “A beautiful, perfect force of nature.  And I won’t let anyone say or think anything negative about you–even you.  Now, shall we get our radiant Queen ready for her party?”

You lifted your face from his chest, smiling through tears.  “I love you so much, Nikolai.  Thank you.”  “Of course, my lovely.  I love you too.  Should we do the pink silk or the blue?”  You laughed, watching as Nikolai rifled through your wardrobe.  Your maids entered to dress you, and when they were done, you felt nearly as beautiful as your husband always said you were.  A pink silk gown, your hair curled and tumbling down your back, a tiara pinned in your hair.

Nikolai found you in the nursery, leaning over the edge of the bassinet, watching Rosala sleep.  “And here I thought you couldn’t get more beautiful,” he said, catching your attention.  You smiled at him over your shoulder.  “One day you’ll run out of compliments.”  “Never.  I always have a few ready.  Ready to go?”  “I’m afraid to leave her,” you admitted, and Nikolai nodded, coming to stand behind you.

“I know.  But we have her nannies here, and three Healers on standby.  If anything happens–which it won’t–they’ll come get us.  I promise you, everything will be fine.  Now let us celebrate you.”  You squeezed Rosala’s hand and turned, facing your husband.  “Alright.  But if I get even the barest hint that something’s the matter, I’m high-tailing it back here.”  Nikolai laughed as he took your arm.  “If that happens, I’ll race you back here.”

[olympiansowl]

Why do I think Earien will get the plot Miriel had in the books:

1 - In the beginning, we see that Earien is kinda into politics and we also see the start of her relationship with Kemen, who is Pharazon’s son.

2 - There’s a scene with Tar-Palantir, that he thinks she’s Miriel and starts talking to her about the future of Numenor and Earien say something like “I’m not…” and he says something like “you’re not queen yet, but one day you will be”. I actually don’t think he was talking only about Miriel.

3 - Ema, the actress that plays Earien, says that Earien didn’t see anything when she touched the Palantir because she’s afraid of those artifacts. If she doesn’t see it, then she doesn’t know. I can se her trying to redeem herself by helping others, but it might be too late.

4 - Let’s talk about Kemen. He, apparently, wants to be loved and accepted or whatever. He won’t take a “no”. I just know it. I think Earien will realize her mistake and try to back off from this relationship, but he will kinda threaten Isildur, Anarion or Elendil. She will be forced to marry him.

5 - The appendix doesn’t talk about forced marriage. Actually, Miriel isn’t even mentioned by name 🤡 the appendix says, about Miriel, that Tar-Palantir had a daughter, she was the last rightful heir to the throne, but Pharazon took the scepter and usurped her crown. It also doesn’t mention her death, only that the city went down. And let’s be fr, her death didn’t even make sense. Earien’s tho, it’s starting to make sense.

6 - Elendil said that Earien’s path was made of seawater and that its a long way to the bottom…

7 - Every action is getting a reaction when it comes to “warnings”. Tar-Palantir warned Miriel about the southlands, saying things about darkness and all…There was also that man who said “The Queen is either blind or an elf lover” and she actually got blind. And is in love with an “elf friend” ✨

It seems strange to me that Eariens actions won’t have a reaction when everyone else is getting 100 reactions to 1 action.

8 - I think there’s something about how Tar-Palantir confused Miriel for Earien. And, when we actually think about it, it’s kinda funny bc Earien is a distant cousin of his who might enter or might be forced to enter on a relationship with a teenage version of Pahrazon.

9 - Pharazon and Miriel aren’t married. In the books, Miriel stay as regent when Pharazon go on his trip to blow up Numenor and when he goes get Sauron. But she was a regent bc they were married and they didn’t have children. He has Kemen. If Kemen marries Earien and goes with Pharazon to Valinor, then Earien would be the closest royal, since Miriel isn’t a queen anymore (to them bc I’m just like Elendil). She would be regent. And let’s be fr, Miriel is trying to avert Numenor’s fall since day one, she keeps trying and trying and no one listens. But Earien isn’t doing it, so I can actually see her getting faith to late and climbing the mountain (I don’t think Miriel will climb anything at all unless she has help, there’s no way she’s getting at the top of that mountain alone)

10 - I think Miriel and Earien will be at good terms by season 3. That woman just proved she loves Elendil, there’s no way Earien will just be hating her for all her life after that.