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shesjustanothergeek · 7 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Five

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I'm in my George R. R. Martin era, besties. He told me it's okay to take my time with my writing and not force myself. I mean, who am I to say no to the king himself? As always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: Violence, non-consensual knifeplay aka stabbing, we don't know how to cope here we have Daemon Targaryen as a father.

"Her hands do violence, but there is a different dream in her heart." - Dishonored.

The Red Keep was in upheaval. Maids hurriedly carried baskets of clothing throughout the halls, servants checked over their shoulders at every turn, and every entrance and exit was guarded with at least two Gold Cloaks. A curfew was set in place by order of the Hand. No one was to roam through the Keep past sunset unless necessary.

There were no more unaccompanied excursions to the training yard, and if Arryk hadn't been overbearing before, he was practically an extension of you now. Everywhere you went, whether to the library or the Godswood, Ser Arryk was always five paces away. He was almost breathing down your neck at every turn, hand on the pommel of his sword, ready for the unseen threat.

You did suppose it was your fault, having murdered a member of the City Watch, but it was still rather annoying. You understood, of course, why there was a need to be up in arms about it, and you couldn't blame them for it. There was a murderer in their midst, and if they could best a trained killer, a man hardened with battle, what would they do to a defenseless Lord or Lady?

No one suspected you. Of course, they wouldn't. You were just one of the many bastards of Daemon Targaryen who had the sheer luck of becoming legitimized. You were only mindless court gossip, an object for men and women to gab over, not a human being. And while you did resent the fact, it worked in your favor.

"Who do you think could've done it?" Fiora asked Jeyne as she washed your scalp. "They said it was violent, that his head was severed from his body!"

Jeyne rolled her eyes, using a bristled brush to scrub at your nails. "Do not believe such rumors, Fiora. You're just as gullible as the lot of them," the older woman dismissed, gesturing her head.

"But Jeyne, Lottie told me herself! She was the one who discovered his body; the Mother rest his soul." The younger maidservant silently prayed as she brought a curved finger to her lips, looking up to the stone ceiling.

"How did a servant discover his corpse?" you questioned with your eyes closed, body adjusting within the warm water of the bath.

"Well, you see," Fiora started, suddenly stopping her ministrations, "Ser Lorgan was known as... umm... oh, what do you call it?" You glanced over at Jeyne with a brow raised. "He... Well... Ser Lorgan Sunderly had many friends. Many."

"Oh, Gods Fiora," Jeyne blurted exasperated, rolling her eyes. "He was a harlot. He had rotations of women in his bed, only to leave them wanting and waiting in the morn. It seems only fitting that he should be discovered by one."

You frowned, though it was not one of sadness but more of a believing surprise. Judging by how easy Ser Lorgan was as you led him to bed, it made sense. As you spoke, you relaxed into the tub, shutting your lids again. "Do you think it was one of his companions? Scorned by his lack of care and repertoire of lovers?"

Jeyne snorted, placing your hand into the water as she started on the other. "That seems likely, but have done it with such," she paused, staring at the furthest wall of your chambers as she thought of the correct word, "malice. But that tends to happen when one has been slighted, no matter how insignificant it seems to another."

You nodded with her sentences as Fiora rinsed the soap from your ebony strands, massaging rose oil into it once done. As the two women assisted you in leaving the bath, wrapping a thick cotton towel around your body, a knock sounded, leaving the three of you puzzled and slightly inconvenienced. You gestured to the maids to bring the bamboo partition over to your dressing vanity so they could continue their nightly routine.

"Enter," you called from behind the intricate paneling. The artisans nailed a cream-colored canvas tarp into the wood to protect your modesty, leaving you and the others outside to see dark shadows.

"Princess," you could see the figure bowing, still keeping formalities despite the informal presence. "I beg your pardon. I am here to do my nightly rounds before rest."

You hummed, Fiora gently rubbing your hair with the towel. It weighed heavily on your scalp when wet, and you gave the servant a grateful smile to have the weight taken off your neck.

"Ser Arryk, I should have known it was you. Who else would knock at my chambers at an inconvenient hour?" Jeyne rubbed the lavender oil you loved onto your skin, mixing a few drops of clary sage to help calm your nerves before sleep.

"Forgive me, Princess, but your wellbeing is my utmost priority," he replied smoothly, not thinking of the implications his words could mean.

Huffing a laugh, you raised your arms into your porcelain nightgown, the sleeves short for the late summer heat, ending just below your ankles.

"Your priority or the Crown's? Is it not you who pledged to obey the King's commands, to keep his secrets, to counsel him when requested, and to keep silent when not, to defend his name and honor?" You grinned as you recited the oath the seven members of the Kingsguard took in a mocking tone, Fiora running a comb through your damp hair at the vanity.

"Yes, Princess, but-"

"It seems near treasonous for my wellbeing to be your priority," you interrupted with a condescending tone. "Was it the King who assigned you as my shield?"

"No, Your Grace. It was the Hand." Arryk's voice lowered an octave, causing you to feel slight remorse.

"Then, why do you serve me so steadfastly? Should you not be guarding your King in these perilous times? There's a murderer on the lose, ser."

"The Hand's word is the King's," the knight countered, an odd occurrence for the obedient man.

You hummed again in response as you rose from your dressing vanity, your hair still damp and smelling faintly of flowers. You revealed yourself from behind the partition, hands clasped behind your back and chin held high.

"So it would seem," you replied lowly, stopping your movements a step away from the kingsguardmen. Arryk's eyes quickly flickered downwards before snapping to the wall behind you. "By all means, Ser Arryk, survey my chambers to ensure the killer is not hidden between my dresses."

You gestured to the space around you as you sat at the head of your bed, back resting against your pillows with your legs crossed. The knight made his rounds, looking inside your wardrobe, curtains, a trunk at the end far corner of your room filled with winter dresses, ridding leathers, and a quilt Ma sewed for you for your last nameday. You watched with an unimpressed smirk, your brows raised as he stood straight like a rod announcing his task was complete.

"Aren't you forgetting something, ser?" Arryk gazed at you, puzzled, his shoulder-length hair tied back at the base of his neck. "Why, Ser Arryk, you forgot the most obvious spot underneath my bed! Don't you want to keep me safe? As you said, there is a murderer within the castle," you teased mischievously, a toothy grin rounding your cheeks.

He begrudgingly followed your orders, ever the dutiful knight, though they were a jest. The Kingsguard's armor clanked as he kneeled at the side of your bed, using a gloved hand to balance himself on the mattress as he searched the area. As you suspected, there was no one hidden within the shadows of your room, and when Ser Arryk deemed all was safe, he rose and was met with the sight of you on your haunches, a playful expression on your face.

Once again, his eyes flickered downwards and then to the wall behind you. Your lips fell into a thin line, annoyed with his avoidance as you caught him looking again. You lowered your gaze as your skin blanched, swiftly cowering the prominent outline of your nipples, the textured skin around them peeking through the white fabric.

"You may go, Ser Cargyll," you declared hurriedly, pivoting on your knees as you hid underneath your sheets. "Why did you not tell me you could practically see my breasts beneath this gown?" You exclaimed at your maids, the two ladies staring after the door.

Fiora couldn't contain her giggles, covering her freckled cheeks as Jeyne barely withheld a smile. "We thought you knew," the older woman answered.

You groaned, rolling over in bed and shoving your face into your goose feather pillows. "You're wicked. Both of you! Leave me here to rethink of this at the last moment before I fall asleep."

They both chuckled, curtsying with their red woolen dresses before exiting and leaving you to wallow in shame and self-loathing.

***

A light rain drizzled outside the red rock walls of the Keep, a hazy grey mist blanketing all of Kings Landing. All the inhabitants, even the poor folk, hide indoors and underneath awnings, the humidity suffocating. Your daily luncheon with Helaena was eaten within her chambers instead of the typical garden surroundings, and you stared longingly out of the high-paned windows.

The rain had been perpetual for the past few days, never exceeding a delicate sprinkle. It seemed to be making up for the lack of thunderstorms that usually cracked the night sky during summer, and a part of you hoped that the Gods forsaken thing would pour and be done with it. You couldn't stand another hour trapped within the castle; it only served to remind you of your surroundings and the ache for Dragonstone.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played a few steps away from you and the Princess's place at her dining table, a well-worn wooden dragon in one hand and a finely sewn stuffed doll in the other. The twins had grown so much in the past moons, each saying their first word within weeks of the other, and since then, they had a habit of imitating every sound they heard.

Helaena was delighted when her little Jaehaera mimicked a noise that sounded like "eat," though when she prompted her daughter to repeat it; it was the prefix elongated. Still, you smiled and matched her excited expression, trying to coax more words out of the tot. Jaehaerys followed a fortnight later, but it was a less joyful experience. The young boy was amid his infamous tantrums, screaming, "Up, up, up." The nursemaids were at a loss of what to do when he kept wailing in their arms.

You were unsure of how they concluded, but soon, you were brought into the nursery, having been the only person able to calm Jaehaerys down in the past, and it worked. Soon, the only sound out of the boy's mouth was "up," which sadly meant he wanted you and would scream and cry until he was in your arms. Being at someone's beck and call was irksome, but you couldn't deny the warm feeling and bright smile at being wanted.

Helaena's muttering threw you from your thoughts, her lilac eyes glassy as she stared at her children before her. Her fingers pressed against her thin, peony lips as if she were in a trance, feeling the soft muscles as they contorted.

"Beast beneath the boards... a fool's parsley... a sacrifice... peace reborn." The delicate words left her mouth in mumbles, straining your ears to fill in the missing gaps in her sentences.

Nothing made sense. It was all scattered pieces and fervent rambling, purple eyes flickering too fast for Helaena to genuinely see what was in front of her. You had seen her like this before, but it was many moons past, and some of you thought you might have made the two instances up since it had yet to happen since then.

She continued her words, her trance unbreakable as her son whacked his twin with his toy, causing the poor girl to burst into screaming tears, the nursemaids rushing to their sides. Jaehaerys soon began to cry like his sister, too young to understand that what he did was wrong and why his sister was crying.

"Helaena," you gently called, placing a timid but reassuring hand on her silken tan gown sleeve.

"Up! Up!" Jaehaerys began to wail, waddling over to your seat with his Mother. You delicately dismiss the boy, motioning to the nursemaid.

"Your Grace?" you repeated more forcefully, squeezing her forearm. "Princess, are you all right?"

Suddenly, in time with her son's sobs, Helaena's wide eyes met with your concerned ones, gripping your wrist with a strength you hadn't known she possessed.

"A sacrifice of blood; peace reborn in flames," she nearly shouted, causing you to flinch at the abrupt shift in her mood.

"Up!"

You turn to Jaehaerys, standing and scooping the upset child in your embrace as you tenderly stroke his soft silver hair, leaning his face into the crook of your neck. Helaena plugged her ears, moving away from the crying children as she stared at the tapestry of a viridian meadow, sheep, and lambs grazing on the tall grass, unblinking.

After a few moments, the twins finally calmed, the pain of poor Jaehaera's injury subsiding and her brother content in your arms. The poor maidservants looked exhausted after the situation, frizzy strands of hair peeking from their white caps as one placed a cool, damp cloth on the sniffling girl's afflicted area.

The Princess released a shaky breath, removing her thin fingers from her ears as she faced adequately in her chair, taking a sip of juice from her cup and eating a slice of the goat cheese she requested. You gave Jaehaerys to the unoccupied nursemaid, the boy releasing an unhappy coo as you stroked his plump cheek with the knuckle of your index before returning to your place at the dining table.

You both continued to eat in silence. The only sound was occasional sniffling from one of the two tots and your chewing. The atmosphere had never been uncomfortable with Helaena, even with the rare appearance of her Queen Mother, and you were unsure of what to do, your lip curling between your teeth.

"I am with child again," Helaena spoke, her announcement cutting through the quiet like the blade of Dark Sister. She placed her hand affectionately on her lower stomach, a small smile on her angelic visage.

Your heart stopped at the revelation, sucking in a sharp breath as your nose began to itch, a telltale sign of tears. You were at a loss for words, not immediately congratulating her as was expected. A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, all in conflict with each other. Of course, you were happy for Helaena; you knew how much she loved being a mother. How much joy she held even when her children overwhelmed her. You bristled at the notion that some women were meant to be mothers, an idea you felt reduced the woman to her offspring rather than her being with autonomy, but with the Princess, it did not seem to dwindle her humanity. It was simply a quality of her that made Helaena all the more endearing.

"My congratulations, Princess. I am certain you'll birth another healthy babe as before," you responded. Your words were precise and calculated, as if you were speaking to a Lord and not your closest friend.

You swallowed the feeling of anger and crushed the green claws of jealousy. Emotions you had no right to bear. Aegon was her husband by law and the divine. Their duty was to create as many heirs as possible, but the sheer rage burning within saw no reason. You felt scorned by Aegon. Betrayed. The whore Prince wasted no time stuffing his cock inside anything it would fit, and you felt foolish to think he would ever do anything else.

He never cared for you, as he claimed. You were just a plaything to use and discard whenever you were unwilling. Did he indeed mean what he said? That the years you spent tucked away at Dragonstone were agony for him, or was that some ploy to disarm you and make you pliant in his bed? Aegon was an intelligent man, but you did not think him cunning.

Perhaps you would accept Ser Dalton Greyjoy's proposal and have the realm descend into madness. You would have the Greyjoy's fleet, army, and the Houses who already pledged loyalty to your Mother. Aegon would be dead before the end of that year if he were ever to take the Iron Throne.

"Yes. I will be a mother once more," Helaena spoke, a slight blush on her porcelain skin. "You are my closest friend, sweet cousin," she began, becoming bashful. "I would like you to assist with my birth in the coming moons. I-I know it's not for quite some time, but it would ease me greatly if you did."

You inhaled a shuddering breath, your polite smile slightly faltering. The idea of witnessing a birth firsthand frightened you deeply. You knew of the complications that could happen during the process and after it and how painful it was. You often wondered why women were chosen for such an act. It was men who ruled the world. Why was it not them who dealt with the burden? Men were free to do as they wished, take as many mistresses as they pleased, and govern countries as they saw fit. Why did they not have to carry the burdens of life? Why must it fall on women?

"Of course, Princess," you answered, your tone clipped though it seemed lost on the dreamy-eyed girl. She smiled in thanks, her lithe fingers intertwining with yours.

"Soon you shall be married and you'll understand the joys of child bearing. You're already so good with Jaehaerys. Some might even think he's your own if they did not know better." You couldn't hide the involuntary downward twitch of your mouth, your gaze changing into that of a frightened doe as she spoke. "I've heard whispers of Lord Dalton Greyjoy considering a betrothal. I wouldn't want you so far from me and the children, but I know you will do your duty should it come to that."

Helaena, oblivious to your discomfort, continued about different Houses that would be worthy of your hand, absentmindedly stroking your knuckles with her thumb.

In the naivety of your younger years, you believed your bastard status would prevent Lords from seeking a marriage. You planned to stay with your family for the rest of your days, assisting in politics and courtly matters while Rhaenyra ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Your life as a spinster would be happy without worrying about dying in the birthing bed like your Mother. But as all things did, the Gods seemed to have different plans for you.

You cleared your throat of the lump that had formed during Helaena's conversation, tentatively patting the back of her hand as you made up some excuse of promising Ser Arryk that you'd meet him in the library after your luncheon. The Princess was downtrodden to see you go but understood nevertheless, placing quick kisses on the tops of the twin's heads.

You exited Helaena's chambers in a flurry of gold embroidered black skirts, your sworn shield struggling to match your pace. The thick air of the Keep made sweat instantly seep from your pores, your exposed skin becoming sticky and uncomfortable.

You couldn't take it. The tears you had kept at bay finally stung your eyes, blurring your vision as you furiously wiped them away. Even when Aegon wasn't near you, he still affected your life. He was like a disease, infecting your mind with his plague, making you unable to think clearly and feel things you had no control over. Aegon's rot festered inside you like mold, its inky black tendrils invading your heart until it was a cold, immovable stone.

"Your Grace, wait!" Arryk called, his heavy silver armor clanking with his hurried movements. "Your Grace, what," he paused, inhaling an exerted breath as he saw your tears, "what's wrong?"

The knight placed a comforting hand on your shoulder that you shoved away as if it burned. "Nothing, Ser Arryk. I simply tire of the soupy weather."

He stepped back, a mixture of shock and hurt gracing his features. You had never rejected his affections before, and Arryk was at a loss for how to proceed.

"Princess, what ails you?" he insisted.

You flashed an indignant look at the knight, grimacing. "What ails me is nothing of your concern, Ser Cargyll," you snapped, continuing your brisk pace to your rooms.

"But Princess-"

"No," you interrupted, turning to face him and clenching your fists with your teeth bared. "Tis nothing of your concern. You are my sworn shield, not my friend. It would do you well to remember that."

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, regret taking hold of you. Arryk's usual stiff posture slackened, his shoulders slightly slumping, mouth parted in shock, and blue eyes wide with hurt. You wanted to rescind the vile sentences, but it was too late, for they had already cut the man deeper than any sword.

Sighing, you buried your face in your palms, hoping to rub the sweat and shame away. There was no purpose in apologizing. If you did, you wouldn't know if Arryk truly accepted it. He would follow your orders mindlessly, forever upholding his duty to the royal family. You looked away from the kingsguardmen, taking a breath to speak, but closed your mouth instead, resigning to your fate.

"Once you escort me to my rooms, you are dismissed for the day," you expressed, your voice holding a hint of passivity as you gesture.

Arryk nodded curtly, his body resuming its normal posture as he followed behind wordlessly.

***

As Jeyne and Fiora braided the last few strands of your ebony hair, you played with one of your daggers, observing the flickering metal in the vanity mirror as you spun it with the tip of your finger. Your eyes reflected someone who was not yourself.

Once bright orbs that burst with a ring of purple were now dull and lackluster, with a thin veil of fog clouding their color. Blue half circles decorated your lower eyelids, your cheeks devoid of the typical pink glow they held. Your lips were red, splotches of white skin healing from where you had bitten them raw.

Was this a sudden change, or did the features of you slowly drain until there was nothing left but a husk of your joyful self? The image of Queen Alicent flashed in your mind's eye; the woman always shrouded in green and pain you could never put a name to. For a moment, you felt pity for the poor woman, forced to marry a man twice her senior when she was but a girl, producing heirs for the King before your Mother was married, moved to sacrifice her girlhood for the sake of the kingdom, her family, and duty.

You released the dagger from your finger, letting it clatter on the polished vanity as Fiora flicked rose water into your braided hair. You would not let yourself feel pity for the woman who stood idle when shown the death of two innocents. She deserved whatever harm befell her and whatever pain is to come, the green bitch.

"Will you leave the window open tonight, along with a water basin? The room is still quite stuffy from the day, and I'm afraid I'll grow hot throughout the night," you asked the two maids, who nodded in acquiescence, forever kind and dutiful.

You would never let trouble befall them. They were innocents like Lyra and Sara. They needn't know more difficulty than what was already their station. Fiora and Jeyne left with small bows, bidding you a peaceful night's rest and promising to bring some citrus tea in the morning.

You stared at the stone ceiling above, the dark oak rafters, and a crisscross of different beams connecting like trails on a map. No spiderwebs were spun in the corners of the wood like Ma's little house. Every minute detail was accounted for. There was no dust resting on any surface like the pillow house. No loud lecherous moans sounded through thin straw-packed walls or rhythmic banging that used to lull you to sleep.

You sometimes missed the groans and whines that accompanied Ma's establishment. On your first night alone in the Red Keep, you could barely find rest in the silence, not because of the anxiety of what lay ahead but because it was noiseless, bone-chillingly so. One could sneeze, and the entire castle would hear it. Now, you had grown accustomed to the quiet and were sure that if you spent a night in your old bed, you would not find sleep.

You needed to visit Madame soon. It felt like an era since the last time you spoke to her, and she most certainly felt that, too. Despite what people believed, she was an excellent maternal figure in your life. She did her best to teach you the ways of life at a young age, and perhaps she did too well at that, for you knew things no child should know at the fresh age of one and ten. You learned how to steal, sew, and cook by eight, and by ten, you could lure men faster to the brothel than any whore could. At the time, you were proud of it, proud to excel in a task someone you looked up to gave you, but you understood now why you were so good at it, the hairs on your arms standing.

Swallowing your thoughts, you rose from the bed, going to your wardrobe and securing a long robe across your body. You stared at the discarded dagger atop your dressing vanity, the curved blade engraved with the body of a dragon, its head emerging from the widest end. The black leather of the hilt felt comforting against your scorching skin, tracing the smooth scale pattern that separated the silver dragon head that consisted of the cross guard and pommel.

You couldn't recall where or who gave you the thing, most likely another gift from Daemon. If you didn't know any better, you swore that your Father believed you to be a boy with the Harvest, Maiden Day, Yule, and nameday gifts he gave you.

Grabbing your dagger's holster, you buckled it just below your knee, admiring the contrast it created against your skin before dropping the hem of your nightdress. You brushed your digits through your braided hair, releasing a breath.

The maids left a single candlestick in its holder lit on your dining table, letters strewn about the obsidian-colored wood. You stared at the most recent letter of Lord Greyjoy, stating there had been sightings of a dragon near the border of the Iron Isles, burning the small plots of fields of his bannermen, though nobody had seen the coloring of it to be sure of who it belonged to. You knew it couldn't be your Father. Daemon liked to make statements with the Blood Wyrm and would be sure to be seen. Your Mother would never do such a thing, and Jace and Luke had no reason to fly across the entire continent of Westeros to burn little Lordling fields.

Vhagar was a beast in the skies, so one would see her flying. Dreamfyre, Tessarion, and their accompanying riders would only venture so far and reek dragon fire on unsuspecting people. Aegon was the only one whom you needed clarification on. His dragon was not particularly fast, but the golden scales of Sunfyre would reflect the sun's rays and blind those below. Still, you couldn't understand why the first son of the King would burn crops of unsuspecting civilians, but then again, Aegon was not the man you believed him to be, and he continued to prove that true.

You were unsure why you did it as the candle's flames licked the inked parchment, watching as the soft glow became bright orange, consuming the letter whole.

You cared not for any word of Lord Dalton since the announcement of his marriage proposal. The time your Father granted you to think made the reasoning for a refusal all the more apparent. The Lord Reaper of Pyke was a bloodthirsty man who was uncaring for the women in his life if adding three new Salt Wives since your courting was any indication. He was cruel to them, and you knew you would be treated no differently. Women were just commodities to the man, tiny tokens and treasure he collected on his travels to use as he pleased. You would not become his ornament nor any other man's so long as the dragon's blood flowed through your veins.

Once you reduced the letter to ashes, you pressed your ear against the chamber doors, listening in the silence of the night for the evening guard to snore. It was not more than twenty minutes before you heard the telltale noise emanate from the back of his throat, exiting the room with noiseless steps.

Your bare feet were sure in their strides, carrying you swiftly to your destination, knowing when to hide behind a corner and when to turn. You had traversed this pathway before, though it had been in the day and not lit by a single candle. The white streak in your hair was stark compared to your ebony locks, a single silver strand glowing in the moonlight as you padded to the lower barracks of the White Sword Tower.

Ser Edder would be readying for bed. He often spoke of his love for a good tome before sleep; you had even recommended some of your own. You didn't know why. Perhaps it was a tactic to soothe the guilt that knocked on your ribcage whenever you smiled too wide for what could be called acting. It was no matter. A man would be found dead by sunrise, and your pain would be vindicated.

There would be more men guarding the entrance to the knight's quarters, but it was late, the hour of the eel before the night's watch, and they would be craving rest like a drunkard to a bottle. You quickly slipped past a sleeping pair, found some awake, and threw a loose pebble left on the floor from insufficient cleaning.

Immediately striding to the door you knew was Edder's, you knocked thrice, glancing over your shoulders. You heard a soft shuffling from behind the wooden slab, a metal clanking, and then the creek of a hinge. Ser Edder's sword tip was pointed swiftly at your chest, eliciting a soft gasp from parted lips.

"Princess? What are you doing here? It's not safe," he chastised, placing his sword against the wall.

"I-" you stuttered, bringing your fingers to your lips as you looked around nervously. "I do not feel safe in my chambers, Ser Edder."

The knight glanced down both ends of the hall, staring at you briefly before opening the door wider. You stepped into his space, observing your surroundings much like Ser Lorgan's, save for a bookshelf filled with the appropriate items.

You turned towards Edder. Your body curled in on itself as you placed your candle and its holder on a small table. "I apologize for the impropriety of this visit, but I do not feel safe here."

Edder stepped closer, keeping a respectable distance as he observed your attire. "Princess, you are a member of the royal family. You're more guarded than the walls to Casterly Rock."

You laughed mirthlessly, a glint of bitterness behind your gaze. "You think too highly of the Hand, Ser. I believe they would sooner have me dead than waste a guard that could go toward his kin." You took a calming breath, placing the palms of your hands on your stomach to unwrap your robe, placing it next to your candle. "I'm frightened that the murderer will come for me. I was acquaintances with Ser Lorgan. What if I am next on his list? The Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks would not think twice before leaving me to protect the King."

Edder extended a comforting hand to your bicep but quickly placed it back at his side, turning it into a blanched fist. You had to fight the urge to smile.

Men are easy, simple creatures.

"You have your sworn shield, Ser Cargyll. He would stop at nothing to protect you, your grace," he protested softly, speaking like you were an untamed horse.

You hastily closed the distance between the two of you, grabbing his arm the same way he wished to do to you. "He cannot protect me at all hours of the day. The guard outside my room was asleep. That's how I was able get here. If-if I could so easily sneak by him undetected, how would I survive a trained killer? I would be dead by morn and no one would be none the wiser." You rambled to the knight above you, his moss-green eyes boring into your peculiar ones.

Edder thought they shimmered like a pool of amethyst, the purple and brown glimmering with undeniable beauty. You were enchanting, and the Gold Cloak was momentarily distracted by it in the dim glow of the room. You were the pure embodiment of the Maiden as you gazed up at him, your plump lips quivering with intensity.

It was only a moment, but you noticed how Ser Edder's gaze flickered downwards before returning to yours. His emotions were written plainly on his face, a picture book straightforward enough to read for even the simple-minded. You were pleasantly surprised how effortless it was to make him melt. All you needed to do was bat your pretty eyelashes and pout your plush lips.

"Will you protect me, Ser Edder? I fear no one else will," you pleaded doeishly.

"I-" You could spot the hesitancy in his voice as his muscles rippled beneath his cotton undershirt.

"Please, Ser, I beseech you." Edder swallowed thickly, the notch in his throat bobbing. "I need you, Ed. Please."

And that was all it took for the man to fall, his hand resting over yours as he nodded. You swiftly embraced him, hoping the action would ease him of regret or second-guessing. The knight slowly reciprocated the affection, loosening his tense posture.

Gods. Would they all act like this if a lady came crying and begging for their services? Would they forget propriety and respect simply due to a woman's moment of weakness? Or was it because you were a bastard, a Lady in name only, that Edder and Ser Lorgan felt comfortable enough to act in such a way? The thought only served to fuel your anger, and you squeezed His broad torso tighter.

"Thank you, Ser, thank you," you said breathlessly, releasing your hold as you gazed back into his.

You left no room to protest as you slammed your mouth onto his, all teeth and panting breaths as his lips remained stock still. You tangled your fingers into his cropped hair, digging them into his scalp to force him to reciprocate, but failed. Pulling away, you sucked in a much-needed breath, your eyes searching his face for any response to your actions.

Ser Edder looked down with reddened cheeks and bruised lips, a mixture of shock and pity on his features. Your body flared with the burn of rejection, your stomach churning with disgust at yourself, at your actions. Bile burned at the back of your throat, threatening to spill past your tongue as you separated from him as if his mere touch scorned you. You should've killed him before entering the room and saved yourself from this embarrassment.

"Princess," Ser Edder began, his voice so soft and kind that it made you want to scream. You turned away from him, cheeks flaming as you held your stomach, a wave of vile shame overtaking you. "Let me escort you back to your chambers."

You stepped toward the table where your candle was and gripped the edge, bracing yourself on the side of it as you inhaled deeply.

"Tis not safe for you to venture back alone, your grace," he continued. You rolled your eyes in response, your white-knuckled grip loosening as you faced him.

"You're correct, Ser Edder. It is not safe. Please escort me back to my rooms." The knight nodded, reaching the door as you hastily rucked up your nightdress and unsheathed your dagger.

Your legs carried your body on quick limbs, plunging the curved blade into the space between Ser Edder's shoulder and spine. The man hollered in pain as you jumped on his back, attempting to slice his throat, more wildling than a woman. He effortlessly pushed you to the side, falling onto the stone floor like a ragdoll, cracking your skull against the stone floor. Your vision swam, unable to open your eyes as fast as your mind told them to as you felt a hand grasp the wrist holding the knife.

"Princess, stop this. You're feeling unwell." You yanked your arm from his grasp, blinking rapidly to try and clear your head.

You refused to dignify the man with a response, freeing yourself from Ser Edder as you scrabbled away, putting your body in between him and the door. You assumed a guarded position as the knight glanced at the sword on the wall beside you. Before Edder could think to reach for it, you lunged forward, using the height difference to your advantage as he tumbled to the ground below you. You poised the dagger above your head, ready to drive it downward, but Ser Edder blocked it.

Your years of training were little compared to his lifetime as you struggled, using your body weight to aid the force. His arms shook below you, realizing his life would be forfeit if he didn't think of some way to stop you. Edder brought his knee to your side, faulting your movements as the blade slipped between his hands and cut through the meat of his shoulder, letting out a cry of pain.

You groaned in displeasure, curling in on your side as you regained your balance, gritting your teeth and smacking your head against his. Blood trickled from his nose, the positioning slightly out of place as he blinked rapidly. You repositioned the dagger, plunging it into his chest with a growl. Edder's squirming caused you to miss the vital area of his heart, puncturing his lung as you went to do it again, only to be stopped by a strong arm, thumb digging into the tendons of your wrist until you dropped the weapon.

You clabbered off the knight as you crawled to the knife, your fingers dusting the leather hilt as you were pulled across the flagstone floor, nails scraping. Kicking and flailing your legs, Ser Edder subdued you, kneeling on your back to keep you flush with the floor as he pinned your hands behind you.

"Princess, we must get you to a Maester. You are not well. I'll explain to him that it was a bout of Hysteria and we shall forget the whole thing," the Gold Cloak attempted to reason, only to be met with a feral snarling as you wriggled beneath him.

"Get off of me you, bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you for what you did!" you screamed, the muscles in your neck and back cramping.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Princess. I-I apologize for not returning your affections, but I am a man sworn to the City's Watch, my duty comes before-"

"You stupid fucking man! You are dead! You're fucking dead for what you did to them! I'll have your head sitting on a spike just as you did for them!"

Edder was silent above you, and you kicked your heel into his back, his grip loosening enough to where you could wiggle your arms free, propelling upwards and hitting your crown against his already injured nose. You grabbed the sides of his head before he could recover, slamming his bloodied face into your knee as he collapsed. You swung your bare foot into his stomach next, then his chest, knocking the escaping air out.

Scooping the dagger up from the ground, you quickly stabbed it between his ribs, ensuring it pierced past the flesh and into his guts, just as your Father taught you. Blood poured out of the line-shaped hole, staining his undershirt and the soles of your feet. Edder's arms immediately went to the wound as you kneeled, grabbing him by the roots of his perfectly cropped hair, sneering.

"Years ago, you and Ser Lorgan Sunderly put two innocent women to death. One a humble servant to the realm and the other a whore. My only family, and you killed them. Chopped off their heads and left them for the birds and maggots to eat. I wish I could afford you the same treatment, but," you pause, inhaling a deep breath as Ser Edder slapped weakly at your face, "we can't all get what we want. I wonder how your dearest Mother will fare after the news of your gruesome murder reaches her. Will she weep for you as I did? Will she curse the Gods for taking away her beloved son?" You chuckled darkly, the sound foreign, like it didn't belong to you.

"If the Gods are truly as merciful as we believe, perhaps the stranger will greet the woman before long. I wouldn't want her to live with the pain." You released Ser Edder's sweat-dampened hair, rising from your knees as you wet to his cot, wiping the blood from your hands and face.

Soft groans sounded behind you, and you turned to see the man standing, staggering toward the door and cradling his side as if that would change his fate. He would bleed out before any guard came to his rescue; you ensured that. You observed him silently as he stumbled to the wooden door of his chamber, tilting your head in a peculiar curiosity as if you were studying one of Helaena's insects. Edder's attempted escape was endearing, and it almost hurt your heart as you walked towards him.

With the curve of your blade pointed towards you, you wrapped your free arm around his skull, slowly sliding the hair-like edge across the thin flesh of his throat as blood sprayed onto his only exit. His body dropped to an unmoving heap on the floor, his gurgling drowned out by the crimson liquid spurting from his neck as it seeped into the cracked stone below.

Masterlist of Series

Yes, I support women's rights, but most importantly, I support women's wrongs. Like, yeeeesss, get it, girl. Slay! SLAY YOUR ENEMIES! SMITE DOWN THOSE WHO OPPOSE YOU! She's such a girl boss.

Comments, likes, and reblogs help keep us girls slaying. Thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @justarandomfloewerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk

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chrkrose · 1 year

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The maidservants who fetched their bath water said Prince Daemon oft shared a tub with Nettles, “soaping her back or washing the dragon stink from her hair, both of them as naked as their namedays.”

Fire & Blood - George R.R.Martin

#nettles x daemon #Nettles asoiaf #Daemon Targaryen #asoiaf #fire & blood #House of The Dragon #HoTD #fanart #mine.

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hannahhook7744 · 10 months

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Modern Merlin Moodboards (Part 1) (Revamped);

Character: George the servant.

Modern name: George Brass.

Age: 37 years old.

Modern job: Butler who doubles as a deadly body guard and an occasional chauffeur.

Short rundown of their modern life: George grew up responsible for his very ill mother, his younger brother—Morris, and his younger cousin, Tyr, in Britain.

After his mother's death when he was 24, he moved to America with his brother (Morris) and cousin (Tyr) for a new start where he would go on to meet his employers (Elena and William Knightley) who hired him nearly immediately after looking at his resume.

He's worked for them ever since and has met both his wife, Winnie, and his sister-in-law, Sefa, through his job.

Because of this and how well they have treated his family, George has become their unofficial (deadly) body guard. Making sure no harm reaches them—like he use to do for the servants back when he was just George the servant. Unbeknownst to him (in this life) and the others (in the last).

Character: Bronwen the servant.

Modern name: Winnie Brass.

Age: 37 years old.

Modern job: Private Music Tutor.

Short rundown of their modern life: Winnie Brass was born into a poor family and knew from a young age that she wanted to be a singer.

After the death of her parents when she was in her late 20s, she got back in contact with her cousin Elena who hired her to be a musical tutor for her recently adopted son, Marcel. Through this job she met George and within two years, the two where married. Now the two live in a three bedroom home with George's brother, cousin, and sister-in-law.

Character: Morris the servant.

Modern name: Morris Brass.

Age: 34 years old.

Modern job: Gardner and occasional babysitter.

Short rundown of their modern life: After the death of his mother, he moved from Britain to America with his brother and cousin for a fresh start and he started working For Will and Elena Knightley as a Gardner and an occasional babysitter for their son, Marcel.

He also met his wife, Sefa, through his job and now the two of them live with his brother, sister-in-law, and cousin.

Character: Sefa the maidservant.

Modern name: Sefa Brass.

Age: 30 years old.

Modern job: Housekeeper.

Short rundown of their modern life: Sefa Brass ('nee Bourne) was born to a soldier turned government official of a small country that's name she was never allowed to learn. Her father raised her from birth to be the perfect spy and sent her and her brother on countless missions that went off without a hitch until her brother went missing when she was 14 and he was 7.

A year later while on a mission her father failed to pick her up from the rendezvou point causing her to wait for days before wandering the street to look for him.

Which caused her to meet Gwen who gave her a job and a roof to stay under until she found a better opportunity, slowly teaching her English as she did so.

Eventually Sefa found a job application in the paper and became a maid for The Knightleys which led her to meeting her husband, Morris, who's family she and her brother now live with.

Character: Tyr Seward.

Modern name: Tyr Brass.

Age: 27 years old.

Modern job: Stable hand.

Short rundown of their modern life: Tyr Seward was raised by his aunt after his mother died of an illness when he was 5. He lived with her and his two cousins until her death when he was 14, which caused his two cousins to move to America with him for a fresh start.

He grew to know the Knightleys (his cousins' employers) well and eventually went to work for them after he dropped out of high school when he was 18.

He now lives with his cousins and their wives in a three bed room home.

Character: Sir Elyan.

Modern name: Elyan Smith.

Age: 40 years old.

Modern job: Photographer and Travel Blogger.

Short rundown of their modern life: Elyan Smith was born to a poor family and ran away from home when he was 15 not long after his mother died, feeling like he was a burden to his family.

Not long after his father's death, Elyan got back into contact with his sister and became a travel blogger and a photographer, promoting the businesses of his sister and her friend when he did so.

He ended up meeting his wife, Mithian, at Will and Elena's wedding when he was hired to photograph the event and they married three years later.

Not long after Elyan married her, the two began volunteering at Tristian and Izzy's Youth Center, which is how they ended up adopting their two sons, Salem and Clover, after Elyan saved them from drowning.

Character: Princess Mithian of Nemeth.

Modern name: Mithian Smith (nee Nemeth).

Age: 37 years old.

Modern job: Nurse.

Short rundown of their modern life: Mithian Smith (nee Nemeth) was born in the Netherlands to rich socialites and moved to the United States after her father's passing.

Not long after she moved, she attended her good friend, Elena's, wedding where she met her future husband, Elyan, who was the wedding photographer as well as Will's best friend, Merlin, and Merlin's family who quickly became a good friend.

She went onto befriend him, started medical school, and a year she started dating him. Two years after, the pair married and started volunteering at Tristian and Izzy's Youth center, where they went on to meet and adopt their two sons, Salem and Clover, after Elyan saved them from drowning.

She now lives with her husband and sons in a house not far from Gwen's shop, and works in the same hospital as Merlin.

Character: Shrine Boy.

Modern name: Salem Smith.

Age: 11 years old.

Modern job: None. He's a student.

Short rundown of their modern life: Salem Smith was born Salem Shrine and grew up a foster kid who spent most of his time at Tristian and Izzy's Youth center to escape the terrible loneliness he felt.

Until one day where he was saved from drowning by Elyan Smith who adopted him with his wife not long after when he was 7.

A year later, he became a big brother when Elyan saved yet another kid from drowning (this time in a flood) and adopted him.

Now he lives with his family in a house not far from his aunt Gwen's shop.

Character: Ghost Boy.

Modern name: Clover Smith.

Age: 5 years old.

Modern job: None. He's a student.

Short rundown of their modern life:

Clover Smith is an amnesia afflicted boy who Elyan saved from drowning during a flood when he was 3, leading to the man and his wife adopting him. Which granted him a big brother as well.

Clover only has flickers of memories from his past but none that really make sense in this time period. All of which are very traumatic. Because of this he does not talk much.

⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑

Mood boards for my Merlin story 'it's time, it's time, it's time' where the younger characters of Merlin get reincarnated and have a second shot at life. Minus Leon and Merlin who are immortal and have to find a way to prevent history from repeating itself.

Big thanks to @hufflepuffpirate20 , @gwaine-lover , @genderfunky-lesbian , @everything-but-the-not-natural , @witchmd13 , @sautedonions , and @purpleblobfrompluto for the help they gave back when this au started off (which was a lot). Tag list: @history-of-stories .

The Idea of George being an assassins was inspired by one story I can't find as well as the following ones below:

1 , 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.

Here is a link to the story on ao3.

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annelidist · 11 months

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umineko is generally very smartly written, but man, george's character is a gaping wound. a story largely about the dehumanisation of working people in the eyes of their masters, heightened to such an extent that the in-story term for such people is "furniture", and you're still supposed to root for the rich boy eloping with his maidservant. you're just not supposed to read that as a hopelessly impalanced and twisted power dynnamic, somehow, even as she calls him "george-san" on their dates. battler's most serious flaw is that he's unable to grasp the severity and cruelty of the power relations on rokkenjima (both along lines of gender and along lines of class), but, like, the narrative itself is also making that mistake. it's bizarre. i haven't even mentioned the age gap

#bones.txt #umineko

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pochapal · 1 year

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see when eva is classist and calls natsuhi a maidservant, she's *kinda* sexy about it. so george tries to emulate that by dating his family maid, but is super super cringe about it

ushiromiya george will NEVER understand the raw swag inherent to "two problematic women who hate each other's guts".

#anonymous #umineko answering the ancient philosophical dilemma of 'can a failson ever be a gaslight gatekeep girlboss' with a resounding no

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bloodydayshq · 1 year

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Bloody Days Plot Drop ‘The Death Knell’

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟏𝟓𝟓𝟗: At the tip of everyone’s tongue is the blackened name of the Lady Talbot.

It is early morning. Seditious news travels across the court, wafting with the mists and salt-airs of the Thames, on 9 September 1559 – a day which historian Alison Weir will coin, four hundred years later, as ‘one in which an almost assuredly innocent woman was put in peril of her life.’ As Lady Elizabeth Talbot, sister of the Duke of Norfolk, travels by barge to the Tower of London, a welter of dark, chilling rumors ripple across Hampton Court like the river’s turbulent, white-capped crests. Rumours mount into hearsay; hearsay twists into whispers of heresy and treason. But truth, in this haunted Tudor court, tends to be stranger than fiction…

Received by the ominous traitor gates of the White Tower, Elizabeth’s mood ricochets between anger, despair, hope, and grief – concealed beneath a facade of protested innocence. Lady Talbot had tread a dangerous course by employing her maidservant, Margery Hallows, to dispatch a letter to far flung Catholic relatives in France – her words containing ominous, but largely innocuous, predictions about the King’s life. Intercepted in Calais, Margry and three of her kinsmen – George, Arthur, and Walter Hallows – are hauled back to London, thrown into the Tower’s keep, and sentenced to death. Lady Talbot is tried in a private court before a council composed of the King’s greatest magistrates – including Lord de Vere, Lord Cecil, Sir Walsingham, Lord Wiltshire, Lady Talbot’s brother, and the Duke of Northumberland – and declared guilty. She remains lodged at the Tower, her fate held in the King’s mercurial hands.

But today, on the morning of 13 September, the King and his court will observe three men – George, Arthur, and Walter Hallows – take their final, desolate journey from Tower to the Green and beg for the King’s mercy, their faces bound in white masks. Then, as cannons shot out from the Tower’s keep honour the hour – a knell of death – the traitors will be made to place their head upon the block and die, in the presence of all the court. The ginger-bearded Boleyn King, seated on his throne, watches distractedly: behind him standing a cluster of grave-looking, richly-dressed relatives.

A dark ditty circulates across the crowds:

When the Tower is white, and another place green, Then shall be beheaded three men before the queen.

But as the September wind rages and howls, the headsman’s ax will tremble over the traitor’s necks. It will take three botched swings of the hatchet to dispatch George’s head from his shoulders; two to deliver Arthur to God’s outstretched hands, and four for Walter, afterwards held up by his long, fair hair before the shell-shocked crowd, his mouth still trembling. Gore soaks the ground; the traitor’s heads dribble onto a bed of straw; the faces of those closest to the scaffold, hungering for a spectacle, are speckled in blood. Minutes later, a hysterical Margery mercifully joins her brothers in death: a single stroke of the sword ending her life.

When all is said and done, the King and his court will migrate to a breakfast banquet held in the Great Hall of Hampton Court, where the Tudors’ mercy will openly mingle with their cruelty. They will feast to justice and triumph with wine, roasted swans dressed in their original feathers, seasonal fruits, delectable confections, and a spread of blood-red pomegranates, musicians still beating at their joyous dirges – as if the entire gruesome morning had been long forgotten.

#bd.event #bd.plotdrop #bd.event003 #blood tw #execution tw #gore tw #history rp #period rp

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orthodoxydaily · 1 year

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Saints&Reading: Tuesday, Mai 9, 2023

may 9_avril 26

RIGHTEOUS VIRGIN MARTYR GLAPHYRA (322)

The Virgin Glaphyra. Licinius burned with passion for Glaphyra, a maidservant of his wife Constantia.The holy virgin reported this to the empress and sought her help. Dressing her in men’s attire and providing her with money, empress Constantia sent her to Pontus in the company of a devoted servant. They told the emperor that Glaphyra had gone mad and lay near death. On her way to Armenia, Saint Glaphyra stopped in Amasea, where the local bishop, Saint Basil, gave her shelter.

At this time, the saint was building a church in the city. Saint Glaphyra donated all the money that she had received from Constantia for its construction, and in a letter to the empress, she asked her to send additional funds to complete the church. The empress fulfilled her request. However, Saint Glaphyra’s letter fell into the hands of the emperor. The enraged Licinius ordered the governor of Amasea to send him the hierarchy and the maidservant. Saint Glaphyra died before the edict arrived in Amasea, and Saint Basil was sent to the emperor. Two deacons, Parthenius and Theotimos, followed after him and lodged near the prison where the saint was held.

The pious Christian Elpidephoros bribed the jailer, and each night he visited the saint with Parthenius and Theotimos. On the eve of the saint’s trial, he sang Psalms and chanted, “if I should sojourn at the extremity of the sea... even there Thy hand would guide me, and Thy right hand would hold me” (Ps 138/139:9-10). These were prophetic words.

Three times he broke down in tears. The deacons were afraid that the saint would be unable to endure the coming torments, but he calmed them.

At the trial Saint Basil resolutely refused the emperor’s offer to become a pagan priest, and so he was sentenced to death. Elpidephoros gave the soldiers money, and they allowed the saint to pray and to speak with his friends before execution. Then the saint said to the executioner, “Friend, do as you have been ordered.” Calmly, he bent his neck beneath the sword.

When the martyr had been beheaded, Elpidephoros tried to ransom his relics from the soldiers. But the soldiers feared the emperor, throwing the saint’s body and head into the sea. After this, an angel of God appeared to Elpidephoros three times in a dream, saying, “Bishop Basil is in Sinope and awaits you.”

Heeding this call, Elpidephoros and the deacons sailed to Sinope, and there they hired fishermen to lower their nets. They came up with nothing when they lowered the net at the suggestion of the deacons Theotimos and Parthenius. Then Elpidephoros declared that he would ask them to lower the net in the name of the God he worshiped. This time, the net brought up the body of Saint Basil. Again, the saint’s head was attached to his body, and only the gash on his neck indicated the sword's blow. The relics of Saint Basil were taken to Amasea and buried in the church he built.

VENERABLE JOANNICIUS of DEVICH (Serbia (1430).

Saint Ioannikios (Janićije) was a Zeta Serb near the Adriatic Sea. He was the son of pious and God-fearing parents and lived during the reign of the last medieval Serbian ruler, Prince George Branković (1427-1458). From his youth, Saint Ioannikios loved solitude. As an adolescent, he left his parents and went to eastern Serbia, where he settled in a wooded area called Chrna Reka (Black River), a few miles from the Ibar River. He found a narrow cave where, according to Tradition, Saint Peter of Koriša (June 5) had struggled during the XIII century.

Saint Ioannikios built a cell and lived there for many years in solitude, fasting, and unceasing prayer. In time, people began coming to him from all over Serbia to hear his words and to receive his blessing. Others were drawn to him because they wanted him to guide them in the monastic life. A community grew around him, and they built a church near his cell. However, when people heard about the holiness of his life, he fled to Drnica and hid in the thick forest of Devič. Once again, the Saint lived in solitude, weeping, fasting, struggling with demons, and devoting himself to the unceasing Prayer of the Heart.

One day Prince George brought his terminally ill daughter to him, and the Saint healed her. The Prince wanted to know what he could do to express his gratitude. Saint Ioannikios asked him to build a monastery at Devič and dedicate it to the Entrance of the Most Holy Theotokos into the Temple (November 21). After a holy and God-pleasing life, Saint Ioannikios was reposed on December 2, 1430, when he was almost one hundred years old. His grace-filled and wonderworking relics are kept at the monastery. After his death, many miracles occurred there, and those who entreat him with faith are healed of their sicknesses and afflictions.

In this monastery, there once lived a renowned and godly nun, Sister Euphemia, better known in the Kossovo region as Blessed Stoina. She built an Ispostnica (House of Silence) in honor of St. Ioannikios. She fell asleep in the Lord in the year 1895.

Saint Ioannikios still performs miracles, just as he did in his lifetime five hundred years ago. A confident man from Hercegovina, Miloš wanted to pilgrimage to Jerusalem to venerate the holy places. Just as he was about to embark on his journey, Saint Ioannikios appeared to him in a dream and told him not to go to Jerusalem. "It would be better," the Saint explained, "if you went to Devič and cleaned my church and put it in order instead of going to Jerusalem."

Miloš followed the Saint's advice and went to the neglected Devič monastery, cleaned it up, restored it, and gave it new life. He became a monk and remained there until the end of his life.

During the First World War and the Austrian occupation, a Hungarian officer arrived at Devič with some soldiers. He made Igoumen Damaskene take him to the tomb of Saint Ioannikios, and asked him what was under the slab. "It is a holy place," the Igoumen replied.

"What sort of holy place?" the officer asked. "You have some valuables hidden under there, don't you?"

The officer ordered the soldiers to break the slab with pick axes. As they were completing their task, the officer was stricken with pain in the middle of his body. He lay down on a bed and died before that evening. The terrified soldiers abandoned their work and fled from the monastery.

Saint Ioannikios is commemorated on April 26, the uncovering of his holy relics.

ACTS 10:21-33

21 Then Peter went down to the men sent to him from Cornelius, and said, "Yes, I am he whom you seek. For what reason have you come?" 22 And they said, "Cornelius the centurion, a just man, one who fears God and has a good reputation among all the nation of the Jews, was divinely instructed by a holy angel to summon you to his house, and to hear words from you." 23 Then he invited them in and lodged them. The next day, Peter went away with them, and some brethren from Joppa accompanied him. 24 And the following day, they entered Caesarea. Now Cornelius was waiting for them and had called together his relatives and close friends. 25 As Peter came in, Cornelius met him, fell at his feet, and worshiped him. 26, But Peter lifted him up, saying, "Stand up; I am also a man." 27 And as he talked with him, he found many who had come together. 28 Then he said to them, "You know how unlawful it is for a Jewish man to keep company with or go to one of another nation. But God has shown me that I should not call any man common or unclean. 29 Therefore, I came without objection as soon as I was sent for. I ask, then, for what reason have you sent for me? 30 So Cornelius said, "Four days ago I was fasting until this hour, and at the ninth hour I prayed in my house, and behold, a man stood before me in bright clothing, 31 and said, 'Cornelius, your prayer has been heard, and your alms are remembered in the sight of God. 32 Send to Joppa and call Simon here, whose surname is Peter. He is lodging in the house of Simon, a tanner, by the sea. When he comes, he will speak to you.' 33 So I sent it to you immediately, and you have done well to come. Therefore, we are all present before God to hear all the things commanded by God.

JOHN 7:1-13

1 After these things, Jesus walked in Galilee; for He did not want to walk in Judea because the Jews sought to kill Him. 2 Now the Jews' Feast of Tabernacles was at hand. 3 His brothers said to Him, "Depart from here and go into Judea, that Your disciples also may see the works that You are doing. 4 For no one does anything in secret while he seeks to be known openly. If You do these things, show Yourself to the world. 5 For even His brothers did not believe in Him. 6 Then Jesus said to them, "My time has not yet come, but your time is always ready. 7 The world cannot hate you but hates Me because I testify that its works are evil. 8 You go up to this feast. I am not yet attending this feast, for My time has yet to fully come. 9 When He had said these things to them, He remained in Galilee. 10 But when His brothers had gone up, then He also went up to the feast, not openly, but as it were in secret. 11 Then, the Jews sought Him at the feast, and said, "Where is He?" 12 And there was much complaining among the people concerning Him. Some said, "He is good"; others said, "No, on the contrary, He deceives the people." 13 However, no one spoke openly of Him for fear of the Jews.

#orthodox orthodoxchristianity easternorthodoxchurch originofchristianity spirituality holyscriptures gospel bible wisdom

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uhlikzsuzsanna · 2 years

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Tom Hiddleston & Claire Danes on The Essex Serpent and Making Their Period Drama Series - 2022.05.11.

The upcoming Apple TV+ series The Essex Serpent (based on the book of the same name by Sarah Perry) follows the recently-widowed Cora Seaborne (Claire Danes), who flees from the London city where she endured an abusive marriage to a small village in Essex after hearing reports that a mythical serpent has been terrifying the local inhabitants. She unexpectedly crosses paths with the village vicar, Will Ransome (Tom Hiddleston), whose philosophical beliefs and skepticism about the existence of the serpent contradict her own willingness to entertain the idea that such a creature might be lurking in the county's waters. The sweeping, moody, romantic drama show also stars Frank Dillane as Luke Garrett, a local physician who might have his sights set on Cora as more than a mere friend, Clémence Poésy as Will's wife Stella, Hayley Squires as Cora's loyal-to-a-fault maidservant Martha, Jamael Westman as Luke's fellow colleague George Spencer, and Caspar Griffiths as Cora's son Frankie.

Ahead of The Essex Serpent's premiere on Apple TV+, Collider had the opportunity to chat with Hiddleston and Danes about joining the period drama series and how their characters are poised to irrevocably impact one another's respective worlds. Over the course of the interview, which you can watch above or read below, the stars spoke about how filming in the Essex setting lent a sense of authenticity to the series as well as their performances, why Danes was attracted to this particular period drama story, and how Cora's costumes reflect the evolution of her character. Hiddleston also spoke about how Cora's arrival upends Will's life in the village, as well as whether he personally would be a believer in the existence of the Essex serpent.

#Tom Hiddleston #Claire Danes #The Essex Serpent #interview #Collider Interviews #yt

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broodparasitism · 1 year

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I posted 2,223 times in 2022

That's 2,223 more posts than 2021!

506 posts created (23%)

1,717 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thelittlestspider

@aninkwellofnectar

@woundthatswallows

@westcountrygothic

@allthingsmustpass1970

I tagged 1,590 of my posts in 2022

Only 28% of my posts had no tags

#she came in queue the bathroom window - 405 posts

#flo.txt - 98 posts

#ww - 97 posts

#music - 81 posts

#letters - 64 posts

#ask meme - 57 posts

#twin peaks - 56 posts

#thatd - 40 posts

#safe to go home - 38 posts

#george harrison - 35 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#and that the way she responded to the anon addressing it was writing paragraph upon paragraph about how she writes the things she can’t have

My Top Posts in 2022:

[ A background with a red filter placed over it of some of the skyline of Bath, England. The foreground text is in a white serif font reading “The Cellars of Sulis Hall: a WIP intro by Malandanti.”]

The Cellars of Sulis Hall - a WIP intro

Form: novel

Status: Outlined, a few thousand words written on my laptop, a few more in notebooks

Genre: Gothic horror, historical

Age Group: Adult

Themes/vibes/tropes: love letter to the Gothic, sibling friendship and rivalry, feminist horror, Late Georgian Bath (as in the city in South West England)

Without giving too much away, I highly recommend arachnophobes avoid this and filter #tcosh

SUCCESSION in the style of NORTHANGER ABBEY with horror

Synopsis: Bath, 1804. Phoebe Matthews has always try to put the fact she’s the bastard daughter of an unfaithful Baronet and legendary actress behind her - but when her father at long last acknowledges her and invites her to his estate at Sulis Hall, she eagerly accepts.

Unnerved by the peculiar house and ostracised by her legitimate half-siblings, Phoebe’s only real solace is her future in-law, the once widowed, elegant and witty Mrs Blexham. But as she notices more and more strange things about Sulis Hall, and the cellar that her ailing father forbids her from approaching, Phoebe grows to suspect something terrible has happened here - and is still happening right now…

Progress notes: This might not take shape for a little while. It’s in the queue to prioritise after Wormwood - but I like to be prepared. But it’s going to be a lot of fun (and a lot of research!)

42 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

[ID: A landscape image of a wall painted green with a window to the left. To the right is a painting of a woman with red hair and a green dress drubbing absinthe. Written above her on the wall is “Absinthe”, written below her is “La Fee Verte”, and next to her pointing left is a red arrow. Overlain is white text in a 1960s style font that says “Wormwood”, and underneath in smaller text reads “A WIP Intro by Malandanti.” ]

WORMWOOD - A WIP Intro

Progress: 2/3 drafted so far

Age range: Adult

Genre: Gothic, Historical, light Occult Horror, dark - dark academ - I cannot say it 🤢

What to expect: messy female leads, almost all female cast, writing about writers, feminism, mothers and daughters, family rivalry, the culture of the late 60s into the early 70s, decadence, hedonism, and decay, Bunny by Mona Awad meets Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson

Synopsis: Noel Seabright only ever had one ambition: to attend the renowned all-female Judith and Her Maidservant College as her mother did before her - even though it drove her mad. Once accepted and overwhelmed by a new society of liberated, cultured and intelligent women, she fervently clings to her sanity, ostracised most of all by Olivia Fitzroy, the aloof student living one door away - and the strange Wormwood Society that she belongs to.

A group of long haired, absinthe-drinking, LSD tripping intellectuals, Noel observes from afar. But when she discovers her mother’s own connection, and finds herself drawn to Olivia’s unpredictable behaviour, she resolves to claw her way in - even if only to bring it all down.

If you saw the old one, no you didn’t - WW is not YA, it’s adult! ANYWAY this is my baby, one I have tried and failed to introduce before, and I just love writing it. I fucking hate having to redo my intro post though.

46 notes - Posted July 13, 2022

Hmmmmmmmm not sure how to articulate but not sure how I feel about the idea of minimal prose being inherently bad which some of your posts are veering close to…it doesn’t have to be your cup of tea or anything but let’s not equate minimal prose with bad writing as though it can’t ever be well done and it’s not a skill in and of itself

67 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

[ID: a photograph of a field of red and white flowers with a vintage style filter overlaid. White text in a whimsical font reads “Malandanti”, with “A Writeblr Introduction” in slightly smaller text underneath.]

Hi Writeblr! Call me Flo - this isn’t my first time on writeblr, but since forgetting the passcode for my old account I decided to start over on a clean slate etc etc…

A bit about me - I’m still finalising what pen name to use, I’m 23 years old and use she/her. I’m from the UK and currently in a limbo of possibly doing a postgraduate degree. I like writing gothic fiction above all, especially horror, with a soft spot for fantasy but, like with reading, I have an open mind with almost any genre. It’s here I would list the authors who I’ve been inspired by but that list is getting long but the two at the top of the list would be Shirley Jackson and Carmen Maria Machado. I have other interests - namely music from a few decades ago now - so expect to see that here as well.

My current projects are:

Maternity Colony - a short story I’ve just finished the second draft of. It’s about a young library assistant in a South Wales mining village in 1986 growing desensitised to the nightly hauntings in his and his mother’s house. Featuring my love for the goth subculture, early modern superstition and pathetic men. Tag: #mc

Wormwood - a novel draft I’m about 2/3 through and hoping to get completed asap. It’s about a group of girls in an exclusive society at a prestigious girl’s arts and humanities college on a fictional channel island, during the years 1968-71. Dark academia but they’re hippies and there’s a little bit of horror. Tag: #ww

The Cellars of Sulis Hall - working title, but it’s sitting there fully outlined and is what I’m set to move on to after Wormwood. Set in 1804, on the outskirts of Bath, an illegitimate daughter of a Baronet reconnects with her dying father and legitimate siblings at their estate and unearths a horrific secret - classic gothic stuff, with more spiders. Tag: #tcosh

The Holy and the Damned - this is just for fun. I might be very slow writing it but I feel like I’ll be posting about it a lot. It’s my little fantasy inspired by the early modern religious Reformation and beliefs surrounding witchcraft that I’m not good at summarising. Tag: #thatd

Thank you all for reading my intro, and I hope the community will have me back!

101 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Saw a booktok review for a lesbian book that panned it because it “didn’t depict the lesbian experience, only how this one character feels” and realised how fundamentally broken the view on representation actually is

28,944 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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inky-duchess · 4 years

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Fantasy Guide to Royal Households and How they Work

When I say Households, I mean the entourage that follows around the royal family. The household went everywhere with them to care for their needs from the people who would empty their chamber pots to their noble companions. Most royal households are basically the same as noble ones, only on grander scale. Every royal had a household and an entourage as well as every noble at court.

Palace Personnel ~ The Commons

The commons were an intregal part of every household. They made up perhaps 80% of the work force. Royal courts were often on the road and never spent more than a few months at every palace. The court was constantly moving. Some positions were not permanent, meaning certain servants did not travel with the court because they were employed at the palace only. They would be paid by the Monarch's paymaster.

Scullion: The scullion was a relatively easy position to fill so they were often changed as the court went from palace to palace. They would be responsible for scrubbing and cleaning the servants quarters and the kitchens. They would scrub floors with lye, scour pots with sand, sweep put the fireplace and clean up after the other servants. They were the first to rise in a castle and tasked to light all the fires in the kitchens. Scullions would just be employed to the palace and serve a multitude of chambers

Laundress: The laundress was responsible for the cleaning of anything made of fabric in the household. Since they are handling unmentionables, they knew what happened behind closed bedchamber doors. They knew when the King visited the Queen or hadn't, they knew when marriages were consummated or not and they knew when the Queen and royal women were not pregnant. They often sold secrets to pad their pockets. Laundresses might be permanent staff but sometimes not.

Minstrels: The minstrel was a commoner hired to play an instrument or sing for the entertainment of the royal. A royal might staff a few at a time but they would always have one on hand. The minstrel would likely come with their masters as they travelled. The minstrel might serve the main royal household but a royal might retain their own.

Cook: The cook was one of the most important servants in the household. They would have the task of overseeing the running of the kitchens and keeping supplies in order. They would likely be on call at all times. Henry VIII's cook was often woken in the night because his royal master wanted a midnight snack. The cook was a valued member of the household and would have been highly sought after if they were a very skilled cook. They would have travelled with the joint. Cooks were apart of the greater royal household but often royals retained private cooks for their own use.

Maidservant: The maidservant cleans the castle. She would sweep the floors, scrub them, empty the chamberpots, get rid of the ashes from the fire and ready the fire for later. She would make up the bed or strip it for the laundresses. She would wash anything that needed washing including furniture and ornaments. She was likely not a travelling servant and would be strictly employed at a single palace.

Jester: The jester was the hired entertainer. Working under the master of revels, the jester had the daunting task of making the monarch and their family laugh. They would tell jokes, tell stories, cause havoc in the court for laughs and lighten the mood. The most successful jester of all time was Will Somers, jester to Henry VIII. Will broke bad news to the infamously bad tempered monarch and got away with things that would have sent others to the block. Will survived most of Henry's reign, his head intact. Jesters would be apart of the main household though each royal might have one of their own.

Positions within the Royal Household ~ Noble

Nobility were always welcomed at court. They eat at court, slept at court and were cared for by the monarch. Some nobles had to sing for their supper and most were hired as royal servants. They weren't exactly scrubbing floors and would be paid handsomely with land that would generate wealth for them

The Steward/Seneschal: This person was the head of the royal's staff. They would have the task of running the lands and servants their master or mistress. The steward served as a backup and assistant in all the tasks even representing their master or mistress when they were unavailable. Would be a high ranking noble. Each royal household would have them.

Treasurer of the Household: The treasurer was the accountant and pay master. They would be in charge of ensuring debts were settled, wages were paid and the household was running within the budget. This was a coveted position because it gave the treasurer insight into the financial situations of the royals. Such info was wroth its weight in gold. Each royal would have one.

Usher: The Gentleman Usher would be in charge of escorting guests into the royal chambers and into the royal presence. They would act as a go between their royal master/mistress and the guest often going back and forth with messages. It was just as coveted as the position of chamberlain but with less responsibilities.

Master of Horse: The Master of Horse was in charge of seeing to the horses of their master. They would oversee the grooms or the stableboy/hands who were employed at the stables to actually care for the horses. The master of horse would ensure that the stables were in order and the horses were up to parr in order to bear royalty across the kingdom. Each royal would have one but there would a main one who acted as overseer.

Master of the Wardrobe/Mistress of the Robes: These are the nobility who are employed to look after the clothes of the royal they serve. This would mainly involve a managerial position, overseeing the inventory of the royal wardrobe (a warehouse like building that housed the clothing) and placing orders for new clothes. It was a tidy job that rarely involved getting the hands dirty. Each royal would have one.

Chamberlain/Valet: The chamberlain is employed to look after the Lord's bedchamber. This was the most sought out position as they effectively were the gateway into the royal presence. Their main task was making sure their boss was comfortable and happy. Could be a well born commoner or a noble. Each royal would have one.

The Page: All royal households had pages. They would be a young noble boy about seven years old sent to their royal master. He would be in charge of tidying up after the lord, carrying messages to other servants and occupants of the castle and serving him at meals. Unlike others on the list, the page would not be paid. His experience was his payment as he would learn the running of a court and how to be courtier. Each royal would have one.

Squires: Squires were like pages though they only served the men. They would accompany their royal master to battle, look after his armour and mail, ensure that his lord's horse was saddled, caring for their master's weapons. The squire would always be a young nobleman on the cusp of becoming a knight.

Governess: The governess is a noblewoman woman employed to oversee the Monarch's children's household. She would be the first teacher a royal child would have and would oversee the nursemaids who would have care of the physical person of the child. She would be appointed when the child was four or five. Notable governesses include Katherine Swynford (wife of John of Gaunt and mother to the Beaufort line), Margaret Pole (wife of Tudor Loyal Sir Richard Pole, sister of the last York heir Edward of Warwick, daughter of George Duke of Clarence and niece to King Edward VI and Richard III), Kat Ashley, Margaret Bryan, Madame de Maintenon and Baroness Lehzen. Most unmarried Princesses retained their governesses while Princes generally outgrew their governesses after they were breeched.

Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber: They were the male companions of a King or Prince, sort of like ladies in waiting but manly. They would accompany the King or Prince everywhere they would go and shared duties with Groom of the Stool (royal toilet paper dispenser) and the Chief Gentleman of the Chamber (overseeing the staff and maintaining the chamber). They would help their master get ready, serve him at the table and organize hunting and games to keep him entertained. Gentlemen and companions where often chosen for their connections as well as their master's own opinion. Henry VIII's gentlemen included: Sir William Compton (ward of Henry VII and heir to rich lands), Sir Henry Norris (the grandson of William Norris who fought with Henry's father at Stroke and a relation to the Yorkists Lovells), Sir Anthony Denny (son of Sir Edmund Denny Baron of the Exchequer) Sir Michael Stanhope (brother in law to Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset), Charles Brandon (ward of Henry VII and son of Tudor Loyalists)

Ladies in Waiting and Maids in Waiting or Maids of Honour: These are the female attendants to the Queen or Princess. Ladies in Waiting were married while the Maids were unmarried. They would have to attend their mistress wherever she went, help her get ready, keep her chambers in order, write letters for the Queen and maintaining her honour. They were chosen for their connections. Using Katherine of Aragon as an example, her Ladies in Waiting included: Maria de Salinas (daughter of Juan Sancriz de Salinas secretary to Isabella, Princess of Portugal and a Spanish courtier in the service to Katherine's parents, wife of Baron Willoughby de Ersby), Elizabeth Howard (the daughter of Thomas Howard, 2nd Duke of Norfolk, sister to Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk and wife to Thomas Boleyn, ambassador to France), Anne Hastings (daughter of William Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings, wife to George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury and Lord Steward.), Agnes Tilney (wife to Thomas Howard, Earl of and 2nd Duke of Norfolk.), Elizabeth Scrope (wife of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, a loyal Tudor lord), Margaret Scrope (wife of Sir Edmund de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk cousin to the King), Anne Stafford (sister of the Duke of Buckingham, married Sir George Hastings, Earl of Huntington and daughter of Henry Stafford, 2nd Duke of Buckingham (cousin to the King) and Lady Katherine Woodville (sister of King Henry VIII's grandmother and his great aunt by her marriage), Elizabeth Stafford (sister to Anne Stafford wife Robert Radcliffe, Lord Fitzwalter and Earl of Sussex around). Their connections are what got them their places and you can see why they were chosen.

Accommodation

Accommodation can be a difficult thing to sort both as a writer and a steward. You might have a palace of 200+ bedchambers in which you must house a staff of 500-/+, a varying amount of nobles, the royal family (of a varying amount) and their own households. When assigning rooms it is best to think of a Russian nesting doll. Start from the inside and work your way to the outside.

The best rooms go to the monarch, their consort and their children/siblings/parent(s). These chambers would include the bedroom, a drawing room/ common area, a privy, a closet (a small chamber that can be used for prayer or work). They would be furnished with the best cloth, the best candles and whatever furniture brought by the resident since most royal courts travelled from palace to palace. They will also have chambers for their personal servants such as ladies in waiting and grooms.

The second best set of rooms would go to the highest ranking nobles/people in the court. These rooms would be less fancy and a little smaller. These would be given to from titled nobility descending from those of Ducal rank (Dukes/Duchesses) or even members of the council such as Thomas Cromwell in Tudor times.

The next set would be considerably smaller, perhaps minus a closet or a drawing room. Given to lower nobility.

The next level of chambers would be smaller perhaps only the bedroom and a common area given to minor nobles.

The last set of rooms would be small and only hold enough room for a bedroom. Servants would have to sleep on the ground on pallets beside their masters.

Any other guests at court would have to stay at off-site locations around the palace in the city. Some nobles at houses around major palaces just in case they arrived late or were kicked out of court.

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