#tales of in general means the world to me and has had such a huge impact on my art and my life

[tovrch]

happy 15th birthday tales of vesperia!!!!

#tales of vesperia #yuri lowell #repede tales of vesperia #my art #tales of in general means the world to me and has had such a huge impact on my art and my life #tov is my favorite video game of all time. i love you tov

[beanghostprincess]

I have this thought for quite some time, coming mostly from my twitter and Reddit interactions.

I kinda love the amount of hate I see towards Buggy. People hate how Oda loves this clown and keeps bringing him up, how he is getting more connections to story, how he gets that high bounty. They hate him because he doesn’t have powers, or isn’t smart.

And the fact that so many of them try to cope by putting Mihawk in place of Buggy is incredible. Mihawk is not some lost friend who is having insanely deep contention to shanks, BUGGY IS.

But I guess he’s not “cool and powerful” enough and they don’t get why shanks could be friends with “someone like that” (actual take I saw a lot).

I can’t wait for buggy to be more important just to see everyone lose their minds. If he gets to laugh tale, the best day of my life. And I’m not even that big on Buggy

These takes make me so angry because they're just??? Not true at all??? Most of these opinions come from the general audience and dudebros who don't take the time to analyze Buggy and just accept his character the way other characters see him. Instead of stopping for a second and thinking about why he does what he does and why Oda likes him so much, they just assume he's the lame clown everyone in the OP world thinks he is. Which is, in my opinion, extremely sad. And you don't even have to analyze shit?? Like, okay, I get it. Chapter 1082 is crucial for his character and perhaps if you don't read that you might think he's useless and Oda uses him too much for what he actually does for the story (bullshit, by the way, I'm just trying to find a reasoning behind their shitty takes). But after reading 1082??????????? Okay???? Whatever. Buggy haters get on my nerves, not because they don't like Buggy, but because they don't understand him.

Saying Buggy isn't smart is uhhh. It's just not true. The fact that he's constantly placed next to the biggest, most feared, and strategic pirates in the world just doesn't help him at all to prove that, tbh. I'd be scared af if I had gone through all the things he has, honestly. Like- People- People just ignore Water 7 and the whole thing with Usopp being a coward but wanting to be more than that because of his dream and that being scared doesn't necessarily mean something bad??? I think people just forget entire arcs and scenes to post these things. Buggy might not be the bravest but he understands the pirate world better than anybody and he's genuinely smart, he's just constantly placed in situations that force his character to be scared af (for obvious reasons) and everyone looks down on him for that. Which makes total sense for his character because his whole thing is feeling inferior and being compared to others when he has many talents himself. He isn't dumb, he just has the worst luck in the whole fucking world. Or the best. It sort of depends.

I think he lost his bravery and sense of adventure when he gave up on his dream, but now that he's being more confident in the fact that he could achieve it, we will see him using his full potential. And I am so, so excited for that. The speech he gives in chapter 1082 changed my life and it's easily my favorite chapter from the whole manga. I really, really hope they do something with that. I want him to have all the wonderful scenes he deserves.

And, okay, about the Mihawk thing: I don't agree with that that much? Like, okay, I can see people often making Mishanks relationship more than what it actually is, but tbf, Mihawk is barely a character here because Oda hasn't given him screentime of his own. He's always there for another character (Shanks, Zoro, Cross guild, etc). What we do know about him is that he went all his way to find Shanks and tell him about Luffy?? Like. Okay, babe, I know what you are. What we do know is that Shanks and him have something going on and I would really like to know WHAT exactly. I'm not even a huge Mishanks shipper but I completely understand why people like it. I prefer other ships like Shuggy and Cross Guild but, well, I don't think they use Mihawk to take over Buggy's place. I think they just want Mihawk to have some story because Oda barely gives him one. But I can see where you're coming from, though. I can see a lot of people using Shuggy's dynamic for them sometimes and it bothers me because these two have their own thing and they could easily just?? Ship both things??

People saying they don't understand why Shanks would be friends with somebody like Buggy is so funny to me, because we barely know anything about Shanks either, lmfao. He's the cool and powerful role model of the main character. He's literally the most cliché thing in the whole wide world, shut up. And I absolutely love him and he has wayyy more personality than these types of characters usually have, but I am tired of seeing takes like this as if Buggy wasn't one of the most interesting characters in this manga. But, also, Shanks would just?? Kick these people's asses for this shit. Saying you don't understand why Shanks would be friends with Buggy is just admitting you think the same way people in-world think about him, which is just admitting you don't understand his character. At least people in-world think that way because they don't know Buggy's story. You know Buggy's story. You should know why Shanks is friends with him and cares so much about him. But also?? Even if Buggy truly was a fucking loser with no talent and no dreams. Saying Shanks needs a reason for being friends with him is so dumb. Have you considered that... Sometimes... Most of the time... People don't have a reason for being friends with somebody and you don't need to find a reason for somebody's love?? Like- Perhaps Shanks just fucking loves Buggy because that's his childhood friend and he doesn't care about his abilities or talents. Perhaps he just loves him for who he is. I don't think it's that hard to understand, honestly.

You're not that big on Buggy, but I am. I really am. He's probably getting a tragic ending with Shanks but I do not care. If he ever gets to Laugh Tale or- Or if he ends up believing in himself finally. If he gets closure with him (which he will get, because Oda loves these two too much to leave them without closure). I will be the happiest person in the whole world. My mind and body say "Luffy king of the pirates!!" but my heart cries of happiness every time I think about Buggy being the king. I love him so fucking much.

#hahahaha i am so normal about buggy i swear i swear #I AM SO NORMAL #i am not #i am sorry for this i think i got too violent and passive aggressive #but i love him so much i can't stand buggy haters they get on my nerves #buggy and usopp haters are like my worst enemies in the whole world and i will forever fight them #one piece #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #shuggy #<- for obvious reasons and not only target audience but tbh yeah target audience

[poppetsisters]

The Fallout TV show got me thinking about Hbomberguy's video The Killing Joke Movie and The Problem With Comics, particularly his line about THE problem: "The endless commodification of good work but in a manner that renders its copies devoid of meaning."

This is not a comics problem, this is an art problem.

Between Fallout 1, 2, and New Vegas, the west coast was trending out of a post-apocalypse and into pre-society. It was a hopeful message about the resilience of the human spirit and our efforts to learn from the mistakes of the past. The factions of New Vegas were ideologues of ways the world could be run in a post-apocalypse, with a particular emphasis on Ceaser's Legion and the NCR, representative of the Roman Empire and the American Empire. The NCR in particular is symbolic of the dangers of not learning from our past and repeating the same follies of our fathers. After all, American exceptionalism is how the war started in the first place... or was it?

The Fallout TV show introduces huge retcons to the lore of Fallout, chief among them being the eradication of the NCR and Vault-Tec being the true perpetrators of The Great War. This is... deeply cynical. As much as the NCR was a cautionary tale, they were also representative of humanity's desire to rebuild, collaborate, and form a new democracy. To destroy them is to deny the possibility that humanity is more than just self-interested feudal raiders. The fact that Vault-Tec is behind everything all along also denies any nuanced political discussion the series could've had. The Great War is now the result of... basically Fallout's version of the Illuminati, instead of the more poignant answer of War simply representing the darkest of humanity's collective potential for greed, violence, and prejudice.

In effect, Fallout went from being a deeply political work on humanity's predisposition to repeat its mistakes to a depoliticised world where nothing is allowed to grow or progress, but only repeat the same motifs of desert raiders, evil mutants, and shady government conspiracies until the end of time.

And that's not on accident, because capitalism doesn't want change, but the illusion of change.

Art under capitalism must be retooled, amended, sometimes even lobotomized so that it can perpetuate itself for the bankroll of its owners. It must be contrived to continue, never ceasing to generate sequels, adaptations, and merchandise. It was never about telling new stories, it was about creating loops of revenue.

Capitalism doesn't just misunderstand Fallout, it HAS to ignore its message to perpetuate its own.

[06sunnybunny06]

How he loves (Jun Lee)

Jun Lee's love is as traditional as he is. As the god of contracts, he has seen enough human relationships. It was also not without marriage contracts. Couples in love looked at each other with burning eyes and confessed their love almost every minute. But to feel it on your own skin, another conversation....

You are an adventurer from Mondstadt who came to stay in Li Yue. You were seduced by the traditional dishes, music, as well as the history of the region. One windy evening, when the leaves were falling in gold on the stone path. You sat down at a small table in the open air. The eyes of the people were directed towards the narrator, who, waving a fan, told the legend of the Lord of the Stone.

- May I join you? The other tables are occupied. - The man with brown hair smiled gently at you, asking for permission.

You gestured to the next chair-of course.

He nodded gratefully, taking a seat.- From your clothes, it can be said that you are not a local.

You nodded, yes. I'm from Mondstadt. It was interesting for me to look at the culture of other countries. To begin with, colleagues recommended visiting Li Yue.

- So you're a traveler?

- It's interesting to watch something new. In Mondstadt, legends are usually sung by bards in taverns or on the main square. But coming here, you might think that you found yourself in a completely different world.

- The culture of all regions has been different since the most ancient times, when the seven archons began to rule each his own people. But legends can sometimes be interpreted incorrectly, distorting its true meaning." he watched the narrator, sipping fragrant tea. - The true meaning of this story is not about the war, but about the salvation of the human race.

You looked at him, puzzled, then at the narrator. Was he listening all the time while you were chatting? - I'm sorry. Do you know how this legend ends?

He put his mug down on the table-Yes. Similar tales are repeated day after day. Many people may choose the wrong words or tilt the topic in a completely different direction. From which the whole meaning changes.

You listened to his version of the story with curiosity. He spoke the language well and looked aesthetically pleasing enough for a gentleman of local origin. He also liked your curiosity and endless questions. You could sit like this for the rest of your life, but time had its effect on people. It's time to go to bed. This gentleman introduced himself to you as Jun Lee. It turns out he was famous for his intelligence. Someone called it a walking library. Even the people of the older generation could not combine with his aesthetics and love of culture, as if the Lord of the Stone himself had blessed him.

The man did not leave you, offering to take a walk. It seemed to you that this acquaintance would remain within the limits of friendly conversations. And so it was, until the environment began to look at you as a couple. This was expected, given the close relationship between a man and a woman. You didn't give in to it because you weren't sure how he felt.

Over time, Jun Lee began to bring everything from flowers to small gifts to your meetings. He himself did not expect such gestures, but for him, as an archon who left his post and vowed to lead an ordinary human life, it should be the norm to start a relationship with a person.

This decision was very difficult. Immortality does not combine with an ordinary mortal soul, but if you think about it often, you can stay completely alone and go crazy. Right? Before it is swallowed up by Erosion, it is better to have time to enjoy your still stable life to the fullest. And so began the love story of a mortal girl with an immortal dragon.

His concept of love is traditional, which means there are no events ahead of their time. You still need to get to know his real self, and for this the human psyche must be ready. No one wants to wake up with a huge lizard in a small room when your loved one was lying there before. He should also trust you.

If your reaction to his true parentage is negative, then it will break his heart and he will leave you with a heavy burden. It seems that this is how it should be. That's fate....

But if the reaction remains positive, moreover, you will love him even more, then you will leave him no choice. He will melt in your arms.

Being in a relationship with the archon himself is scary, actually. This is a comparison of heaven and earth. Who would have thought that the Lord of the Stone himself would start dating an ordinary person? The concept of God for man is something powerful. Humans cannot understand their beings, just as the gods cannot understand humans. You asked yourself similar questions at first, but when Jun Lee was lying on your lap and almost purred from your stroking. All the questions immediately flew away on their own. Maybe gods and humans are not so different?

Kisses are mostly chaste. He usually likes to touch your forehead, temple, or hands with his lips. A real gentleman. You can't say anything, but this side of him is only shown in public. Indoors, it allows you to touch you more intimately. His kisses can be more sensual, longer. Until you finally suffocate from his love, he will not leave you.

His playful side and even possessive side don't show up often, but they are there. It's normal for a dragon to have treasures. His house is full of rare precious things and you are one of them. As strange as it may sound. - * All the jewels belong to me, my love*

When it comes to jealousy, which is also not a common occurrence. He trusts you, and trust is the foundation of any relationship. If it so happens that some impudent person claims your heart. Jun Lee calmly takes you aside, ignoring the outraged shouts. The main thing is your safety, and it is above all.

Speaking of security. You are a human being and your body is very fragile compared to it. So for your own safety, be kind enough not to stab yourself. If you're going on guild assignments, be prepared to feel someone's eyes on you. Xiao never sleeps....

What about intimacy? This is a level of trust that you must overcome together. In the past, Jun Lee would have been very liberated....he knows all about sex. If it used to be a common thing, now there is you. An innocent little flower that can be broken by carelessness. First, you have to be ready to accept it, and then everything will go by itself. He's trying to be careful.

His patience is a quality he prides himself on, so trust him. Well, if you want more. Well, you asked for it. His resilience is amazing. Therefore, while you're lying on the bed, you're exhausted. He will meow in your ear, offering to relax a little more.

You wondered when he often forgot his wallet. Why are there so many precious things in his house, in your gifts? Jun Lee only replied that the item was borrowed or a good friend helped him buy it. You mentally felt sorry for his friend, knowing how much your lover is absent-minded when it comes to money....He takes the best of everything, but he doesn't know how to bargain at all......

If his wisdom was worth the money, you would have been rich long ago...

Also, do not forget about his employment. Jun Lee is an exemplary citizen, and all citizens must work to survive. There are days when he is immersed in a routine. All this effort will be for the two of you. So that you can have a normal life. So you'll have to put up with being alone for a while.

There is one big BUT - time. You'll get older over the years, but he won't. Your mortality will win this battle by leaving a man at your grave. Jun Lee assures me that if necessary. He will stay with you forever, even after your death, his thoughts will return to you and he will not regret anything. Someday the time will come and he himself will be where all his colleagues and friends are now. You will wait for him and then you will definitely be together forever, even if not in this world....

#genshinimpact #headcanon #headcanonygenshin #genshinheadcanons #genshin_impact #Zhongli #zhongli #Genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli genshin impact #genshin impact zhongli #genshin

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: After a lot of encouragement, I will be posting chapters in their entirety here and on AO3. Many many huge thanks to @acrossthesestars for being my co-pilot, and for holding my hand through writing this story. Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and commented. Your words mean the world to me.

CHAPTER ONE - THE WEIGHT THAT BROUGHT US HERE

Alicent watched the lords of the council settle into their seats, placing their markers in the proper place. Lord Tyland Lannister took his seat at the opposite end of the magnificent table, Lord Lyman Beesbury to his right. Maester Mellos and then Lord Larys at her own left hand. Jasper Wylde sat beside her father’s usual place at the right hand. The power of the realm all concentrated right in this room. They prayed to the Crone for guidance and wisdom at the beginning of every meeting, a practice that had thankfully not reached the ears of the king, as he’d been cloistered in his rooms since his illness had taken more of his body. It was one thing to allow her Faith to grace their dinner table. It was a whole other to have the Faith find its place at the Small Council. While his signature still graced the decrees, and his decisions still paramount for he was the King, Viserys had left the dealings of the realm to them. It was for the best - Viserys’ mind was giving way to his illness and the less seen, the better. Alicent didn’t know what she preferred: her husband demeaning her and neglecting her children, or him calling her Aemma when she came to care for him at night.

She grazed her fingers over the polished black marble ball in front of her as Maester Mellos began rattling off the never ending fighting between the Brackens and Blackwoods that not even the Father bearing down from the heavens himself could stop. They continued to tear themselves apart as if they would win all the gold in Casterly Rock for the longest, most ridiculous spat that the Tullys were no longer capable of handling. Sometimes she wished she could just drag charcoal lines along the map, piece off the floodplains to the north and the west and the mountains, let the other kingdoms take their pieces.

“Begs the question if perhaps it isn’t time to elect a new Lord Paramount to bring them to heel,” Lord Wylde harrumphed in his self-important way. The man was well and agreeable enough, Alicent thought, but every time he spoke, she missed Lyonel Strong. None of his proposals contained this ‘begging the question’ sort of nonsense, and none of Wylde’s attempts had any of the late Lord Strong’s well thought out solutions and easy friendliness.

“Unless grievous injustice is done, we cannot normally strip the title of Lord Paramount, but their inability to bring either house to heel since given the title is threatening the stability of the realm. Blackwoods own more land than the Tullys, and now we have reports they’ve gone undermining one another’s orchards, and putting others at risk.” Jasper turned his gaze to Larys, who had not spoken since the prayer. “Strong, your holding is Harrenhal. What do you have to say about this matter?”

Larys’ manner did not fool Alicent, but it worked wonders, as always, on Jasper. “This quarrel of theirs has lasted as long as the dynasty and longer still. King Jaehaerys brokered peace, and we cannot ascertain what sparked it again.” From the nervous licking of his lips to the fidgeting of his hands, he was a master at seeming far less dangerous than he truly was. “You might seek instead the opinion of my dearest uncle Simon. He is the castellan and knows both it and the Riverlands far better than I do, as I’ve been here during most of this recent infighting. ”

Wylde humphed, twitching his nose in such a way that his bushy mustache reminded Alicent of a walrus she’d seen at Driftmark. She dug her nails into her palm to hold back her laugh. “Should we offer the Tullys more incentive?” Wylde blustered, reaching for a solution that he could take credit for.

“Incentive for not letting their bannerman destroy harvests?” Tyland Lannister snorted, reclined in his chair as if he were the one running the meeting. “That’s their duty. If they can’t do it, then there’s a bigger issue to deal with.”

“Perhaps a betrothal,” Lord Beesbury spoke up, his eyes darting from Larys’ to hers. Alicent straightened, watching the man try to figure out how to present his own suggestion. “The Tullys are proud, and the Riverlands command a great host when they come together. Lord Tully’s great-grandson is around Princess Helaena’s age. It would be a show of friendship and goodwill.”

“A show of a dragon is what you mean, isn’t it?” Her father’s voice cut in smoothly, but she could see the annoyance in his eyes at the prospect of Helaena being sent to the Riverlands. She did not want her sweet girl sent so far away either, but his words hurt in their easy protectiveness of her daughter, when they had never done for herself.

“Dragons are a statement, my Lord Hand. If not the princess, perhaps… Lord Strong, your youngest sister is not yet married,” Beesbury continued, flush with ideas. Was Rhaenyra feeding them to him?

“If Grover Tully, or whomever is handling their seat, cannot bring them to heel, we should have the Lords Bracken and Blackwood come and explain themselves to the crown,” she cut in before Beesbury could really get his momentum going. Heads turned to look at her, and Alicent looked to the Grand Maester. “Send ravens today. By the moon’s turn, I want them before the Iron Throne explaining themselves.” There was a curl of satisfaction on her lips as the aging Mellos gestured to his assistant. “We should also have Lord Tully, or his son, also come to answer. I know Lord Grover has been recently ill,” she continued. Authority and compassion were the balance she must always strike, so that her decisions could not be questioned, her judgment nothing but sound. She was the Mother of the Realm after all.

“Well said, your Grace,” Larys said softly, that shadow blink of a smile on his face. Lord Beesbury’s suggestions were easily dismissed.

Tension knotted between her shoulder blades, and she shifted in her chair to relieve the pain. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the chair as her father’s warning spun dizzily through her thoughts.

Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

That morning, Ser Criston found the boy who might be king passed out in the stables with his cock in hand; at least her father hadn’t found out. Alicent felt nauseated at the idea of sacrificing a girl barely younger than she’d been in an attempt to corral her son into leadership.

The doors of the chamber opened. Ser Harrold Westerling entered the room with the head dragonkeeper, Arryx, following behind. Her father rose not in a show of respect for the Kingsguard Commander, but some show of power - the unyielding stone and height of the tower that would not bow to neither wind nor storm.

“Forgive my tardiness, your Grace, my lords.”

Her father waved a hand and sat back down. “We were told that you were attending to an urgent matter, Lord Commander.”

Ser Harrold clasped his arm across his chest and bowed to her. “This morning, I was alerted to events that transpired last night inside of the dragonpit. Keeper Arryx wanted to speak of the matter to you personally.” Ser Harrold stepped back to allow the aging keeper to take the floor. Alicent gave her own nod to the man as he rose from his prostration.

“Dreamfyre has laid another clutch of eggs. Only three, your Grace, and she will let no one near them. Vhagar has been circling,” Arryx said.

Alicent frowned. Dreamfyre had not laid a clutch in several years now, and Vhagar rarely came to the pit. She was too old, too large, with little desire to be kept with her smaller brethren. The horrific beast preferred a rocky outcropping far out into the bay.

Aemond had given her a quizzical look when she’d brought it up once, when he was still bedridden and recovering from his mutilation. Her sweet boy was now strung through with a confidence that she’d never seen ignite within him when he had both eyes. The dangerous glint that confidence took as he’d grown older was also new.

She’s protecting what is hers, mother. We both are, he’d said.

“I have spoken with the Commander of the City Watch, your Grace, to ensure that those in the areas closest to the pit keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. It has allowed us to take stock of the current state of those neighborhoods.” Ser Harrold turned to look at Ser Otto. “A full report will be on your desk.”

Her father nodded, and Ser Harrold looked once more to the keeper.

Arryx shifted on his feet, and Alicent watched his eyes flick to the Grand Maester with an expression that she could not discern. The Citadel and the Hightowers have always stood side by side for the betterment of the realm, Alicent, and you’ll continue to foster that friendship, won’t you?

“Five of the kitlings have also died, your Grace. They were unbonded, brought from Dragonstone before…”

Before Daemon had come back.

“How many dragons does this put us at?” Her father’s deceptively mild tone was the opposite of his glee when Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The numbers requested were ones he’d calculated in his head, monthly, since he’d come back.

“Claimed, my lord?” Arryx asked, pausing momentarily. “Eleven, throughout the family. Lady Rhaena’s dragon hatched, but it was born twisted and sickly and did not last. I have not received word otherwise of any intention for Lady Rhaena to come and try to claim another dragon.”

Half of the dragons were claimed. Alicent watched her father drum his fingers along the table. Identifying the pattern took only a moment. He was counting.

Specifically, the dragons that were on their side.

“I want reports of the necropsies upon their completion,” her father said with a narrowed and assessing look, disturbed by the news. “The last thing we need is some strange illness to rip through all of them.”

Alicent chewed on the inside of her lip and watched the shining outline of the seven-pointed star beaming down on the table.

“Syrax is almost big enough for two riders now. Will you come touch the clouds with me, Alicent? Please?” Rhaenyra had always begged, mouth close to her ear, hands stroking her arms, her wounded and bloody fingers.

The joyful look that Aegon once gave her now reserved for a beast: “I’ve never known love until Sunfyre, mother. It’s like the world has color now that we’re together.”

“Dreamfyre keeps me tethered to the ground even as I fly in my dreams. She’s the only anchor I have,” said Helaena, who would withdraw from her touch as if it were a sting from a bee.

Little Daeron and his dragon clutched in his arms: “I can’t leave Tessarion behind, mother! I won’t know how to be happy without her!”

Dragons had robbed Alicent of everything.

“Thank you, Arryx. I will speak to the children and see what Prince Aemond might do about Vhagar.” The idea of her sweet, once immaculate and tender-hearted child being near that twisted, hoary thing still terrified her, no matter how gently reassuring Aemond could be.

Arryx did not move to leave just yet. “Forgive me, your Grace, but Vhagar is no Vermithor or Sunfyre: she is old and willful, and although she is bonded with our prince, I would suggest caution. He is… young, and Vhagar was forged in the fires of battle.”

He bowed once more before taking his leave.

Even in indescribable pain, in the face of his own father’s disregard and disdain, Aemond sought to soothe her. “Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

What else would her father do to get more dragons on their side?

Nervous tension pulsed in the silence left when the doors closed behind the dragonkeeper, filled only by the soft creak of the Kingsguard’s mail and the gentle clink of the chain around Grand Maester Mellos’ neck as he shifted in his chair, barely audible. The enduring mystery and curiosity of dragons was a specter of The Stranger above them all. Alicent had heard her kingly husband remind Rhaenyra repeatedly: Dragons were not pets. The bond with them should not blind their riders to the power that thrummed ancient and thick in their veins.

She breathed slowly, letting the quiet ease, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes as the tumult of feelings inside of her crashed upon the jagged edges of her broken ribs. This was the right choice. Her babies were only half-Targaryen, and Rhaenyra’s bastards were the same, whether she’d ever admit to it or not.

Everyone in the room had grown up with the stories that the Conquerors spread when they forged the throne: The Valyrian blood magic that had made them dragonriders was only to be found in their Targaryen blood. That bloodline needed to remain pure. Yet, Rhaena’s pure Valyrian blood did not save her first dragon from being born sickly and dying quickly, while Aemond - Targaryen only by half - bonded with Vhagar, the most powerful beast in the world.

There were no further reasons to believe the Targaryens were gods after all, and above the realm they had conquered.

The great chair of the King creaked as she slowly rose, taking in the council before her. There were no Targaryens in this room, even if she had birthed her own clutch of half-dragons. Alicent bore this task without joy or fanfare. It was a duty to be endured for the good of her family, for the good of her realm.

She stood with her hands folded in front of her, the image of the Mother of the Realm. Alicent had done this once before, when she had declared that she was standing in an official capacity for her husband.

“My lords of the council,” She hedged a glance at her father before moving her gaze to each man at the table. Ladies of the realm should be on the council. “It is with great joy and love that the King and myself, with Lord Larys Strong, announce to the small council that we have arranged the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon Targaryen, and Lady Abrogail Strong.”

Each of the lords straightened in their chairs. Lord Beesbury frowned and glanced away from her. The uncertain and uncomfortable shifting in his chair belied the embarrassment he was attempting to hide. Alicent felt no need to point it out. It was a fine idea that he’d presented and not his fault he did not know what had already been decided. Even if he was Rhaenyra’s lapdog, Alicent would be the better person, and not rub his face in it.

The congratulations buzzed in her ears as she sat back down in her chair, and beneath the table, she tore at the skin along her left thumbnail. The pain was as dull as the congratulations in her ears. Her father’s voice was distant, jovial even.

They hadn’t even told Aegon and Abrogail yet. She remembered standing in the same position, knowing what was coming, knowing what it would destroy and desperately hoping that it might not.

I have decided to take a new wife. I intend to marry Lady Alicent Hightower before Spring’s end.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Rhaenyra forgive me forgivemeforgiveme.

“A feast is in order to announce Prince Aegon and Lady Abrogail’s betrothal,” Tyland’s jovial tone broke the silence. His suggestion—or statement, depending on how Alicent took it—was not one that she’d expected when she sat down in Viserys’ chair, but welcomed the confirmation of his support.

Meanwhile, Larys’s expression gave nothing away. He simply inclined his head in agreement.

Her son — her trueborn son — for all his faults, deserved to be celebrated. She was happy she didn’t have to fight for this. It was Mellos who spoke next: “Given the last wedding that was celebrated within these halls, it would be a reassuring gesture to the Lords of the Realm if they were given the opportunity, and for us to show unity within House Targaryen. With the Prince’s nameday in a few moons, perhaps we can celebrate with a tournament.”

Alicent’s eyes cut to her father, who smiled lightly, nodding in agreement but careful not to say a word, allowing the Maester to be responsible for the idea.

“Even better,” Tyland raised his goblet in agreement. “We haven’t had a proper celebration in years. What better occasion? Lord Rickard Reyne will be overjoyed to hear the honor bestowed on his granddaughter.” He looked over at her father. “I take it you’ll be writing to him, Lord Hand?”

The last time Alicent had seen her uncle Lord Rickard had been at her mother’s funeral: now no longer the worst day of her life, but the memory that was still seared into her mind. She recalled Lord Reyne as a stoic man, but he’d been kind to her in her grief. Alicent hoped the years had not taken that away from him, but they likely had.

Time always stole away kindness.

Lord Beesbury looked pensive. Alicent could practically hear the man pushing house markers along the map in his head as the conversation continued. “Was Princess Rhaenyra involved in such a discussion?”

“The Princess Rhaenyra has continued to seclude herself and,” he paused, his gaze heavy and considering as he took in those around the table. “Her second husband, Daemon Targaryen, at Dragonstone. Neither has she come to the small council as her status allows, nor has she engaged with matters of the realm that her being heir gives her right to,” her father said smoothly, and he was right. “The king still grieves his daughter’s choices, and she has yet to amend with him. I agree with Lord Lannister and our Grand Maester. This would show the strength and unity and willingness of House Targaryen to bond and celebrate with the realm.”

Beesbury gave a humorless chuckle. “And nothing to do with presenting Prince Aegon formally.” As a contender. As a choice - that was left unsaid.

Alicent felt a surge of anger inside of her, instinct compelling her to protect her children and pull the wool Viserys and Rhaenyra spun from Beesbury’s eyes so he could see the truths they refused to acknowledge.

Not long after Aemond had been born, Lord Lyonel had enlisted her in trying to get Viserys to hold another declaration to follow Rhaenyra, if she was truly his desired heir even with two healthy boys of his blood. The King had originally chosen Rhaenyra because of the loss of Baelon and Aemma. Everyone wanted to keep Daemon off the throne, lest he became another Maegor the Cruel… and now, he was to be Rhaenyra’s consort, and Viserys still would do nothing. Alicent refused to believe that Rhaenyra would kill her half-siblings, that she would kill Alicent’s children for whatever love had been there. Every dark, curly haired little boy caused her to fear not what Rhaenyra would decide, but what others would encourage her to do. Her father had not been wrong - her sons would be beacons of rebellion, damned by the man who had so desperately craved a son, yet now ignored. How bitter a pill.

Daemon terrified her. They should all be terrified of him. Daemon now had Rhaenyra’s ear and her heart and her body. Daemon was not one to hesitate if something stood in his way.

Did you fuck Daemon Targaryen in a pleasure house? Targaryens have such queer customs.

“Prince Aegon is eight and ten, an accomplished dragonrider, ah…” Mellos trailed off, and the uncertainty on his face clawed at Alicent’s insides. Failure was acid in her throat.

Either you prepare Aegon…

That boy who would be king had groped six serving girls at the last feast before drinking and whoring his way through the Street of Silk.

“My sister and heir is of unimpeachable character,” Larys’ quiet voice carried within the room. “As a child, Abrogail was a playmate of Prince Aegon and his siblings, and she has become a beloved ward of Queen Alicent, who has done a remarkable job of raising her after the deaths of our parents. I would consider her to be a prime example of all our realm offers to a family that has, if I may be candid, gone to great lengths to keep to their own since the conquest. Wouldn’t you agree, Grand Maester?”

That poor girl she’d now chained to him was a picture of the Maiden. It had taken everything to ensure that her father waited for it. She would not have another bride offered to the throne before she was of age, while her father wanted nothing more than for Aegon to grow up.

Tension crept back into the room at Larys’ words. Nobody would think to utter these thoughts had Viserys been sitting there. Mellos cleared his throat and avoided her father’s gaze to adjust the heavy chain around his neck. The title of Grand Maester had been his even before Viserys’ reign, and he was possibly the closest representative that was not her to speak to Viserys’ mind.

“I would agree, Lord Strong. Perhaps even exploring the eventuality of wedding Prince Aegon’s children to Prince Jacaerys’ would… reassure Princess Rhaenyra. She once suggested a betrothal between Princess Helaena and-”

“We already have other candidates in mind for my daughter,” Alicent cut in immediately. She wouldn’t say anything about Jace’s children and future grandchildren. She refused to entertain the idea that Helaena would marry Rhaneyra’s son to cover her indignity and insult to everything that she had been given and born into. “We have time before the wedding,” she said with a gentler tone. “A year should be more than enough to introduce them to the realm and start introducing Prince Aegon to newer responsibilities befitting his station.”

That was time enough to beat her son into someone who could be King.

Morning light streamed through the gauzy, sage curtains of the princess’ room. Abrogail licked the honey clinging to her fingers as she moved towards the washbasin, abandoning half-eaten bread and cold cuts of meat at the table. Helaena also ignored their meal as she lingered at the only window that could give her a good view of the Dragonpit. Vhagar had been on the prowl that morning, unusually territorial, and the change in the dragon’s temperament had entranced the friend whom she called sister. She jumped when Abby ventured near her, eyes wide and body tense as a startled cat, so the redhead pivoted in the opposite direction in order to retrieve Helaena’s bodice. Normally, she did not wear one unless the Queen noticed, but on days when her mind drifted, the structure of the garment seemed to keep Helaena focused on the moment instead of her dreams. The princess was somewhere else in her thoughts, mechanically holding up her arms to have the bodice slipped over her shift.

“I’m going to tighten the laces now, alright, Helaena?” Abrogail told the princess as she always did, walking through the process so she wasn’t surprised by anything.

Helaena gave no verbal indication that she was listening, but Abby noticed her pale blonde head bob in acceptance. Slowly, she began straightening the garment, mindful of keeping her touch on the lacing and the chemise from pulling and pinching uncomfortably and defeating the purpose.

“Pink and red, he might be dead. Blue and black, no coming back,” Helaena murmured. Her gaze drifted to Myrella Penrose, who approached with a yellow, diamond patterned dress for inspection. “I don’t want my scales to be so bright.” Helaena’s voice did not rise from her quiet tone, and her gaze flitted away.

“How about the new one from Sevenmas?” Abby offered brightly before Myrella’s face could twist into the uncertain and disturbed look it took whenever Helaena drifted. “The ocean blue one with the beading. That’ll be nice to feel, right, Helaena?”

The princess tilted her head about, humming. “Yes, that would be.” She threaded her fingers together, pressing in so the knuckles would crack. Myrella visibly winced at the sound, but Abby just shook her head and carefully tucked the laces into the bodice. “The perfect hug,” came the breathless statement, before Helaena’s bright lavender eyes finally focused away from whatever she was tracking to turn around and look towards her. Abby took the dress from Myrella and offered her cousin a smile as she held it up. She was used to Helaena’s inquisitive gazes, as if she was a bug under the pretty Maester’s glass Aemond had gifted his sister. “Do you need them, too?”

“A hug?” Abby frowned.

“Scales - armor to protect you,” she clarified. Helaena held her arms up to slide the dress over her head, and Abby left her to do the little buttons down the front herself. “Or would you prefer a pretty carapace? Silver and reds, greens and blue. Pinks and black and gold.”

Abby laughed at the idea of being covered in so many colors, and Helaena even returned the smile as she finished her buttons. It was a good sign, and the tingle of worry that had been crawling up and down along her spine immediately eased. “To be decorated in so many colors? That would make for lovely armor.”

Helaena’s mood was improving, which meant that when the Queen finally came in, she wouldn’t immediately launch into fretting and worrying about the princess being in ‘one of her episodes.’ Abby knew the Queen did not mean it badly, but it still made her uncomfortable. Were her mother still there, she would say something if Abby expressed her concern. She was alone here now, and things were as different as the day and night.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Alicent who entered. Helaena’s little smile turned bright and beaming: “Aemond!”

At four and ten, the boy was steadily growing with each passing turn of the moon. While bypassing Abrogail in height was no difficult feat, he now stood as tall as his sister and mother. Prince Aegon was the next family member he was bound to outgrow, and the Queen had already tasked her with ordering clothes to be made ready for when Aemond shot up again. Lord Otto towered over most, and he japed that Aemond might make it where Aegon had failed to surpass him.

Hearing Helaena’s joyous declaration, Abby caught a spray of pink blooming on his pale cheeks, and Aemond reached up to adjust the soft leather strap of his eyepatch. The scar no longer looked angry, but it was prominent; a ridge of thick skin that was only just smoothing out with time. The prince held a jar carefully in his hands. He took several steps before Abby clucked her tongue at him the way she would at her own cat, though Theraxis had not joined her that morning in Helaena’s room. Earlier, a maid brought along with their meals news that the cat was gallivanting in the discarded feathers while the scullery maids plucked chickens.

“Your mother will be up any minute. She said she doesn’t want to catch you in here anymore,” Abby warned with an arched brow. There was no censure in her teasing tone. Aemond was nearly her own little brother, although much was changing as they left their childhoods behind.

“She won’t be here for him,” Helaena said in a voice far more present than it had been before, Aemond’s very presence pulling her back down to earth and away from the clouds. “What did you bring me?” Even though her buttons were only half-done, Helaena rushed across the room to Aemond with her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. “Oh! It’s beautiful! Abby! Look!” She held up the jar filled with little sticks and leaves – a fat blue and yellow cocoon precariously hanging from one forked stick inside. “I wonder if it belongs to the ones I released last year.”

“You’ll be the mother of all the moths and butterflies in the Red Keep,” Aemond said softly, so softly that Abby could hardly hear him despite standing close by.

Abrogail moved away from the siblings, smiling at Myrella and leading the woman to the opened door. “Thank you for your help this morning. I believe the Queen will need you more today. Let her know we’ll be going to the gardens later, if you please.” Lately, the Queen had been sending the Penrose woman to help Abby tend to the princess’ needs. It had made her nervous. When she asked the Queen if she was being replaced, the words stuck to her throat. Her Grace had been adamant that it was not the case at all, that it was only so Abrogail could learn from her in preparation for her own running of a household, and give Helaena time to get used to someone else helping her.

Another part of Abby wondered if the Queen knew Aemond was still coming to visit in the morning. Or worse, that Uncle Otto was spying. Abby was protective of her friends, her kin. They were siblings bonded through the years of fights in the mud and pranks and stories in the nursery. Bonds such as theirs were not so easily broken; they only changed as time passed, as things happened, like Aemond losing an eye.

Myrella Penrose gave her a tight smile and left down the hall. Abby watched her go, lingering in the door as Aemond and Helaena whispered in the room. Her friend’s quiet giggles were a rare sound, and Abby would do anything to protect those moments for her, for them both. She tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her dark blue-gray dress, thumbs brushing the little weirwood leaves sewn in delicate scarlet thread. Little golden dragons danced through them as a symbol of her ties with the family. Aegon had picked the golden thread, predictable as ever, when she’d asked his opinion.

She thought of the embroidered knot Helaena had been making – silver and green, tangling with red and black and gold. There were so many twists, but Helaena assured her that there was a rhyme to it, a dance with complicated steps. Aemond’s soft laugh cracked a bit, and Abby bit her lower lip to hide her giggle at the sound. She turned her head, and while she couldn’t quite make them out, she could see their shadows along the stone floor. They stood close together, heads bowed over something - maybe the jar, she couldn’t tell.

Heavy and purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall. Abby’s head snapped up from where she stood within the doorway, not immediately visible. She strained to identify the cadence, and her stomach twisted when she did.

“It’s him,” she hissed, glancing wide-eyed over her shoulder. Aemond’s head was close to Helaena’s with her hands resting on his shoulders. At Abby’s raised alarm, her fingers twisted in his dark green doublet and yanked him towards the partition, shoving him behind it. Abby snatched the jar with the precious cocoon inside and tucked it on the bookshelf behind the embroidered manticore Helaena had just finished. Otto Hightower’s footsteps were not alone, although the Hightower guards did not enter the Princess’ room when he swept in. Abby immediately dropped into a curtsy, a murmur of, “Lord Uncle.” Helaena bobbed slightly, twisting back and forth a bit. “Good morning, grandfather,” she said, bounding up to press a kiss on his cheek. If Otto had any weakness, it would be his unparalleled love and favoritism of his granddaughter. It was hard to tell how much Helaena enjoyed her grandfather’s attention and how much was one of her games, but whatever it was, it worked.

“Good morning, sweet girl. You look lovely today.” Otto’s voice was fond, his smile more gentle than he seemed capable of. He was an intimidating man. Abby had received nothing but kindness and vague disinterest, but he still made her nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow your cousin.” She felt her cheeks color as Otto’s gaze moved to her. Her mouth dried as her nerves returned to where they’d been when standing before the Queen, wondering if she was being replaced. Perhaps Larys was sending her back to Harrenhal or her sister was demanding she go to her in Casterly Rock.

Helaena smiled at her, though, with her hands folded across her stomach. “I’ll help you with your carapace later,” she reassured her. “You won’t be without armor.”

Closing the door behind them, the Hightower guards followed a few paces behind as Abby fell in step with him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as they went left instead of right, towards the Hand’s tower. It had been years since she’d walked this path that had been as familiar to her as the gardens of the Red Keep. Her eyes glanced for the loose stone at the corner of the step, where she’d stow secret messages in the little hollow behind it. Had she left a note there? Was there perhaps a mystery one waiting for her?

“It is. And I hope you have been well yourself.” Lord Otto looked down at her gently, and she nodded. “The Queen says you pray often in the Sept?”

A prompt. A strange one, but a prompt all the same. She swallowed past her dry mouth and put a smile on her face. “Yes, I enjoy the quiet, and it helps me feel closer to my parents.” And brother, but she was careful not to mention Harwin around anyone but a handful. “It’s especially nice when her Grace joins me. It’s almost like I have my mother back.” No one could replace her mother, but the Queen had been there for as long as she could remember, and sometimes, when she tilted her head a certain way and the light caught in Queen Alicent’s auburn curls, she could pretend her mother was there once more.

“Her Grace speaks highly of you – how good you are with Princess Helaena, well behaved and polite. She said that you and the princess have made things for the poor children of the city. A very kind and admirable pursuit for you both. Your father would be very proud.”

“Thank you.” Abby wasn’t sure what else to say or what he was getting at as they began climbing the winding staircase. The familiarity of it hit her like a scent memory - one sudden and revealing of long-forgotten feelings. “I do my best to follow the Queen’s guidance and reflect well on my position within the family and her example.”

“Good. Very good.” She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, so she hedged her bets and remained quiet. Her palms were sweating, and she discreetly wiped them on her skirt as she held the fabric. “I’ve noticed that you and Prince Aegon do not spend as much time together as you used to.”

Aegon? Why was she being asked about Aegon? Her stomach twisted, and she felt a prickle of heat along the back of her neck. It was true: they didn’t spend as much time together, but they hadn’t for years now, not since she spent more of her time with Helaena and… Aegon? Well, Aegon had been withdrawing slowly but surely for so long, like fraying threads at the seams. She’d be lying if she claimed to not miss him, because she did. She missed the happier boy he’d been, who did not constantly ply himself with drink and was more mercurial than a wild dragon.

Abrogail would also be lying if she claimed they saw little of one another, or spent no time at all because that was untrue as well. Until the past few moons, she’d gather lunch for the two of them when he finally rose well past noon, and he’d take her flying wherever he and Sunfyre desired to go. It had been something quiet and cherished, simply the three of them away from everything. Until Aegon had gotten in the tavern brawl all that time ago. Until Aegon started avoiding her. Until he barely acknowledged her at meals that he decided to join, even when he sat beside her. There was no way that Otto Hightower would not be aware of that, and she would not hedge around it. It wasn’t like anything untoward was happening.

“Not as much, but that is a natural casualty of leaving behind childhood. He found me earlier this week because it seemed there was a lack of honey cakes in the kitchen and I was the first to be interrogated.” There was a note of amusement in her voice, and Abby smiled in memory of his indignation and how silly he looked when she shoved honey cake into his mouth to stop his ranting. “He occasionally accompanies me in the Sept to pray. It’s incredibly kind of him to do so.”

She mounted a few more steps before realizing that Lord Hightower had paused. She turned to look at him. Morning light streaked through the narrow, delicate paned windows, casting shadow and illuminating dust in the air. He stared up at her, and with a few steps between them, she stood at his height. It was the first time she’d ever met her uncle’s eyes. Unlike her own unreadable brother, Otto’s face was not so impassive. He looked intrigued by her admission. Abby’s hands wound into her skirt so as not to fidget.

“He was not inappropriate, if that is your concern, my lord. Prince Aegon behaved with due respect.” To defend Aegon was second nature to her, and she would do so towards arguably the most powerful man in the realm if it meant to spare Aegon more shame and ire when, for once, he’d done nothing wrong. Which was true. Aegon hadn’t said a single thing. He knelt beside her, lighting candles, and simply stayed with her while she prayed for her family. He hadn’t even put a hand of comfort on her shoulder. She felt that was worth mentioning, given his current proclivities. She would not deny his vices, but she would not break confidence, and she would let no one, especially Lord Otto, think any worse of him if she could help it.

“Very good.” It took everything in her to keep the bewilderment off her face as she tried to understand what exactly he was trying to figure out. Otto resumed their progress, although now he rested a heavy hand between her shoulder blades like a father guiding a child. “So, you have no current complications with him?”

Complications? Did he think she’d lifted her skirts for Aegon? It wasn’t like she’d never thought of kissing him on those lazy afternoons when they’d lay in the grass and stare at the sky somewhere in the Kingswood with Sunfyre sunning himself like a cat. Of course she’d thought about kissing him, especially when he was at his most melancholy, with tears pooling in his eyes, making them pinker than normal. A kiss beyond the games children play, a kiss to comfort an angry prince in the firelight’s glow, his tears coursing down his cheeks with each snip of her embroidery scissors that sent locks of moonlight hair to the ground.

He’d never touched her more than a handhold, and far less than she touched him in her casual affections.

“No. No complications,” she confirmed.

They reached the landing, and Abby ran her hand over the stone dragon curled up in eternal sleep at the top of the stairs. Her fingers scratched along the smooth curve of its head the way she’d done every morning when she visited her father. She felt her uncle’s gaze on her, and she drew her hand away, hurrying to follow him into his office with her cheeks burning beneath her freckles, relieved only just by his vaguely amused expression.

The room was darker than it had been before. Gone were the stacks of books with various slips of paper sticking out haphazardly, or Theraxis lounging lazily along the cool stone floor by the door with his fluffy tail, sending motes of dust into the air. She instinctively clutched her skirt on the right to pull them away, so used to a giant paw the size of her hand grabbing at the fluttering fabric. But Theraxis was not there. The crumbling tome about the Andal invasion was absent from where it once rested on the side table. Instead, Larys stood by the fire with his back to her, as did the Queen, her lovely green dress covering her from neck to wrist with a golden pattern woven in the fabric that caught the firelight. Her face pinched in the way it did when she was uncertain and trying not to pick at her nails.

Abby noticed, of course. It usually meant that someone was about to get yelled at or she would send them away with the other ladies.

The figure in the chair slouched so far down that his silver head nearly vanished behind the back of it. At the clearing of Lord Otto’s throat, Aegon jerked up. His whole body held so much tension that it made Abby’s own hurt just by looking at him. He peered over his shoulder at them with glossy, red-rimmed eyes that give him a strange, ethereal sort of gaze, skin pale enough to prominently display the flushed pink mottling of a strike against his right cheek. He looked stuffy and uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, his fingers absently tugging at the buttons and collar. As his gaze focused, his eyes widened and darted from the uncertainty she knew was on her own face to his grandfather behind her.

The thud as Otto shut the door reverberated through her, and she and Aegon both flinched at the sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see the Queen flinch as well. Larys, as always, looked unphased. The heavy hand on her back pushed her towards the empty chair closer to the fire, and she had no time to bob a curtsy; courtesies stuck like toffee in her mouth.

The chairs once held the delicately embroidered pillows her mother made. She would curl up with them and read aloud from the books scattered around while her papa worked. He would-

“Queen Alicent and Lord Larys have received several letters expressing interest in you, Abrogail,” Otto said, walking behind his desk. She dug her thumbnail into the pad of her middle finger, and she saw Aegon’s booted foot twitch on the flagstone – a rocking motion from the ball of his foot to his heel before slapping it back down beneath the desk. Wood crackled in the fireplace. “Lord Farman is looking for a wife for his eldest, and Faircastle would be close to your sister.”

He plucked a scroll from the basket as he spoke, and Abby felt her stomach churn with nerves as a red heat clawed along her throat. She did not venture a look at Aegon, save for the foot he kept rocking back, the heel he repeatedly ground into the floor. He’d not gone back to slouching. He could be indolent and rude when he wanted, but not even Aegon dared to in his grandfather’s presence. Abby didn’t understand what this was about, or why Aegon was here.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat. Or, if you married Jesper Celtigar, the heir of Crackclaw, you’d be able to remain in King’s Landing.”

Otto Hightower produced scroll after scroll and Abrogail felt the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks, confusion keeping her words locked away. How was she supposed to react to all of this? What was he trying to say? Were all these marriage proposals meant to make her feel better about herself? No, that was too odd to contemplate.

Why was Aegon here?

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson. A Paramount seat would let you be close to your home at Harrenhal, and he already has an heir. He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.” Another scroll plucked from the basket. “It would bring Harrenhal into their holdings. Is that not correct, Lord Larys?”

Right. Harrenhal.

A woman’s lot is to only be worth what she could bring to the table.

Her brother was a man of few words, and he inclined his head with a shadow of a smile flickering across his face. Abby looked at the queen to find that her face was pinching harder. In the interim, Queen Alicent stepped away from the fire and moved instead to the desk with the gentle swoosh of her skirts gliding across the stone. She cleared her throat, a smile fighting its way on her face.

“All the offers were wonderful for you, my sweet girl, but none seemed right.” The Queen reached out to tuck a copper curl behind her ear, and Abby could not tell if this was supposed to be comforting to her or if the Queen sought comfort in the action for herself. Her lungs felt constricted, and it finally dawned on her.

Oh.

The sole of Aegon’s boot continued to drag across the stone in both a nervous fidget and to keep himself from slouching down even further into the chair. The only reason she could hear it was because of how focused she’d been on it, but now blood rushed into her head and Abby broke eye contact with her cousin to look down in her lap.

“What does seem right is for you and Aegon to be married, after your nameday. You’ll be eight and ten, and the pair of you will go to live at Harrenhal, and make your home there.”

Oh.

“Are you fucking serious?” Aegon’s voice was a hoarse, disused rasp from a night with endless drink. When she looked at him again, she noticed that his hair was still damp, and that beads of water from the wet ends had soaked little spots into the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t looking at her, but up at his mother, and then, incredulously, across the desk at his grandfather.

Otto’s face remained impassive following his grandson’s outburst. Abby wanted to grab Aegon and drag him out of the way of whatever was about to come out of the Hand’s mouth, as if the words would physically harm him.

The silence lengthened. Another log popped in the fireplace.

“He speaks.” The amusement in Otto’s voice caused Aegon to draw back further into his chair before he finally turned to look at her. His eyes were so red-rimmed, and his sullen face was so terribly pale that the pink-lilac of his eyes stood out ethereally, inhumanly like the drawing of a fae folk from a book she had as a child - wild and cornered. He’d bitten his pouty, chapped lips bloody.

Aegon searched her face for an answer to a question that she did not know. The only thing Abrogail could do was give him the gentle, reassuring smile she’d given him countless times before. It was what she did in this world: comfort her loved ones in any way possible, even as she needed to bury her own feelings on the matter. Feelings that, in this particular case, she couldn’t even begin untangling in the moment.

“Well, that makes us luckier than most, doesn’t it?” Abby cleared her throat and turned the smile onto the others in the room. She reached up to grasp the Queen’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze before she burst into a million pieces. Whether it was her, or the Queen, that might burst, she could not say. “We are fortunate to know one another so well and to be of an age. I thank you Lord Hightower, your Grace.” She looked at Larys, who remained silent in his observations, as always – an owl in a tree, eyes taking in everything. “Thank you, brother, for looking out for me.”

She felt Aegon’s eyes continue to pin on her. She looked back at him.

The wild and anxious expression was still on his face, and instinct compelled her, as it often did, to reach out her hand to take his - but he surprised her by beating her to it. His skin felt like fire engulfing her frigid hand and his fingers tangled with hers with easy familiarity. Before she could register what was happening, Aegon’s chair was already scraping across the floor and he pulled her from her chair with the momentum of jumping from his own. There was no pause in his movement as he dragged her to the door.

“How very fortunate we are.” A laugh bubbled from Aegon’s chest. It was a joyless sound when he laughed in the presence of his mother and grandsire. It was edged with the familiar mania; Aegon laughed when he was afraid, when he was anxious, when he was trying not to scream as his world was coming apart, or the laughter and joy on the back of Sunfyre. He tilted his head to stare up at the ceiling before throwing a look over his shoulder at the three across the room. “How very lucky we are.”

Aegon’s hand was clammy around hers, his grip bordering on painful. He yanked the door open with a protesting whine of the latch. Abby heard the Queen calling after him, but Aegon’s strides were purposeful as they ate up the ground to get away. Only the grip of their hands kept her from being left behind in the claustrophobic room where their future was being decided for them.

It might have been the second bravest thing she’d ever witnessed from him.

[Chapter Two]

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon x abby #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #my fics

[punkeropercyjackson]

Weirdboygirl Percy headcanons

(But it's almost entierly me just sharing my friends' because i'm a sap who wants them to be appreciated /lh)

When i say 'weirdboygirl',i mean it-Percy is transfem bigender and autistic with no masking ability based off canon subtext that borderlines on straight up text.He's also afrolatina/monoracial black dominican for the same reason and he's mostly femme but has a decent amount of masc thrown in there for gender fuckery and he's crustpunk with pastel/kidcore elements thrown in

He's a huge gamer who's got his own low cost setup and only dosen't do Lets Plays even though he has a vlog channel because with how he is that's setting himself up for getting viral meme'd

He thinks adult only shows and movies are absolute ass due to being too dark so he watches pg ones only including pre-schooler ones(Bluey is his favorite obviously)and he has no shame in it since he's not a freak about it

She listens to obscure podcasts and rambles about them and she's a part time artist thanks to her and Rachel being queerplatonic besties but she dosen't do grand materpieces and just draws weird shit and same for crafts

Her favorite musicians are nostalgic ex-weirdkid ones like My Chemical Romance and All Time Low and The Cheetah Girls and then it's shit like Everybody's Worried about Owen and The Cure and Meet Me @ The Altar and Metallica and a bunch of transfem artists and general genres they love are Lo-Fi Beats,Breakcore and Punk Rock

Her special interests are blue,video games,kidcore,cats and anarchy.Blue is not Percy's lifestyle but Percy's way of life,she plays only free games and uses an emulator for the rest,kidcore is a huge coping mechanism from her extremely brutal childhood,she employs a lot cat based things in their daily life and even naturally acts like a cat sometimes including a meowing vocal stim and she goes full force in Tales of Dead Seas,a Hoo one year later sequel that's about Percy dismantleing the greco-roman mythos world system starting with killing Zeus and things go up hill for everybody who's not a dickbag from there and this includes Percy gaining new powers even pre-deicide but actually having mentors this time and she actively helps out with activism in addition to all her direct action across all 5 books of her last official story

The only sea related things they love are because Sally does so she raised them in them all the time and they've got mixed feelings on them post claiming because of how awful Poseidon is but they very slowly reclaim it for themselves and the process is given big boost when their egg cracks as they use mermaid/seapunk aesthetics for presentation and their personality a little too and it gives them gender euphoria

They refuse to drink energy drinks that aren't blue colored so they have a whole stash of them and junk food too with a threatning note attached to it,their go to store is unironically Claire's and they made sure to beat the Hot Topic allegations by loud and proud announcing how much they hate them for being sellouts and fakeout freaks and they're neither a skater boy nor a surfer dude because ewww but a guitarist and a multitask helper at the Familia Jackson Beach Shack

He's also Nico and Hazel's eldest sibling figure and pseudo-dad that got them away from Hades forever and Sally legally adopted them so they all live together in the mortal world and stick together as a trio too in the mythos world.He's their caregiver but also their best friend and radicalized them and taught them how to be punks,Nico choosing tradgoth and Hazel pastel goth.Their relathionship is extremely intimate and equally silly but that dosen't mean they never had problems to unpack and fix-Siblings aren't perfect but real siblings are the ones who try to be anyway and don't expect eternal forgiveness regardless.That's what makes us siblings,not JUST blood

And they healed his inner child a lot just by hanging out with him and loving him and letting him take full responsibility in their best friendship and on the other end there's nobody who's helped Nico and Hazel heal and be stronger and be themselves like Percy has.They're eachother's whole world and multiverse and rubbed off on eachother significantly(Nico and Percy's love for video games,Percy and Hazel's artistry,Hazel and Nico's taste in food,all three of their love for kiddy things)and Percy helps Hazel with girls

He was Warrior Cats kid and gets back into it as an adult and loves it even more and yes,he roleplayed it his classmates during recess yet they pretended they hadn't and mocked and animalized him for years because how long his hyperfixation it is lasted and that's why he gave it up in his teenage years but returned to it and reclaimed the catlike behavior it gave him as autistic swag

Percy's five love languages:Humor,comfort,justice,unrestrained fun and diy'd gifts.All giving and recieving and none strictly platonic or romantic,Love is stored in the Percy

She knows how to diy so many things it's a running gag and includes things that don't exist,her biggest comfort characters are:Cookie Monster,Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy(she's a huge Flutterdash stan so she refuses to seperate them),Brandy's Cinderella,Shego,Cookie Nessa and Marina from Nintendo,Yang Xiao Long,Katara,Sonic The Hedgehog,Amy Rose and the Adventure Time Cast as a whole and her type is other autistic afrolatinos/afrolatinas who're pastel punk to her crustpunk

He (jokingly) kins Hobbie Brown and Gwen Stacy and looks like she could be Hobie's older brother

She acts and talks in ways people find offputting and strange but by now she's learned to stop being ashamed and happily embraced that she'll never be normal but that that dosen't mean she's not loved dearly and by so many people and realized that's what she truly wanted from the start instead of not being different from everyone else.Because she's the most awesome as all fuck person ever

RIZZ CITYYYYYYYYYY,HE'S FROM MANSHATTAN

#percy jackson #perseo jackson #black percy #latino percy #transfem percy jackson #bigender percy jackson #autistic percy jackson #punk!percy #team parent percy jackson #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #black nico di angelo #lesbian hazel levesque #trans nico di angelo #gamer nico #autistic nico di angelo #goth punk nico di angelo #pastel goth punk hazel levesque #trans hazel levesque #autistic hazel levesque #pjo #hoo #tods #the anomalies #the loser trio #group:it's in my nature to love you #perlex #x black!reader #💌 #summerposting

[livixbobbiex]

More on ADHD and acceptance in Percy Jackson

TLDR: Percy Jackson was a formative ADHD representation experience for me, even though I didn't know at the time, and I hope it can be that for others too. Mostly a slightly tmi personal tale, but this has a point I promise.

I was a teenager during that specific sweet spot where internet culture had taken off, but Tiktok wasn't a thing yet. Social media was less algorithm based. This meant that my exposure to ADHD as a concept was somewhat less than what you see nowadays.

Percy Jackson was pretty much the first (and only) exposure I had to ADHD. And because I was around 13 when I first picked it up, I hadn't figured myself out yet, so I didn't have that instant relational experience. What I did relate to, though, was the emotional weight. Percy's narrative voice sucked me in, because even if I didn't understand 'ADHD' fully, I fundamentally got the otherness. The weird sense of just being different from other people. I used to daydream about being whisked away too, that I would get some explanation for why I was Other. So when I read the PJO books, it was a case of deeply understanding that narrative, but not fully knowing why.

I was able to fully pin down that I was probably an ADHDer by 16 or so (more after things like internet quizzes and specific research). And I was only able to actively start the diagnosis process when I was 18.

So when I read the Percy Jackson (and Heroes of Olympus by this point) books again with that context, it was a different experience. It didn't teach me that I was ADHD (I will say, the books don't really focus on that and consistently tie behaviours back to it explicitly). But they don't portray ADHD as a negative thing and that's very important. There is legitimate room for criticism of the 'ADHD superpower narrative' in the early books especially, don't get me wrong, but for my young self this was legitimately so helpful.

What it meant was that for me, my first true experience with ADHD was a sensation of okayness and acceptance. As Percy was told, there's nothing wrong with him, he was just built different, brain tuned to be better at different things. Yeah, the 'mortal' world is difficult to cope with, but that doesn't mean that Percy was somehow wrong or broken. Just... different. Which I suppose is the reason Rick started telling those stories in the first place, too.

That message is what stuck with me super hard, when I could directly apply it to myself. It's a fundamental part of why I have never been afraid of my diagnosis, and why I'm comfortable being super open about it both online and in my day to day life. I genuinely do not think I would be in nearly as good a position in life as I am today, had I not read those books.

So yeah. I'm stoked that the series is back in huge relevance. I absolutely love the way that ADHD has been portrayed so far in the show. In general I think access to information about ADHD nowadays is a net positive, though I do share concerns that there's a tendency to over medicalise/hyperfixate on the condition part of it. So, it does make me happy to get the kind of representation that's far more in the 'you're not broken by being different' lane, because that's something we could frankly all use more of.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #adhd #actually adhd #this turned into a whole self analysis session #But who knows maybe some people will relate #I was also just really into greek mythology #Totally blame pjo for making it into a full blown hyperfixation though

[cuubism]

If you don't mind me asking - what do you think Dream's attitude/reaction towards Tolkien's works (including the legendarium!) would be? (I'm asking a lot of Sandman bloggers this, because I'm extremely curious regarding your takes on this.)

oh! hang on i gotta brush up on my tolkien because i haven't actually read any of the books since like. 2011.

i guess my main thought would be about how dream missed like, 95% of his work when he was stuck in his Jar. my understanding (read: google search) is that tolkien was building up the mythology for his stories before 1916 (when dream was captured), but most of it was not finished/published until a while after.

(this became an insane and mostly unrelated rant i am so so sorry)

i think a lot about how much of his own... area of work and power dream missed when he was trapped. the 20th century, generally speaking, was a time of rapid growth in storytelling methods and media more generally. dream missed almost all of radio, particularly radio as it became a medium for stories. radio was invented in the late 1890s but didn't see a proper rise into a storytelling medium, rather than mainly a direct communication one, until around the 30s. so dream missed the creation and growth of the first, i guess you would call it, networked storytelling, and technological storytelling, and what was... probably? the biggest return to an auditory type of storytelling since the original oral tradition, folk tales, great epics etc, for radio at its peak of cultural relevance (at least in the US and probably the ""West"" more generally, alas i can't speak as knowledgeably for other parts of the world, obviously plenty of other parts of the world had radio in the early 20th century and onward, but i don't know much about its use as a fictional storytelling medium versus for news and government broadcasts. something to look into! part of why radio became such a medium in the usa was because of our rampant capitalism and commercialism lol, so less capitalistic places might have approached it differently - here, advertisers wanted to figure out a way to monetize radio better, but obviously people aren't going to just listen to hours of ads, so they packaged them around stories, live music performances, and variety shows. that's where soap operas as a form come from -- they were originally sponsored by soap companies! also serials, though of course books have also been serialized in the past. and sponsored radio programs also birthed the sort of episodic comedies that eventually evolved into the half hour TV comedies we know today)

which also means - as a direct result of missing radio, dream also missed the rise of television as a medium - it grew directly out of radio, even the big networks we know today, CBS, NBC, and ABC were originally radio networks. television has ended up being a huge change in visual storytelling, not only in its inception, but especially in its more recent years - it's probably the only long-form audiovisual storytelling medium, which is something that didn't really exist before. huge shift in storytelling possibilities. he also missed the development of comic books, and the internet, and the resulting increased accessibility of art and storytelling to both artists and art lovers. he missed an absolutely huge, HUGE shift in the democratization of art and the ability to share it. and, once again, the development of totally new methods of storytelling in the form of internet video! not to even mention the accessibility of MUSIC, music recording and sharing was still in its infancy when dream was imprisoned and now you can get, and make, and share pretty much any music imaginable! and the new genres! and the intermediality of everything and the cross-cultural awareness!

this is not even getting into the new ease of photography, or film, which was also relatively new in 1916. imagine going into a coma when there were only silent films, and waking up to everyone and their mother making tiktoks. the last film you saw was one of chaplin's or something and then you come back and see interstellar in imax 3d. i think i'd explode. (dream would love film, too, it's very dreamlike)

dream returning to the waking world in 2022 and immediately having the entirety of tiktok beamed directly into his head:

(another thing i think about a lot but won't get into because i'm already rambling - hob witnessing the entire development of accessible writing from the printing press to fucking social media. insanity. i want to pick his brain on it

what pushed hob over the edge, do you think. what's the one thing he saw written online that briefly made him regret ever getting involved in printing at all and wish everyone was illiterate again. it was not porn, btw, mr. monsterfucker gadling can handle anything, ok. no, it was something much worse...)

anyway. rambling over. this is all to say that i am not a tolkien expert and haven't read much of his stuff anywhere recently - though i was quite obsessed with it in middle/high school - so my main thought is in relation to dream getting cut off from all of these great stories. it must have been like, to put it flippantly, your favorite tv show getting cancelled halfway through after a cliffhanger XD. he has all these stories from great storytellers - tolkien included - storytellers who are building their whole own worlds in his realm, storytellers he's nurturing and supporting in his own way - and gets ripped away from them. and when he returns, they're all gone.

here's hoping someone who knows more about tolkien can give you an answer more specifically relevant to that. that's all i got for now 😂

#never get me started talking about media history. then again i kinda started myself on it this time #thanks for the ask! sorry for the lack of relevant answer lol #dream of the endless #tolkien #hamelin-born #ask #i think dream would actually like tiktok after he got over the sheer volume of existing content lol #like i feel like the endlessness and interconnectedness of the internet is similar to how it already feels in his mind #media history #belatedly thinking AGAIN about all the stuff dream missed like all of the cultural changes? the story genres? the new poetry and new style? #NEW ART MOVEMENTS? THE MOVEMENTS HE MISSED. DREAM MISSED FUCKING SURREALISM THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE IT WAS LITERALLY INSPIRED BY HIM #all the subcultures of story and art creation he missed. i'm gonna lose it actually

[salarta]

Because people on the CBR thread decided to bog the past month down in their millionth iteration of the "what could Lorna wear and who could she fuck" conversation, I never did really get a chance to say much about my thoughts and hopes with Fall of the House of X and Lorna's upcoming moment in it. I'll go into it under the cut, but here's the cover image and synopsis again for those who never saw it or want a refresher.

"In FALL OF THE HOUSE OF X #2, the X-Men may be at their lowest spot, and they may be on the brink of complete eradication… but they are not going down without a fight! Polaris returns to guide the X-Men home, bringing a wicked surprise for Orchis! This epic tale split in two continues as the Krakoan Age nears its conclusion!"

So you're looking at more of the post! Greetings, nerds.

While we don't know yet how things will play out, I have a generally good impression of where things will go despite Marvel burning me over the past decade.

Duggan's the best writer 616 Lorna's had in that same period. That doesn't mean that he's tapped into her true potential yet (something I hope this story will do). But he's thus far written her as a smart woman with a royal flair and sass, while restoring her relationship with Jean, letting her use her powers in meaningful ways, and NOT bringing up Havok. His work with her on Devil's Reign was also excellent, in my opinion. He allowed Lorna to have a point of view in the discourse that differentiated from Jean and Emma while letting her play a meaningful role in the actual story.

Based on that, I'm willing to give this a chance in spite of Marvel burning me so many times before.

Now, I didn't even know about Knowhere (the giant floating head there) until this cover came out. That's honestly the sort of thing I love - when something good happening with Lorna introduces me to a new element of the Marvel universe. But it also means I don't have much knowledge about it to work from.

So before I try to talk about that, I wanna talk about the scenario.

What I love the most of everything about this is how delightfully unexpected it was. I can tell you nobody expected that Lorna would have a huge spotlight moment like this. I mean this within the fictional universe too, not just with us real people.

See, what has to be understood is that Lorna has a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG history of being misused and underappreciated. The Claremont era wrecked her, and the damage didn't truly start to get fixed in an impactful way until Genosha. Both in and out of universe, perception of Lorna had devolved into "weak pathetic girlfriend of Havok who gets used as a punching bag when she's not supporting her man."

The negative depictions have held her back for a long time. Nostalgia is insidious. It makes bad stuff seem good just because it ties to old good feelings. Someone who likes a certain status quo for the whole will justify treating one character poorly under the guise of being true to their nostalgia.

As a result, what we get down to is a lot of people underestimating Lorna. In the fictional universe and in the real world, Lorna is often perceived as a nobody who can't do something big and important, who can't be a serious threat, that other characters are "better" and "more worthy" than her.

And that's what makes this such a great use for her.

In the synopsis above, wicked surprise is the operative two words. Orchis has surely prepared contingencies for dealing with the well known heavy hitter mutants, as well as the well known collective teams. What they likely did not account for is what Lorna could do to them.

This is where I have to point out something very important: a lot of people who don't really respect Polaris denigrate her as being "Magneto with boobs." They think she's just a female knockoff of her father, that her capabilities are entirely limited to the same ones as Magneto. If Orchis in the fictional universe thinks the same way, they would have a contingency for Magneto and think that applies just as well to dealing with Lorna.

Except Lorna's not her dad. She's also not a goody two shoes version of him, which could make someone think she's even more limited in her capabilities than her father. If real thought and care is put into who Lorna is, she can have a much different perspective and approach to power use and overall strategy.

Orchis accounting for Magneto doesn't mean Lorna would be ineffective. If anything, it means Lorna could be an even bigger threat if she uses their assumptions against them.

Now back to Knowhere.

The picture implies Lorna's pulling Knowhere to Earth to take on Orchis. This is very reminiscent of when she flung Krakoa into space way back in Giant-Size X-Men, which is an awesome parallel to make while actually moving Lorna forward.

Throughout the current Krakoa "era," it frustrated me how Lorna's own connection to the history of Krakoa was treated like it had no worth. She had this huge moment in what a lot of fans consider the most important single issue of the X-Men comics, and yet she was getting ignored because decades of poor treatment caused people at Marvel to have a low opinion of her.

The parallel seen here is an excellent way to pull her in for the finale as they wrap up the Krakoa "era." From flinging a planet off of Earth, to bringing this giant Celestial head TO Earth.

As for Knowhere itself, after doing some rudimentary online searching, I think my understanding here is that the head can act as a sort of waypoint for characters from various dimensions and time periods to come through. From there, if I'm still thinking right, Lorna bringing Knowhere to Earth could result in mutants from all over arriving to help. Not just bringing back the various X-Men lost all over space, but bringing in mutants from other fictions (cartoons, movies, video games, etc) and across time periods. The latter probably pairs with the other book coinciding with this one.

I'm gonna stop here cause I've typed a lot. But I do want to say that it's important to avoid hype for a good thing leading to overinflated expectations. Getting your expectations too high can make a good thing seem too lacking when hindsight and looking at it without the hype in mind would show it to be better than first thought.

And that's all for now. Thanks for reading my TED talk!

#polaris #lorna dane #x-men #marvel

[olreid]

'the secret good neverafter that lives in my head' lol i take it you're not enjoying the season? curious to hear why if you feel like sharing

hmm idk that i would say im not enjoying it but yeah i think for me it's just not really like. a successful horror story at least so far. under a cut for length lol

i think the first thing watching neverafter has helped me discover is that i dont think characters in a horror story can know that they are in a horror story, at least initially. OR if they do, they have to be the only person who knows it and no one else can agree with or believe them. for me at least, such a huge element of resonant horror is the split between what the world insists it is and what it actually is, between what you are promised in life and what you actually receive. you have to be being told that the world is logical, good, that there is a way for you to win at life or beat the game or escape the prison, and you have to genuinely believe that, at least at first. so i wish neverafter hadn't started with the premise of 'the world has gotten noticeably Bad and you all noticed it and everyone agrees that this is the case even if they dont know how to fix it.' i wish they had played it straight, starting in the happily ever after of fairy tales and had the characters slowly realizing that actually they're not happy even though they're supposed to be, and having to break out of prisons that don't look like prisons and fight through a world that insists it is helping them at every step even as it constrains and warps them. and i know that's partially at odds with needing to appropriately warn viewers about what they're getting into, but i still think even if they had billed this season as a horror season and started out the first episode with Everything Is Great, that would have been excellent because i would have been just WAITING in agony for the other shoe to drop.

and then i think my other issue besides the framing has more to do with the general format of d20, which i don't think lends itself to horror for several reasons, firstly the at this point predictable shape of a main cast season. again i think a lot of the power of horror comes from unpredictability; you know something bad is going to happen in a horror story, but you don't know exactly when or what shape it will be. the wind gets kind of taken out of the sails if you know that it's going to be an every-other-episode combat situation. i appreciate that brennan's trying to add some new stuff in - red tokens, one shot kills, etc - but i don't think it's enough and even the twist of the tpk alreadys feel like it's been almost fully explained in-world to the point that we now understand how combat works in this setting. again that goes along with the format -- the players have to be able to understand the game in order to play it and be able to effectively help tell the story. but it means that things are pretty predictable, and when you've watched a bunch of d20 seasons you develop an eye for what the next fight will look like and what the overall arc of a season will be. there is of course still room for me to be surprised or proven wrong here! but my hopes are not high.

the other issue is that d20 is first and foremost a comedy. and it's not that i think horror can't be funny, but i think that largely the comedy has to come from audience interpretation -- horror needs to take itself seriously to succeed, at least for me. i think of the 'it's remarkably easy to buy an ax in central london' line from tma -- timeless and hilarious but jon is completely sincere when he says it and jonny's delivery is similarly sincere; he plays it straight, and so we get both the horror of that moment -- jon having been driven to a point where he feels the need to arm himself, which seems a pitiful gesture in the face of the forces at work on him -- and the humor, which comes when we distance ourselves a bit from the text and can appreciate that line out of context. neverafter, on the other hand, as a comedy show, is full of jokes and bits which not only contrast somewhat bizarrely with the more serious horror moments but also serve to lower the stakes of the entire project, as nearly every joke creates distance between player and character, reminding us as the audience that they are just that -- characters, not real people, in a made-up world. for example, in the spider fight where lou is calling the spiders who are attacking him Ladies as he fails to fight them off, it succeeds as a joke -- it did make me laugh -- but fails as horror because if someone was truly prone glued to a spider web with spiders crawling onto their body, i highly doubt they would be joking about it, so it takes me out of the scene and makes the world less real to me. in the other direction, the fact that it's a comedy also primes the players to take what brennan says as comedy first and horror second, eg the mouse in cinderella's old house who is saying something genuinely horrifying about not being in control of his body or actions as the entire table struggles not to break because the voice is funny or whatever. and so i feel like the two main goals of the season are at cross-purposes, because nearly all of the successful comedy makes it feel like less of a horror story, and makes the characters feel less real.

and having said all that it's not that i don't think the d20 table is capable of doing horror well, because i honestly think they already have done so with a crown of candy. acoc doesn't suffer from any of the issues ive outlined above; characters were killed in roleplay episodes to the point that you felt something terrible could happen at any time; the season took itself seriously, perhaps because the premise itself is so inherently comedic that they decided that to seriously embody a character who is a loaf of bread named senator ciabatta is funnier than making a gag out of it. whatever the reason, the stakes of the world are incredibly high -- we know this was also partially because it was a low-magic, high lethality season where brennan put limits on the party's healing abilities and removed most of the plot armor that protected characters in other fantasy seasons. and crucially, the characters did not begin the story thinking that the world was terrible. they were all members of the royal house of rocks, and heavily invested in their world moving according to logical rules and patterns; so much of the horror and tragedy of the season comes with the dawning realization on the part of the characters that the rules they thought would protect them -- those of diplomacy and morality and cause and effect -- don't actually prevent harm, death, grief, or suffering.

similarly, fantasy high sophomore year succeeds at horror, largely because the horror is dream and mirror-based so there is a sense of pervasive unsafety and a feeling that characters cannot even doze off without making themselves vulnerable to possession or violation. so it's not that i think d20 couldn't ever do horror successfully, which would almost be better -- they have done it and i have watched them do it but theyre not doing it now for whatever reason and that is disappointing. i was promised horror!! i want horror!!!

hopefully i don't need to say that this is just one guy's opinion on why it hasn't gripped me -- i know it's working for others because the tag is always full of people posting about how they couldnt sleep after the episode or whatever and truly good for them. but that is not my journey

#asks #anon

[riddlerosehearts]

Okay now EYE must ask you - how are you liking BG3??? How far are you?? Tell me about your Tav!!!! (Please and thank you <3)

hi!! 💖 i only started the game a few days ago and it was an impulse decision i made after having previously told a friend of mine that i definitely wanted to play it but that it'd probably take me a while to get around to it (and, because i thought i wouldn't play anytime soon i hadn't really been trying to avoid spoilers). but, i have the PC version and while it generally runs just fine, my computer is kind of slow and the game is so big that it took hours to download and install. so i kind of went ahead and started to come up with a whole character idea during that time LOL. sorry if my explanations of things get a bit too rambly/disorganized. i'm actually not very far in the game at all yet, i've been spending a ton of time doing stuff in the druids grove and i'm supposed to go find halsin but i haven't even gotten karlach in my party yet! i've recruited all the main companions except for her but i am excited to meet her. gonna put the rest of this under a cut for length.

my only background with DND is that i listened to the first campaign of the adventure zone and i've watched the legends of vox machina show. i also have a friend who's super into her own DND campaign and another friend who's told me a lot about dimension 20, specifically fantasy high--and i've considered trying it out for her but haven't gotten around to it yet! i think she actually told me the same thing about the episode lengths making it easier to get into than critical role, because i had tried critical role and it was just so long that i couldn't stick with it. but, yeah, i've also looked at the forgotten realms wiki a bit but i've never actually played DND. i have played skyrim and final fantasy 14 and some other similar RPGs with customizable blank-slate protagonists, and in those types of games i always have to make OCs to roleplay as--usually i'll think up a basic idea to start with and then flesh the character out as i get into the game. they're never really self-inserts but i do often project onto them a little.

so, in games like these my first character is usually an elf that specializes in elemental/destructive magic. idk why, that's just what i've always liked. in ff14 i started out as a black mage without knowing it was the hardest class to play LMAO. soooo i went into this planning to create a high elf sorcerer, but as i started writing out ideas and thinking about what to do, i ended up creating a half-high elf bard. they're transmasc/nonbinary and in my head they use he/they pronouns, but i picked the nb option in the character creator and that causes npcs to actually use they/them in dialogue which i think is so cool. i love that the character creator is so inclusive in regards to gender.

anyway, i named them elenion, which is something i took from the lord of the rings universe because i'm a huge nerd. in LOTR it's an elvish word that basically means "of the stars". here's a couple screenshots i took when i first started. let's just ignore the fact that this hairstyle clips into elf ears (and also that the face preset is from a mod i downloaded).

i didn't really give him a tragic backstory or even the most interesting story haha--i'm wanting to do something bigger and angstier with another character on a second playthrough when i'm more familiar with the lore and world of the game. and i'll probably also end up changing or expanding on some things about this character later, but for now i just kind of made a normal guy with normal problems. i had this idea that his father, a human who attracted the attention of a beautiful elf woman, was also a bard and was a very successful musician in his youth. so elenion has always shared his father's passion and dreamed of being like him, being able to effortlessly tell incredible tales and inspire crowds of people through song, but no matter how much he studies and practices he never feels good enough. if he seems confident it's usually just because he's gotten really good at faking it. he's also pretty reserved and often avoids having to talk about himself by asking a lot of questions. see, i kind of wanted to specifically find a way to not roleplay the usual sort of loud, flirty, goofy bard, lol. not that i dislike those kinds of characters or anything though!

however, bards are meant to be super charismatic, witty, and persuasive and of course the game strongly encourages that with the dialogue options and skill bonuses you get. so my way of explaining this is to have elenion be a bit like raine from the owl house, in that they may be shy, but they're very firm in their ideals and are no pushover when it comes to protecting themself or their allies. they're clever and have a snarky side to them, and they're genuinely friendly and caring in a way that gives them a sense of quiet charisma. which reminds me that one of the spells i gave them at the start was sleep, and it's made me imagine that when they were a kid they tried calming a crying baby by playing a lullaby on their lute and accidentally ended up casting their first spell.

oh, and, i also wasn't really sure at first where in the world i wanted elenion to come from but i decided on something pretty quickly after getting multiple of those dialogue options suggesting that the protagonist is baldurian! i pictured them growing up in a somewhat small town with their family but moving to baldur's gate as an adult, hoping that if they left the comfort of their home and started to journey out into the world a little they'd eventually find their spark and become the bard they wanted to be. unfortunately they've had little luck so far because even after all this time they can't see that maybe their whole fixation on trying to be just like their father and achieve the exact same kind of success that he had is holding them back. the fact that their father died the year after they moved away hasn't helped either. and now, in the middle of traveling to a historical site that they'd wanted to see in person and use as inspiration for a song, they've been abducted by mindflayers and are struggling with the massive upheaval that this has brought into their relatively mundane life.

so. yeah. my tav for this first playthrough may not be the most unique or exciting character but i like him! i like figuring out what kind of choices he'll make and thinking up new ideas for what he likes and how he sees the world. also, i find it funny how in your reply to my ask you said you thought you'd be into gale but then you fell for astarion--because i thought that i'd be all over the edgy, brooding, snarky vampire man, but it turns out gale is so charming and funny that i'm probably going to romance him first. i'm also pretty intrigued by shadowheart and wyll but i'm so early in the game that i can't even say who i think my overall favorite companion will be because they all seem so interesting!! even karlach despite the fact that i haven't actually met her yet, i've seen a bunch of cool gifsets of her and my brother told me he's been romancing her on his playthrough. i really need to go find her soon.

i'm sure you can tell from everything i wrote here that i am definitely enjoying the game LOL. i can already tell that there's just so many different things to do and see, that i will both need and want to do a lot of different playthroughs and that it's going to be something that sticks with me. nothing wrong with using guides and walkthroughs btw! i do it too because i'm worried about missing too many things and have the world's worst sense of direction even with a minimap. honestly i probably need to look up some guides for certain mechanics that i don't feel like i've really figured out yet. there's a sarcophagus trap in the ruins early in the game that got me SO stuck and got my whole party wiped and then i looked up a video and found out you could turn off the whole trap system by pushing a switch... i felt so stupid askjdfgf.

anyway, i think this got to be way too long of a reply so i will stop here! but if you ever wanna tell me more about your tav or anything definitely feel free to and i hope you're having an awesome day!

#asks #nerdalmighty #i hope all of this actually makes some kind of sense lol #i'm really not a great writer but i just think coming up with OCs with fleshed out personalities #and trying to get into their heads makes games like this more fun #and also ty for the ask!! 💖 #baldur's gate 3

[mushiemellows]

OP ask game: 1 and 4?

1. Which major character do you think is most likely to die before the end of the series?

So I don’t actually know if it’s clear, but this is actually the origin story of how Franky of all fucking characters became Blorbo #1 for me. I genuinely think he sits in the Prime Killability Zone, so I’m trying to stake my territory early. If I had to compare his position to anyone it would be Wash from Firefly/Serenity. Like the Joss Whedon that haunts my brain VERY MUCH against my will says that Franky is supremely killable. Right at the start of the end. 1) he is liked in general enough that people will go aw that’s sad maybe the stakes are real for everyone else (a tension bar that will need to be established for the last fight to have teeth) but he’s not SO well liked that there will be a backlash if he dies (I know that like. Sanji’s not getting killed off. They don’t have the guts). 2) his dream’s just to like. Physically get them to Laugh Tale. So once they’re at Laugh Tale he’s kind of got no where to like, go? He did what he set out to do, which means they can totally kill him off in style. 3) he really hasn’t had much of a character arc since the timeskip, though I do still hold out that egghead’s got one more trick up it’s sleeve for him. But I think that the culmination of his character being fully self-sacrificial would be like, the last big turn in his development. 4) oh my god I just had something huge written out and then this app glitched in the formatting and I lost it all ACK. Okay. So this is going to sound biased from like, a shipping perspective, but I do genuinely mean this more neutrally. Killing off Franky helps oda to dodge the Frobin bullet in a way that still feels emotional. I know Ods’s rules on ships. He knows them. But also, he’s definitely injected quite a lot of his own heteronormative social biases onto this character. They’re “Mom and Dad” for a reason (even if I myself argue with that interpretation of both characters, it still seems to be the dominant reading of how they interact with their sphere)(but clearly a lot of the “frobin proof” is like, Oda’s subconscious utilization of the little world around him. He does not leave his house much, and he goes for easy to reach tropes, generally. The whole “if any ship has a chance at becoming canon it’s frobin” idea I see floating around stems from a similar place). And how do you develop a slightly older male character in your Gender Propaganda Text that’s always One Man Step ahead of everyone else? Where is he to go developmentally in his mid-to-late-30s? You pair him off, you put him in a relationship. But oda can’t do that because it breaks his rule. So the one major Quick and Easy way to develop this guy any further is off the table. But if they leave things wink wink vague and then kill him off, they don’t need to address that grey area. Not to go on a whole ship tangent lol. But I do genuinely think that’s the easiest path to the corner he’s written himself into with this character. Just kill him!

4. What do you think the One Piece itself actually is?

Real. Hahah no but I’m of the opinion that it’s going to be something fairly simple. My bet is like, a cool looking coin thing, something that Shueisha Entertainment can mass produce in plastic once OP is over. Like, this whole thing is about toy/merch sales at the end of the day, so it makes sense to me that the function of the one piece is to be infinitely merchandisable. Small, simple design, keychainable, printable for a sweatshirt, could even make a plushie. A single sort of gold coin thing opens up quite a lot of easy possibilities, even if I myself find it kind of…boring.

That, or it’s got something to do with the hat. A second, smaller straw hate to put on the first. Hahaha.

#answered #sorry to make this a low key frobin post #this ask game is fun

[duckprintspress]

Celebrate World Folktales and Fables Week with 10 of Our Favorite Folktale Collections

This week, March 19th to 25th, is World Folktales and Fables Week! Duck Prints Press is celebrating with two blog posts: today’s, which focuses on the folktales, fables, and myths that influenced us as creators, and tomorrow’s, about our favorite folktale-inspired fiction (queer and otherwise).

Love folktales and fables? Join us now and learn about the ones we love – some you may know, some you may not!

D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths by Ingri d’Aulaire & Edgar Parin d’Aulaire (an inspiration for Shadaras)

The first book that comes to mind is D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths (I had to look up the title, but the cover is burned into my memory). While there may be other collections of fairytales and folklore that struck me, this is one of the first ones I read, and it set the stage for my love of mythology in general.

The True Story of the Three Little Pigs! by Jon Scieszka & Lane Smith (an inspiration for Veronica Sanders)

I remember being really inspired by the genre of “a well-known story told from a different perspective” after reading the Jon Scieszka/Lane Smith books in 2nd grade, like The True Story of the Three Little Pigs. I always really liked thinking about folktales and fables from the POV of the “villain.”

Folktale-Inspired Disney Films (an inspiration for Adrian Harley)

I was a Disney-loving child of the 90s, so I am still unpacking the ways that shaped my view of folk stories, stories as a whole, and the world—and reconciling the positive ways these stories shaped me vs. the harms of the Disney corporation.

The Onion Girl (and other stories) by Charles de Lint (an inspiration for Anonymous)

He did an amazing job of blending American and European folklore with ordinary life in all its highs and lows. I don’t know if I could point to a specific story that’s retelling any one folktale, but I can absolutely point to the author as a whole for his folkloric style and tender exploration of magic, queerness, and being outcast. He helped invent the Mythic Fiction subgenre. The Onion Girl lives in my head rent-free.

Folktales of the Amur: Stories from the Russian Far East by Dmitri Nagishkin (an inspiration for Nina Waters)

A collection of eastern Russian folktales that really had a huge impact on me. 30+ years on from when I read them, I honestly couldn’t relate a single one of the stories, but they burrowed so deep into my psyche that when I imagine “folktales that really mattered to me” the first image that comes to mind is the cover. The art throughout the book is just absolutely gorgeous.

The Rose-Beauty – a Turkish Fairy Tale (an inspiration for Alessa Riel)

This is a Turkish fairytale that impressed me because it was cruel even for a fairytale. It‘s about a young woman who is blessed from birth to grow roses in her hair, cry pearls and grow grass wherever she walks and the cruel fate she is dealt because people are jealous of her gifts. It has a happy ending but only just.

A Tale Dark and Grimm by Adam Gidwitz (an inspiration for Sebastian Marie)

It had a HUGE influence on me as a kid, for two main reasons. One, the events of a lot of European fairytales are told as happening to the same two kids and their parents, which creates a really interesting story structure. Two, it’s unabashedly mean and gory and cruel and well, dark and grim. It says that sometimes people are terrible and sometimes bad things happen to decent people. It’s one of the things that made me want to write fairy tales, or at least stories that are a bit gruesome and meant to be told to children.

The Swan-Maiden – a fairy tale (an inspiration for Alessa Riel)

This is a variant of the selkie tale as far as I can tell, only that the women don‘t turn into seals but beautiful swans. It was the version of the lore I first encountered and the unfairness of the women being forced to marry their captor and abuser and then also being cursed for abandoning the children these men forced onto them always resonated deeply with me.

The Blue Light by The Brothers Grimm (an inspiration for Alessa Riel)

In this fairytale a veteran soldier is unjustly treated by the king and then a witch sets him three challenges. The third one is getting her a blue light from a deep well. He refuses to give her the light and she drops him into the well along with the light. It turns out the light can fulfill wishes. Up to this part the veteran looks like a sympathetic person, but he uses those wishes to have the princess dragged to his room three nights in a row to do his bidding against her will. He is finally found out and sentenced to death for this transgression but manages to escape that fate by using the blue light and he gets the kingdom and the princess to boot. I always found this supremely unfair.

Egyptian Mythology (an inspiration for Dei Walker)

I think one of the first books of folktales, legends, or fairy tales I can remember reading repeatedly is a copy of Egyptian myths and legends I used to get out of my local public library when I was young. It was already an old edition in the 1980s and its pages were yellowed, but I would borrow it regularly and lose myself in the stories of life and (un)death along the Nile.

What are some folktales and fables that have inspired YOU? We’d love to hear about them, and maybe find some classical stories to add to our To Be Read piles!

Who we are: Duck Prints Press LLC is an independent publisher based in New York State. Our founding vision is to help fanfiction authors navigate the complex process of bringing their original works from first draft to print, culminating in publishing their work under our imprint. We are particularly dedicated to working with queer authors and publishing stories featuring characters from across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. Love what we do? Want to make sure you don’t miss the announcement for future giveaways? Sign up for our monthly newsletter and get previews, behind-the-scenes information, coupons, and more!

Want to support the Press, read about us behind-the-scenes, learn about what’s coming down the pipeline, get exclusive teasers, and claim free stories? Back us on Patreon or ko-fi monthly!

#duck prints press #rec list #folktales #fables #myths #mythology #world folktales and fables week

[12freddofrogs]

Okay. So having finished season one of OUAT, I might do a better summing up post of the things to actually sum up in a second. But first, I have just been thinking about all the characters who actually know their histories and backstories have been told to thousands of children as bedside stories, and how they probably feel about it.

There were four people who completely, 100 percent knew that they weren't from this world (who also had the theoretical opportunity to research fairytales; I kinda doubt Maleficent did): Regina, Gold, Jefferson, and August. As of yet, at least. Maybe later seasons will reveal that Tiana or someone was also there with her full memories.

Regina probably didn't buy a copy of Snow White for Henry (I maintain my theory Henry's first introduction to that specific fairytale was in the storybook), but she was probably curious. She might have picked up a copy of the Grimm's tale and laughed at most of it, successfully ignoring the slight twist in her stomach at the description of the Evil Queen's brutal death. Regina could have even put on the most famous movie version, the Disney cartoon, and deliberately gagged throughout the singing birds. She might have made a snarky comment at the Happily Ever After ("You sure about that?") and then tossed out the DVD. Ultimately, she's aware of the tale, but hasn't really studied it.

Mr Gold absolutely read a version of Rumpelstiltskin or two. He probably would have watched the movie, but there isn't really a mainstream American Rumpelstiltskin movie. A couple can be found here and there, but it doesn't seem to be a hugely popular movie to adapt. The biggest one I can think of is the third Shrek, and Mr Gold doesn't particularly strike me as someone who would sit down and watch Shrek for its own sake.

That said, he was trapped in time for almost thirty years, during which he could do very little. Refine his plans, gather information, the general running of a store, but he was stuck in Storybrooke for a long time. It's not impossible to me things would contrive until he found himself watching Shrek 3. And honestly? I think he wouldn't hate his portrayal in that movie. That particular Rumpelstiltskin was smart, made deals and kept them despite looking for loopholes, collected power, was terrifying in his own right despite being a comedic character in a comedic film. He was a villain, but it's not like the Dark One has ever particularly been surprised at that title.

My first thought on Jefferson was that he probably hadn't read Alice in Wonderland, but then I realised that he absolutely, most definitely had. So many times, in every variation he could find. Jefferson has spent those thirty years desperately looking for a way to go back. There is no doubt that the Mad Hatter has been intensely studying what seems to be the biggest link between the Enchanted Forest (and Wonderland) and the Land Without Magic: the fact that somehow the stories themselves are leaking through in variations.

He's watched movies. He's read Alice and Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, and read books on those books. He's played video games and watched kid's cartoons and read dumb romances that seem to have no link other than the characters having familiar names. Jefferson has noticed that, for some reason, the Disney cartoon appears to be the most accurate.

Not just for Alice in Wonderland, but for all of them. Some of the other stories he only knew by reputation, or rumour, and he can't actually ask Mary Margaret what elements of the Snow White tale were true or not. That said, he knows that dwarves have names like Grumpy and Doc, and only Disney seems to have given that name. He'd heard of the fairy Maleficient, and every other variation of Sleeping Beauty gave the uninvited fairy a different name. Disney isn't exactly accurate but they are closer than anyone else, including the original tales. What does that mean? He has no idea. He would break into Disney studios if he could.

And then August, I think, would absolutely watch Pinocchio. I'm fairly certain he was still going by the name Pinocchio when he first arrived, and people made connections. Small child by the side of the road, someone grabbed the Disney DVD from Blockbuster. The first time he saw it he was too startled to tear his eyes away. He watched it again a few weeks later, and had adjusted enough to the world that he sobbed the whole time.

August has, much like Jefferson, also noticed that Disney seems to be the most accurate one. He read The Adventures of Pinocchio when he was fourteen, tucked up in a private corner of a library and half expecting the book to cause a breakdown, and was instead just surprised at how different things were. The Field of Miracles? Bandits? Why is the whale a dogfish shark?

He hasn't made it a hobby to track down every version, but he has watched a few of them. He liked a couple, disliked others, more based on how he was portrayed rather than how accurate it was. He did at least once go on the Pinocchio ride at Disneyland and, despite how cartoony and wrong the little Jiminy Cricket was, he was nearly crying when he got out.

And, of course, Mr Gold isn't just Rumpelstiltskin, is he?

I'm not sure how it would come up, necessarily. Again, he's not really the type to watch children's movies for fun. He could pick up a book of fairytales and browse through, but honestly, his story was different enough that he might not connect who this Beauty is, with two older sisters and a father who steals a rose and a monster with an unwilling curse.

But it was twenty-eight years, and a lot can happen in that time. Maybe Regina did it on purpose - after all, she had a young son who was allowed to watch most of the Disney princesses, just not Snow White. She could have made a delicate suggestion to a man she was sure wouldn't get the reference about a Belle and Gaston, and certainly nothing showed in Gold's face that he recognised those names. But once she left, he curiously tracked down the Disney copy of Beauty and the Beast.

It didn't take long at all before he saw the familiarity, a girl who loved to read who, even in a cartoon, looked too familiar. Gold actually couldn't get through the whole movie in one go, and had to keep stopping. If it was more accurate, he might not have finished. He didn't realise that the singing teacup with a single chip in it meant something until he was well into the movie. And he didn't quite cry, not even in the privacy of his own house with the doors locked, at the ending when the Beast that was not him chose love and the woman who was absolutely Belle, but his eyes were a little wet. He spent the next few weeks making Mr French's life miserable, raising rent and insisting on quicker repayments, and didn't even pretend to justify it.

#ouat liveblog #12freddofrogs writes #ouat

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Fourteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen

AO3 Link

Author's Notes: Back from hiatus on April 26th! (Chapter 16 is just about polished and I finally made progress for chapter 17). I'm sending huge, huge thank you to my beloved beta and co-pilot, @vampire-exgirlfriend for all her love and support and kindness. There's been a lot of times that I've thought about stopping, about not continuing this story, about maybe just keeping it to myself. It's been her love and very aggressive 'that is DUMB' affection that has brought us close to the end of Arc I.

And a huge thank you to the people who have liked this story. I genuinely would love LOVE LOVE to hear your thoughts. In inbox is open, reblog and tag me, however you want to let me know that you're here <3

we are now entering the 'oh my god these too are so fucking into each other they want to fuck so bad it makes them look stupid' era

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Love the World Like I Should

Grandfather Rodrik shows up with love and gifts, and there's some smooching on the dance floor at Aegon's nameday feast. Also some political anxiety.

King’s Landing was filled to bursting in the days approaching Aegon’s nameday celebrations. Never had Abby seen so many people crush themselves into the Red Keep. ‘More will be at Harrenhal for the wedding’, Helaena had said, their small group seeking solace away from the gaggle of the court for a while. Baela had come with them, overwhelmed with the crush of noise herself, even if she did not admit it. The Princesses Targaryen, Abby, Wylla, little Floris, and Baela’s two ladies had all sought the quietest part of the gardens to hide from the increasingly aggressive attentions.

Now, though, Abby could not hide from the crush of people.

The Reyne retinue arrived in the early afternoon, and while an ancient and powerful house as theirs deserved their pomp, the familial presentation was for Rodrik Reyne, uncle to the Queen Alicent Hightower, and grandfather to the future Princess Abrogail Strong.

Grandfather to the potential future queen, as the whispers and rumors flew around the Red Keep with the coming celebrations. Rumors that Abby wasn’t sure would come to pass, but could not deny that the king’s wishes still might change. That was a future she wasn’t sure what to think about.

His hair was more gray than auburn, thick and wavy as if he were a man of twenty instead of near seventy. Lord Rodrik was tall and broad, an imposing figure on his gray and white courser, its fine white mane braided into little knots along the elegant arch of its neck. To see him and the king that was only feet away from her had a curl of unease snaking through her belly. To look at the king was to see a man wasting away, a man at death’s door. To see Rodrik Reyne dismount with fluid ease was to see a man who, while past the prime of life, clearly had so much left in him.

“Your Grace.” Lord Rodrik mounted the steps, arm clapped to his shoulder in the Westerland sign of fealty as he bowed. “It is good to see you in fine spirits, my king.”

“No finer time than to celebrate such a joyous occasion, Lord Rodrik,” the king said with a smile. Rodrik clasped Uncle Otto’s arm in a firm grip, pleasantries exchanged and his smile broadened as he bowed lower before Queen Alicent.

“You are the light of the seven, aren’t you, my dearest,” he complimented her, genuine to the core. The queen’s cheeks pinkened at the praise and she readily embraced her uncle, fingers grasping his arms.

“We are so glad you are here to celebrate, uncle,” she said. “I am pleased to see you in such fine health and I’m so sorry Aunt Dalla could not come.”

“It is a long journey and she is not as quick as she used to be. She was quite happy to stay back with Daerion and enjoy the children. I am their favorite, after all. It’s only fair that I give everyone else the opportunity to receive some attention.” Alicent blinked as she registered the joke, a chuckle spilling from her as her uncle pressed a kiss to her hand.

Aegon stood between his mother and Abby, and she felt more than saw him straighten up as Lord Rodrik turned his cool blue eyes on him. Age had not shrunk the man, and Lord Rodrik stood as tall as Uncle Otto, and though there was a far less threatening air to him, it made him no less intimidating. Aegon’s chin tilted up to meet the man’s eye and he inclined his head.

“It is good to see you, Lord Rodrik,” Aegon greeted, his voice polite and steady, when not two hours before, he’d been with her in the alcove behind the tapestry of Jonquil Drake frantic with nerves at meeting her grandfather. It seemed like the kisses she’d given him, as well as the growing bruise that was barely visible above the collar of his deep green damask doublet had not eased his worries. “I hope your travels were easy and without issue.”

The last time they’d seen any of the Reynes had been near a decade ago, at her mother’s funeral. They had spent time with her and her father at Harrenhal before coming down to King’s Landing to spend time with the queen and her children, and that event was entirely different than now.

“Good tidings on your nameday, nephew,” he returned with all the formality as if he were addressing him by princely title. “Our travels were well, and it’ll be good to be off the road for some time.” An expression of mischief danced in the pale gray-blue eyes of Rodrik as he assessed the prince before him, eyes catching on the bruise on Aegon’s neck and then glancing at Abby and the arm she had laced through his own. He raised a brow. “It would appear that your betrothal has made a man of you yet, my prince. I might even say you’ve grown an inch or two since I last saw you.”

Heat flushed through Abby’s face and Aegon’s own, his sputter brief and confused as the Lord gave him an amused look, as if he might ruffle his hair had Aegon been a decade younger. Instead, he gave another incline of his head before coming before Abby.

“You are most certainly taller than I last saw you,” he said, cupping her face in his gloved hands, the scent of horse and spice clinging to him as he kissed her forehead. Her hand slipped from Aegon’s arm to clutch at her grandfather’s crimson sleeves beneath his brown leather jerkin, warmth spreading through her chest at the gentle affection.

“Not much taller than this, I’m afraid,” she said, a light, awkward laugh. Her grandfather reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, where the rest of her hair hung in a long, simple braid down to the small of her back. He cupped her cheek, and she caught a shine in his eyes, a slow exhale as the familiar look of grief she knew well crossed his features, aging him in the moment. “I’m very glad to see you, grandfather.”

Rodrik Reyne nodded, pushing past the emotion before moving on to greet the rest of his nephews and niece, and she felt Aegon’s hand slide around her waist, fingers bunching slightly against the crimson and silver damask against her hip. She hid her hands in the belled sleeves, knotting them together and taking comfort from Aegon’s touch. Her chest ached painfully but she gave him a smile when he murmured her name.

“I am well,” she assured him, leaning into him momentarily before their party went inside, her grandfather speaking of the gifts he had brought for all of them.

Over the past days, it had been a bustle and flurry of becoming reacquainted with her grandfather, of suffering through her sister’s company. The apartments that she technically shared with her brother had served as the hub for the activity of their family. Houses Strong, Reyne, and Lannister moved in and out of the modestly decorated space. It had been overwhelming, but with the arrival of her grandfather, Cory’s acerbic tongue and judgmental looks had been averted, and Abby wondered if there was jealousy hidden beneath all that venom. She had fallen into her own acquaintance with the Queen, whom she had known when she’d served as one of Rhaenyra’s ladies when they were young.

Abby also had to organize the gifts brought from the Westerlands that would be sent back with Uncle Simon. Bolts of fine cloth of gold and silver from the expansive Reyne mines, a peregrine falcon, lovely cream and gray with black specks and bright black eyes she’d named Caelus. There’d been books too. A small chest carved with mountains and flowers contained five books, mostly from Myr, and some from Braavos, including what looked to be an interesting treatise from a Volantine woman who advocated for the importance of women’s contributions, and another on teaching woman to cultivate what she had determined as useful qualities, to achieve worthy acts in their lives.

‘A woman’s success,’ it read, ‘depends on the ability to manage and mediate by speaking and writing eloquently and effectively, for men so easily dismiss the thoughts of women, especially when their power is threatened by them.’

Perhaps she should look to promoting more copies of the sumptuously illustrated work. Perhaps she might even try her hand at replicating some of the images therein. There’s been a box of paints and new charcoal among the gifts, as well as a newly bound book for her to sketch in. Abby smiled at the idea, and had tucked it away for later.

“Mind the dress,” Wylla’s voice came from behind, already dressed for the feast and bossing about the red-clad maids of the holdfast who had been helping Abby as she worked to put together her household. Theraxis lay reclined along the end of the bed, his great yellow eyes watching the flurry of maids with such focus as if he too were supporting Wylla’s orders.

“Only a single lady?” Grandfather had balked, perceiving insult before she’d hurriedly cut in, explaining Wylla was more than enough, she did not want to be demanding, and hadn’t needed anyone else.

Wylla had snorted, eyes flashing in the familiar argument. “She’s meant to be looking for more ladies over the course of the festivities,” with all the same annoyance aimed at her as she had aimed at Aegon in the courtyard so long ago. “She needs six at least, but will she listen to me? Nay, she’s a wee stubborn thing and Lord Larys doesn’t seem to push it either.”

The gifts had not stopped there, and she was currently staring, wide eyed, at the most recent one.

The ornate wooden box before her was made of varnished rosewood, with inlays of silver decoration along the edges, and an equally delicate lock that her grandfather had carefully opened with a tiny silver key. The tiara that lay inside was fit for a queen. Ten citrine sunbursts wove together like flowers, the colors of them running from red to gold to orange and in the center of each, diamonds glittered. It sat in the center of the box, resting on a cloth of silver pillow and her mouth went dry.

“Th-this is too much. Grandfather…” Abby’s voice faltered and she lifted her gaze to meet his. Never had she felt so spoiled, so doted on. She felt guilt for it, the way it warred in confusing uncertainty. So long she had never asked for more, and it wasn’t as if Larys was a doting brother who snuck her sweets and trinkets the way Harwin had.

Her grandfather’s gaze was a mixture of annoyance, affection, and more that she did not understand. “It is most certainly not too much, dear child,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. Wylla slightly raised her eyebrows when he wasn’t looking and gently lifted the tiara from the box. “You are the blood of Castamere. You are my blood, my granddaughter,” he had said, cupping her cheek in a warm, rough hand and pressing a loving kiss to her brow. “The realm would do well to remember that you are a Reyne just as the queen is. It is not simply Hightower blood no matter how much my good brother likes to pretend.”

At least her grandfather was honest and she could not blame him for that. This was how the game was played. This was how power was brokered, even Abby understood the simple truth of it. Unlike most, Rodrik Reyne did not hide his motives, and the care that he expressed towards her since his arrival a few days ago had proven genuine. He did not ask her for favors, had inquired about her wellbeing and made sure she had what she was owed to her station.

Wylla’s nimble fingers had ensured the tiara was settled in her hair, twists of braids securing the citrine that matched her hair. The Riverlands style was one that she was glad not to give up and she would not have anyone thinking she was anything but the daughter of the rivers, and now a child of Castamere.

Her grandfather had escorted her down to the queen’s party. The king and her brother and uncle were already in the throne room and she could hear and feel the buzzing of growing anticipation as they approached the antechamber. Her hand rested in the crook of her grandfather’s elbow and her fingers spasmed with nerves. His hand found hers and she looked up at him, mouth parted as if to speak. He smiled at her instead.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly, his blue eyes misty and his smile warm. It took Abby aback. She had not seen the Lord Hand smile so openly and honestly. Larys barely smiled and when he did it made her wish to avoid it more often than not. The last man who smiled at her in such openness was her father. “She is here with us and she would be so proud of you.”

“Would she approve of this?” Abby asked softly. It was a silly question, the kind of question a motherless child who could barely remember her own mother asked. She could see the queen through the doorway at the end of the hall, hear Helaena’s laughter echoing along with Daeron’s.

Her grandfather paused and seemed to steel himself. The emotion was plain on his face. The grief was palpable and he did not meet her eyes as he composed himself. “Your mother was in the very fortunate position where I could let her choose who she wanted to marry. She could wait, and find a match that she got along well with. Lord Jason was a possibility, but even if your mother wanted to marry him, I couldn’t let her resign her future to a foppish imbecile like him, Lannister seat or not. She fell in love with your father and he did not demand heirs of her or money or prestige. He simply wanted someone to spend his days with and they found that in one another. That is what your mother wanted for you. A world where you were safe and loved.”

He cupped her cheek and Abby lifted her hand to hold his, feeling her own tears threaten. “The future has one certainty and there will be hard choices to make. Know that your family stands behind you, and that you may be a Riverlands girl, but there is a lion inside of you. They say in the north wolf packs survive together. You are part of a pride and are just as fierce. Dragons could not take the Westerlands and fire cannot burn the rivers.”

“He won’t burn me,” Abby said softly. “I trust him. I… care for him. I want him, not for a title, not for whatever the future may bring. I simply want him and he wants me and we just want to be happy. I think we can make each other happy, Grandfather.”

“Good,” he said and dropped his hand. “Then should the Stranger take me this night, it will be knowing you will be happy.” He gave her a watery laugh, amusement on his face. “And should he mistreat you, then I will haunt him to madness.”

When they entered the antechamber, Lord Rodrik pressed a kiss to her hand and went to join the rest of the gathering in the throne room. Helaena was in conversation with Daeron, and Aegon…

Aegon turned to look at her upon her entrance and his face went slack. She blushed, smoothing her hands over her gown, watching as the candlelight shimmered over the green and blue layers of the skirt, the fabric diaphanous, like currents of water around her legs. Her fingers found the golden dragons embroidered over her waist, intermingling with the glittering red weirwood leaves, worrying at the material. Her slippers were as gold as the dragons on her bodice, peaking out beneath her hem as she closed the distance between them. Aegon reached for her and she slid her hand into his and watched the smile spread slowly across his face.

‘I think we can make each other happy.’

Abby was not meant to be on Aegon’s arm as they entered the feast. He should have been escorting his mother as protocol dictated since King Viserys had entered the feast already. It was a heady feeling to know Aegon would not let her go, even as he was forced to drop her hand so she could tuck hers into the crook of his arm. A thrill that continued down her spine and coiled in her belly with the rest of the bursting butterflies dancing inside that gave her the strength to tilt her chin up as all her lessons instructed her to do. The perfect posture, the perfect gait all came rushing to her in a way that she finally understood why it mattered.

The pride that she felt wasn’t about being Queen Alicent’s pet project, or even that she had somehow snagged a prince for a betrothed. She was Lady Abrogail, heir to Harrenhal, the legacy of her mother’s fierceness and her father’s wisdom. As they walked behind the queen and Lord Otto, Abby squeezed her hand along Aegon’s bicep. She was the daughter of the Riverlands, and Aegon was lucky to have her, for there were many others that she could be with.

He looked at her with clear and bright eyes, the lilac full of mirth in a way she hadn’t seen from him in so long, and there were broad smile lines around his mouth, the flash of white teeth as he grinned at her. His hair was freshly washed, the silver curls gleaming gold in the sea of candleglow. His doublet was new as well - a fine, black silk brocade with a pattern woven in that evoked a shimmer of dragon scales. Golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads gleamed down the center. The seams were piped with red silk, and red silk trim embroidered with golden dragons wrapped around from the center and over his back. The same embroidered trim encircled his sleeves, which were slashed open along the back of his arms from bicep to the buttoned cuffs, the Targaryen red brocade of his shirt beneath poking through.

For the first time, he wore a crown upon his brow. It was a hammered circlet of gold that rested gently around his head, interspersed with seven circles stamped with dragons. Before the realm, he truly looked like the prince that he was.

A son who was celebrated by his parents.

She was lucky to have him. Let them see it. Let Queen Alicent see how brightly they made one another smile when they got to choose one another. Let them see she was not beholden to The High Tower, or to the Targaryens, or to anyone. Let them see that for all they may want to whisper about machinations and intrigue, she wanted him, and he wanted her.

Abby curtsied deeply before the king before they took their seats. Aegon was on his father’s left hand - the place of honor for the evening, and she was beside him. ‘How lucky we are’, came the thought again. She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until Aegon’s grin widened into a beaming smile, his eyes crinkling with his own joy.

This was how the past weeks should have been. This is what the welcoming feast to Lord Tully and his party should have showcased: the two of them united, happy now, even as they set out to figure out what their marriage would be, what it would look like. There was enough time for that.

“You know, people like us don’t marry for love often,” Wylla had said, words that had stuck to her ribs.

The queen, her brother, and her uncle did not care for her and Aegon’s happiness, that much was startlingly clear to Abby. They had not come together in this betrothal by choice, but beneath the heart tree, they had made a promise. They had made their choice.

As her elder sister, Corynna, and her husband, Erwin Lannister sat beside her, Abby wished for the comfort of Wylla and Heleana at her side. The latter was at the other end of the table, and Abby’s gaze sought the friendly face of the young woman at the table below.

Wylla sat with Uncle Simon and Aunt Mya, looking striking in her black velvet gown. It was cut in the southern style, the neckline edged in white and silver cut across the line of her shoulders, her raven hair twisted into three rope braids woven with white ribbon and strung with pearls. She looked like a dream, Abby thought. A maiden of winter with all her pale skin and dark hair; striking in a way that many other women were not and Wylla wore it well. Harrion was beside her, his head inclined toward a lovely, red haired woman beside him. Wylla had said that his betrothed, Lady Alys Bracken, had only just arrived. She was so slight next to the northman’s bulk, her smile soft, eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed at something he said.

Wylla caught her eye and sent her a warm, reassuring smile that Abby returned with a little wave, uncaring of decorum at the moment with how shaky her nerves were starting to get now that everyone was staring up at her. Her dear friend had not shied about her own discomfort in crowds, declaring her own relief that she was not the one who would be center of attention in her teasing, sharp yet fond way.

A harsh pinch against her left arm made Abby jump and she turned sharply to look at her sister, who was smiling serenely as if nothing was amiss. “Stop it, you’re behaving like a child,” she hissed behind a gritted smile. “I’ll not have you shame me.”

“If returning a kind gesture and a greeting to someone across the room is childish, then I cannot imagine you have many friends, Corynna, that do not cling to your skirts.” She smiled at her sister, whose saccharine falseness turned quickly to annoyance. “Do mind yourself, Cory. You are not my mother, nor my guardian.”

She caught the sidelong glance Aegon gave her and she felt his warm hand on hers, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles. Abby felt the spray of heat along her throat, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from biting at her lip and being too obvious. He kept hold of her hand, thumb running lightly along her knuckles in familiar reassurance, and leaned in to speak softly against her ear.

“Lady Abrogail, if that’s the kind of behavior you plan on keeping up, as your husband, it shall be my duty to discipline you for such talk.”

Abby’s mouth went dry, her flush deepening and she glanced up at him, demure beneath her lashes. “Prince Aegon, you get ahead of yourself. I am the image of propriety.” He smirked and they both drew back. Abby reached for her goblet to calm the different sort of butterflies fluttering through her stomach now.

The echo of a staff cracking against the stone floor of the hall reverberated through the hall and all fell silent as the king rose, the queen beside him in what was meant to be a show of unity. But Abby knew that she was there to steady him so he did not have to rely on his cane. The black, red, and gold robe he wore nearly swallowed him whole, and she wondered how heavy it was for him.

Beside him, Alicent Hightower wore the colors of her house instead of a glow of green. She was as regal as Abby had ever seen, in a storm gray damask gown with white flame embroidery along her neck and shoulders. A cape of gray silk felt about her and the gray sleeves of her gown hugged her arms until they flared out at her forearms to bell around her wrists. Her auburn hair was twisted back on the sides of her head before coming to a single twisted braid down her back. Upon her head rested her crown of state. It was a gold circlet with seven points of golden flame rising from it and in the center flame was a blood red ruby that matched the gold and ruby earrings dangling beneath her hair.

“Be welcome,” the king said. His voice had rarely been a strong one, but he had found the strength behind it to let the words carry now. “It is good to see so many happy faces here, as we come together to celebrate my son, Prince Aegon’s nameday.” He turned his head to look down at Aegon with a nod and a gap toothed smile that, while fleeting, was genuine. The people clapped, thumps on tables shaking the cutlery, and Abby grinned at him. Aegon looked taken aback by the well tidings, the shouts of wishes for good health and good fortune. The hand that he had rested on her knee tightened and Aegon straightened in his seat, smiling back and giving a wave of thanks as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

The King continued, “The Queen and I also honor House Strong this night. Since my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, landed upon these shores, the Strongs have been a leal and loyal house. Ser Osmund Strong himself was the longest serving Hand, and through the decades, this family has proved themselves time and again, their fealty to the throne and their dedication to the realm. It is why upon the passing of the beloved Princess Rhaena, that my grandfather, King Jaehaerys, bestowed the great Harrenhal to House Strong. It is this dedication that before he passed, our late Lord Lyonel Strong, the Seven keep him, agreed to a proposal. We welcome you all to celebrate with House Targaryen and House Strong as I announce the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon, to the Lady Abrogail Strong, and their investiture as the future Lord and Lady of Harrenhal, under the wise and clement eye of Grover Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

The whispers of the betrothal had already snaked their way through the keep over the past weeks. First the servants gossip, then the unofficial talks among the lords who had, by now, sent ravens back home to their holdings in the Riverlands. It was news that had passed naturally among the realm, and while Abby did not see any surprised faces, the cheers that roared up took her by surprise. The slamming fists on the tables, the clapping, the shouts of well wishes and even some crass remarks was not at all what she had expected. She felt her cheeks burn and the flush of it snake across all the exposed skin of her gown. She yearned for the coverings of her linen gowns so none could see how red she had turned at the attention.

Yet, Abby did nothing to hide how large her smile was, so wide it nearly hurt. She met Aegon’s eyes, his own grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she never, ever wanted to see him frown again if this was how bright his smile could be. He then looked at the crowd and she followed suit, waving at the smiling faces, blowing a kiss of thanks to all. She did not startle when Aegon lifted his hand from her knee to tuck beneath the fall of her curls and rest along the back of her neck in a possessive gesture that made her belly roil with heat. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw that his bright smile had set into something darker, more firm.

The feast began, servants coming out of the shadows. Trenchers of roast pork in red wine and plum sauce were placed before them, steaming with scents of ginger and cinnamon. Shrimp cooked in fennel and white wine steamed from large platters, boiled eggs cut and stuffed with fragrant cheese and herbs nestled among salads of other fresh herbs and greens. Abby gasped, admiring the hollowed out Stormland lemons with glistening pieces of Dornish blood oranges and lemon sticky with sugar dotted the table in pops of bright, delectable color.

Aegon was eagerly filling his plate with the roast pork he so adored, and she reached for one of the sour orange treats, popping a sticky piece of fruit into her mouth and hoping it calmed the knot of nerves that were growing insistently.

“They certainly spared no expense,” Corynna’s voice was soft at her side. Abby glanced over at her sister who was commenting on the wine being poured to her husband. Her sister was as beautiful as she was sharp, resplendent in the colors of House Lannister, a ruby red gown that set off her golden skin, and an overdress of golden silk. Her brunette curls were tamed and pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, encased in a jeweled net of gold and rubies, a heavy lion pendant hanging from her throat. She decided not to engage with her sister’s low commentary, for it was exactly what she wanted, and instead busied herself on the treat in front of her.

“Here.” Abby glanced at Aegon, who held his fork up with a piece of pork. She opened her mouth to decline, and he popped the piece in with that dangerous smirk flashing across his mouth before going back to his food. It was good, the spark of ginger cutting through the sweetness of the plum. It had also served to get her mind off the fact that they were eating at the head table, and she let her gaze drift, ignoring her sister’s tut of disapproval.

Abby caught Baela looking at them curiously. She was beautiful that evening in the colors of her mother’s house. The aquamarine gown was cut in the Pentoshi style like the previous one she wore to their family dinner, with a deep v cut into the bodice and the layers of fabric pinned like a chiton at her shoulders. On her head she wore a silver tiara shaped into the heads of seahorses with matching gemstones for their eyes. Abby gave the princess a small smile. “You look lovely tonight, Princess. I am truly glad to have you here and I look forward to us getting to know one another.”

Baela’s violet eyes narrowed somewhat at being addressed, and Abby felt Aegon shift beside her as he honed in on the conversation. “May your futures be bright and happy, Lady Abrogail. Cousin.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Aegon replied with his tight smile. “Perhaps it will be your nuptials we’ll be celebrating next.” The words were friendly, at least somewhat so. Abby suppressed a sigh, but knew it was at least a small win. Baela did not seem to mind sitting next to Daeron, for the pair of them had fallen into a discussion about their dragons and how Tessarion had fared in Oldtown. “I heard Mother wondering if her and Jace will wed next.”

Jacaerys.

Abby chanced another look at the incredibly awkward end of the table. There was the queen, then Lord Otto, then Larys, and then… Aemond, Helaena, and Jace. The three of them were utterly silent, like mimes in a play, and it was hard to tell what made it worse: the fact that Aemond and Jace had ended up wearing near matching doublets that evening, or the sapphire sun that was Helaena between them.

Aemond and Jace and Baela should have been separated, but Jace could not sit next to her, for the rumors that would cause and so poor Helaena was stuck as the wall to separate them.

She looked every inch the beautiful princess from a song. Her silver hair hung loose and free down her back with four braids keeping her hair from her face. The twists wound themselves into the silver tiara she wore, the sapphires winking out like stars from the woven metal strands that took the place of her usual braid. Her gown was diaphanous silk, her shoulders bared. The sleeves were a light blue and the sheer fabric hugged her arms. The gown went from a lovely sky blue to a deeper shade of twilight along the hem, and the silver embroidery evoked silver flames dancing across the gown. She wore the colors of Dreamfyre, dragonrider that she was, the princess of House Targaryen that did not need to evoke her house colors to state her place in the world.

The look on her face was blank and somewhat wide-eyed, focused on the shrimp in front of her. Abby’s heart ached, wanting to go to her and get her out of the situation she was in, but there was nothing for it. Helaena already grew anxious with crowds and she didn’t need the extra stress of being caught between two petulant looking boys.

Jace tilted his head towards her, saying something that drew a small smile from Helaena, and the knot of worry eased slightly.

The course was cleared away, the minstrels along the side gallery merrily playing songs from each of the realms present there today. Currently it was a Westerlands tune, fewer drums than the melodies of the Crownlands, and Abby caught Lord Tyland’s head bobbing to the music from his place at his twin brother’s side.

The next course was brought out and it was the largest pie Abby had ever seen, along with pottage of wild hare and cabbage, roasted lamb smelling of caraway and fennel and thyme. There was roasted chicken in orange glaze. Her gaze returned to the pie. It was as big as a wagon wheel, the pastry crust browned and caramelized and surrounded by many smaller pies like a crown. The crusts were slivered all around and gilt in gold along the top, and she could smell the saffron and cloves. They were stuffed to the bursting with more eggs and mixed meats and smelled delicious, but Abby’s stomach was knotted with nerves combined with the heady twist of arousal that pulsed every time Aegon’s knee bumped hers, or the way he’d tap his fingers upon her wrist to make sure she was alright.

Aegon inclined his head towards her, waving the servant away and pushing his plate between them. “You’re not eating. We’ll share.” He even pressed his goblet into her hand, taking hers and sipping from it in such an intimate gesture that Abby’s nerves were utterly forgotten about in that moment. She took a sip from his goblet, unsure of what to say. Aegon raised an eyebrow at her. “Eat,” he ordered and she knocked her slippered foot against his boot.

“You’re eating enough for the both of us, Prince. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you.” His appetite was a voracious one, and the plate he’d pushed between them had already started inching back towards him. She stabbed a piece of meat and gave him a look as she ate. He looked only somewhat abashed and popped a piece of crust in his mouth, licking juice from his fingers. She was reminded of the lakeside picnic, and the way his lips felt against her fingers while she fed him, the blushing heat as he fed her cakes in return and the kisses shared.

It must have shown on her face because a wicked gleam flashed across his eyes, gaze drifting to the low neckline of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A voracious appetite indeed. He laughed when she busied herself with her goblet.

“Everyone is staring,” she whispered, unsure if she was chastising him or reminding him. Aegon’s gaze raked along the bare expanse of her shoulders, his hand twitching along his stolen goblet as if he was keeping himself from reaching for her again.

“Of course they are, hunītsos. Let them. Let them see how happy you look.” His gaze grew uncertain for a moment and she understood what words he held back.

“How happy you make me,” she offered softly. It was finally Aegon’s turn to blush, the expression uncharacteristically shy, and Abby could not help but lean over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Satisfaction was bright in her chest when his blush deepened before his own satisfaction crossed his features.

Let them witness. Let Edmund Vance and whatever moody River Lord conspired against them see that Aegon was hers, claimed by the rivers.

“Prince Aegon,” Erwin called halfway through the following course - mutton and stag and boar drenched in plum and wine sauces, brown sauces, and surrounded with dates and figs. The youngest Lannister brother was a gleaming gold lion, square faced with bright green eyes. He was not lanky as Lord Tyland nor as haughty as Lord Jason. He was a third son, bred for battle, and while he did not appear to cross swords with her sister, Abby wondered if that was a battle he had no desire to engage in. “I hear you’ll be participating in the melee on the morrow. Do you wield a morning star like Ser Criston, then? Or perhaps a battle ax?”

Corynna tutted, leaning back with exaggeration so her husband might speak. “It was only a matter of time before we talked swords.”

“The Prince is admirable with his sword skills, Erwin,” Abby piped up proudly before Aegon could speak, her turn to boast of him as he had done for her.

Aegon’s hand rested along the back of her chair as he leaned over with a grin on his face. “Some could say. It’ll either come down to skill or my lady’s favor, should she grant me. Mayhaps I’ll have the good fortune of meeting you in the ring?”

“Everyone knows the joust is where one proves themselves,” Baela cut in.

“Prince Daemon was quite impressive with his blade in the last tourney I saw him in, just as he was with a lance,” Erwin said with ease and a smile. “All the bouts require their own skills and strength.”

The conversation of the small tourney for tomorrow kept on, with Daeron joining in. Abby ignored her sister’s displeased muttering and her husband did as well. Perhaps that’s how the peace was kept in their household.

As the dessert course came out, those in attendance began to move about the room. No doubt they were eager to speak of the confirmation of what had been announced, judging by all the gazes that flitted in their direction. There were her favorite strawberry and cream cakes just out of reach, but she found that she had no appetite for the rich confection with the nervous energy building. Instead, she snagged a piece of marchpane dragon off Aegon’s piled plate of treats. He playfully snapped at her as if he was going to bite at her hand before handing her a marchpane crown without comment.

She leaned towards Aegon, brushing his ear and delighting in how he shivered at the contact. Her fingers tapped against his arm. “I’m going to speak to Wylla.”

He reached up to snatch at her wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. Don’t leave me alone next to him, she knew he was asking. Abby shook her head.

“We have to mingle, Aeg, We can’t sit up here all night.” He rolled his eyes and Abby tutted. “Go rescue Helaena.”

Aegon glanced down at the miserable end of the table and they spied Gwayne having come up, a hand braced on Aemond’s shoulder as he spoke to Larys and his father. “I’m surprised Aemond hasn’t stabbed him yet,” Aegon muttered and gave a nod. “Is this to be our duty now, my lady?”

Abby scrunched her face up in amusement and took his offered hand to rise from her chair. “Aye, it shall be, my lord. Save me a dance.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and they parted, Aegon going to join his uncle and siblings at the end of the table. She tilted her head, admiring him as he walked from her before heading towards Baela.

When Abby looked at Baela, she was reminded by the statue of Visenya that Aemond favored so in the gardens, or the tapestries that hung in the upper levels of the gallery: women who rode the skies with braids twisted into their long hair, the fierce and determined looks on their faces showing their command of the world. Targaryens were the closest one came to gods in Westeros. This fact Abby had grown with all her life. Everyone in Westeros did. She saw how the smallfolk clamored for the affections and attentions of the dragonriders during parades, the furrowed brows of the septons who disliked the competition to the Seven.

“Princess,” Abby gave the other a bright, welcoming smile. “Come with me, I have someone to properly introduce you to.” There was deference in her tone that Baela was owed, but Abby also clung to the reminder that she was to be a princess too. They would be equals in a few months, and the Queen wanted her to grow accustomed to this fact.

Baela, her lovely, violet eyes narrowed in her direction, seemed to have other ideas. Abby had asked Helaena the other evening what it was that Baela had said in Valyrian, and the princess had only said that she should not worry, for she did not believe Baela would speak so carelessly in the future. The other woman held her gaze, assessing in the way Abby was sure her dragon, Moondancer, would assess and Abby swallowed past the lump of nerves beneath the gaze. She realized after a moment that it was one of uncertainty. It had initially felt hostile - which considering whatever Valyrian she’d spoken upon arrival had been clearly hostile, it made sense - but it had also become clear that the princess was uncomfortable and therefore more judgemental, Abby thought, than she might normally be. At least, Abby hoped that was the case.

“You have people to introduce me to, Lady Abrogail?” The disdain was not obvious, and Abby wondered if this was what it meant to be unaccepted by the Valyrians. The family had kept to themselves since the landing. She had studied the Targaryen family tree in her studies and knew how rarely they married out of the houses. ‘The blood of the dragon must remain pure’, was stated when they’d learned about the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allowed the practice of incest, and outlawed the multiple wives that The Conqueror and King Maegor had taken.

Would Aegon have wanted multiple wives? Would he have wanted someone more Valyrian to make him feel closer to his heritage? The curious thought flitted through her mind, and Abby felt a stab of jealousy at the idea of such a scenario, along with an uncertainty she couldn’t quite identify, but similar to the feeling of otherness that she found herself experiencing among the company of the other Riverlanders.

“I do. I hope, very much so, that your time here in the capital will be as comfortable as possible. I understand that it must be quite the change from Dragonstone, and the company of the rest of your siblings.” Baela said nothing at first, lips pressed in a thin line before looking down the table. Abby followed her gaze.

Jace and Helaena had a series of tarts and other confections in front of them, and Helaena was laughing brightly at the marchpane tentacles rising from a plum tart. Jace plucked one of them, slathered in cream to take a bite, offering the piece to Helaena who shook her head in amusement and reached for one of the candied lemons.

Aegon had pulled his brother away with a firm grip on his shoulder and the pair of them had headed towards the floor, goblets in hand with heads bowed towards each other. They were accompanied by some of the other young men at court; the Fossoway boys, Ser Leo Costayne, brother to Lord Owen, and their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, heir to the Oldtown seat.

Ser Leo was the eldest at over twenty, his almond eyes from his mother’s Lyseni heritage striking with the silver hair of Valyria that spread across the empire. He had already earned the title of The Sea Lion, the West taking pride in their own fierce seafarer as House Velaryon did with The Sea Snake, Lord Corlys. Little Floris had found him handsome, blushing when her avid gaze had been pointed out by Helaena. Abby had found herself readily agreeing.

At four and ten, Lyonel was as tall as Aemond with the promise to be taller, with the same cut cheekbones Abby could see was a Hightower feature, while Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena shared the soft roundness of their Reyne mother. His skin was swarthy from his Dondarrion mother, a contrast with his lighter brown hair. Her eyes drifted to the group of ladies, colors of the Reach and Westerlands in their clothes, and how they clearly were eyeing Prince Aemond, who was doing his best to pretend to be above it.

Far better for their attention than that of Cassandra Baratheon, who was stoically sitting by her heavy set father, face flushed with wine and quietly hissing at his eldest daughter. An unbidden pang of sympathy pulsed through Abby’s heart at how unhappy the other woman looked, momentarily overriding her displeasure.

Abby turned her gaze back to Baela, whose own eyes were sweeping the mass of people before them. She wondered if the rumor was true of a possible betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela, the future king and queen of the realm. Dragonriders both, in the Targaryen ways of old like Aegon and his wives, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. She wondered if it had happened already and was simply unannounced, Rhaenyra waiting for the most opportune moment. Or perhaps the pair were simply siblings, mayhaps promises made out of stubborn pride. Would that explain Baela’s disdain for them? Did she see them as interlopers in a place that she considered her birthright by conquest and the Valyrian blood flowing through her?

Baela finally rose, fluid and graceful and confident in all the ways that Abby still found it difficult to be. The other woman stood a few inches taller - not a difficult feat by any means, but Abby was envious of the graceful turn of her neck. She was reminded of the descriptions of Visenya: comfortable in silks as she was in armor. What a sight the other would make upon dragonback with a war cry tearing from her. How confident Baela Targaryen was;in her sense of self, her place in the world, in all that made her Valyrian.

It struck Abby then how she did not feel like a child of the Riverlands no matter what she claimed. It felt as if she were spinning falsehoods into a cloak to shroud herself in, to distract from her own sense of confusion. As they approached the closer table where her Uncle Simon sat with the Brackens, listening to the conversation blend before her in the lilt and familiar cadence of the Riverlands, Abby found herself feeling like an outsider. It had not quite been like this at the welcoming feast those weeks ago, where they spoke the language of the capital. Her mother tongue had been one lost to her over the years since her father died, relegated to the dinner table and bedtime stories, of ephemeral memories of lullabies long sung. To hear Wylla’s own northern brogue share in the words of Old Tongue falling in a similar harmony, panic settled in Abby’s chest to find that she couldn’t quite keep up with the words exchanged.

The panic was frozen when Wylla turned her head, and all at the table gave move to rise and give their courtesies to Princess Baela. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Baela shift a little, felt the whisper of silks brush against her. “This is Lady Wylla Karstark, from Karhold,” Abby introduced, her voice coming out higher than she intended as she forced past the lump in her throat. Wylla rose, nodding to her brother who was also getting up to speak with some of the other lords.

“Princess Baela, I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

Baela inclined her head but said nothing.

“She is my dearest friend and also far from home. Also quite the archer.” Abby reached for things that Baela might find intriguing and welcoming, hoping her instincts weren’t wrong.

Wylla shook her head slightly. “You are too kind, Lady,” she lightly teased with the use of the title.

Baela’s head cocked, the tinkling of the silver charms in her hair soft among the din of the room. “My, all that snow and ice. It’s a wonder you do not melt beneath the dragon’s heat,” Baela said and the challenge was clear in her voice.

Wylla smiled in her sharp way, ever the winter fox. “As a daughter of fire and sea, I would assume you to be well acquainted with contradictions. One must burn hot to survive the cold.”

Baela actually smiled at that and Abby took the chance. “Wylla is a far better archer than I, Princess. I hear you yourself are well acquainted with the bow.” Wylla’s storm gray eyes flitted to her and Abby did everything she could not to shift awkwardly beneath her friend’s gaze. Not in this dress, and not with the sunburst tiara that graced her head. Instead, she grinned back at her. The princess merely glanced back at her before shifting closer to Wylla.

“Do you hunt, Lady Wylla? I hear there’s to be a hunt later this week and I do so miss hawking…”

Abby released a soft breath, pressing a grateful squeeze to Wylla’s shoulder before moving on to her aunt and uncle. Her cousin, Gareth, had stayed behind at Harrenhal, and she had fuzzy memories of her Aunt Mya. The older woman was plump and warm, brushing a soft kiss with a greeting. The din of the throne room grew louder as the meal came to an end, servants dashing between the party goers, removing plates and replacing carafes of wine and small foods for guests to continue to indulge in. The music shifted to a more lively fair and the dance floor quickly filled with eager revelers.

Lythene Ryger of Willow Wood had drawn her into the shy gaggle of maidens who were standing expectantly along the edge of the dance floor, trading glances across the room at the lords and Abby had noticed the looks they’d thrown in Aemond’s direction. Lady Lythene was five and ten, soft featured with honey brown eyes, her strawberry blonde hair woven with strands of river pearls in the common half knot coil that was common in the Riverlands.

“If Lord Yorick were here, none of these men would have a chance to win tomorrow,” Melony Piper said, all dark hair and more freckles than one could count. “My sister says he was the most fearsome knight not so long ago.”

“Psh,” Lythene rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows Ser Gwayne is a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Lord Yorick never leaves Runestone and if he did, Lord Borros would throw a fit.” She looked smug with the knowledge imparted and whatever look on Abby’s face seemed to spur her on. She leaned in. “Lord Yorick is married to Lord Borros’ younger sister with a son of their own. Should Lady Elenda not have a son, it’s said his sister may push one of her son’s claims to Storm’s End.”

As one, their eyes swiveled in the direction of Cassandra Baratheon, perfectly coiffed, and everything the daughter of a Lord Paramount would be. Raven hair wild as storm clouds around her bare shoulders, her golden dress sparkling in the dancing torchlight with an opal the size of Abby’s fist nestled in the hollow of her throat. Abby’s hands twitched, smoothing over the cloud of blue and green silk organza, the golden dragons and weirwood leaves embroidered over her bodice.

A warm hand touched her wrist and Abby met the gentle, honey eyes of Lythene, who smiled up at her. “Tá cuma álainn ort, a bhean,” she said softly while the others tittered. It took Abby a moment to register the words, “you look beautiful, my lady”, and Abby smiled shyly.

“Go raibh maith agat,” she thanked her and Lythene bit her lip as if holding back a chuckle.

“Agat,” she pronounced softly, the inflection different. “A little closer to got, and less like goat.”

Her cheeks burned and she repeated it softly and Lythene took her hand, squeezing it. “I can’t imagine you get to practice with many people here in the South,” she laughed, a tinkling like bells that drew the attention of other men.

“I haven’t. I’m looking forward to getting to speak it more, but I can’t get that sort of practice teaching Aeg- Prince Aegon.”

“You mean he’s actually going to try learning our tongue?” came the aggressive disbelief of Lady Melony. “Targaryens aren’t ones to debase themselves so.”

Lythene opened her mouth but Abby cut in, a frown slashed across her face. “Aegon is a Targaryen and a Hightower, a family that traces their lineage and impact to before the First Men, some say.” She tilted her head, exhaling softly and shook her head. “The Targaryens may be above us due to the gifts of the dragon, but you can be assured that Prince Aegon will take his duties seriously.”

She was reminded of the words Edmund had sneered at her, of how none would trust a dragon coming into the Riverlands and it was foolish to think so. Lythene said nothing, watching her curiously while Melony Piper’s bright green eyes narrowed somewhat, thin mouth pursed. Abby’s grandmother had been a Piper, which made the two of them kin.

Seven and the Old Gods help her if Aegon did not live up to her promise, but Abby trusted that he would. That he would, at the very least, try.

Melony opened her mouth to speak again but murmurs danced through the crowd, attention towards the dance floor. Abby looked over her shoulder in surprise.

Jace led Helaena by the hand to the crowd of dancers as the next song started, fingers touching as they circled around one another. She was a glittering, blue dragon amidst the crowd, hair like mercury as it flowed around her. Helaena loved to dance and the joy was obvious on her soft features, Jace’s own smile a shy one, his broad frame more obvious as he circled around her. Not as tall as Aemond, but Jace would grow taller yet.

“Well,” Melony’s attention had changed. “That’s an interesting development.”

Abby’s eyes instinctively cut to the queen where she sat at the King’s right, a slight furrow to her brow, and the Lord Hand beside her, his attention also on the pair dancing. A fond smile cut across Otto Hightower’s face as Helaena laughed when Jace spun her, and Abby wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.

Helaena looked happy, though, and that was all that mattered.

Abby startled at the feeling of a warm hand stroking against her elbow and Aegon’s laughter was soft as he stroked his fingers down her arm in a way that had goosebumps flaring across her skin. His fingers twined with hers and the ladies around her bobbed curtsies, murmuring My Prince and Your Grace.

“You all look like you’re having so much fun here, but I must steal my betrothed away,” Aegon said, his voice light and amused, in his element as the center of attention and even more dangerous without drink to cloud his senses. Abby felt the heated flush creep along her throat when Aegon tugged her into him. “I promised you a dance, didn’t I, Lady Abrogail?”

Lythene looked amused, Melony uncertain and Abby turned under Aegon’s arm so that she was facing him. “You did, my Prince. Thank you for the conversation, Lady Lythene, Lady Melony,” she thanked as Aegon began tugging her away. “It was good to meet you.”

Everything else drifted away when Aegon pulled her into his arms. The contrast to the last time they’d danced together was palpable. There was no anger between them, no confusion, no fear. He twirled her as he drew her into the space as if he were showing her off, her skirt flaring around her, rippling greens and blues like the rivers of her home, the candlelight glimmering along the golden threaded dragons on her gown, and the citrine bursts along her tiara. When Aegon pulled her into him, she could feel the heat of his body barely pressed against her, the flush of it coursing through her with every hammering beat of her heart.

“I wish we were somewhere more quiet,” Abby murmured to him as they turned around one another, clapping their hands before reaching for each other again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Aemond tugging Wylla on the floor, her friend caught between surprise and a pleased flush along her cheeks. Abby would have to tease her later, in return for how merciless Wylla had teased her.

“Do you?” Aegon asked, grinning at her, eyes full of heat. “We could, you know. It is my nameday.”

“We’ll be caught, and I’d rather your mother not find us,” she chuckled, spinning away from him to turn around Lord Tyland, who smiled down at her indulgently while Aegon politely moved around Lady Johanna Westerling, Tyland’s goodsister and dance partner. Her gaze kept pulling back to Aegon whenever they were separated in the dances, and when they came back together, there was an ache in her chest that she could not identify. Relief? Want? Longing?

Everything?

“Remind me to get you a map of the tunnels,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple and she couldn’t help the bubbling of giggles that escaped her. Aegon looked incredibly pleased with himself, and as the next song started, he pulled her closer to him, hands possessive on her hips as he lifted her in the air and spun her around.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Then it clicked. “What, so I can sneak to your room?”

Aegon winked at her. “Clever girl.”

“I try.”

As Abby turned, her eyes caught on the furious, dark gaze of Edmund Vance across the hall, accompanied by Lord Piper and some of the other River Lords. Abby blanched, the joy she had felt abating like water on a fire at the ugly look in his eyes. So distracted, she was, that she stumbled her steps of the complicated dance, nearly falling had Aegon not pulled her to him in time. She saw his gaze follow hers, his own smile morphing into a hard look.

“I’ve taken care of it.” Abby didn’t understand, trying to find the steps again without ruining the entire dance, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Aegon’s hand brushed soothing along her arm, his other hand warm on her waist and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Focus on me, eyes on me, hunītsos.” His voice was gentle and firm all at once, quiet and earnest and Abby focused on the sound of it, her gaze finding his, softened now. “Aemond saved me from making a scene, but I’ve handled it.” He tilted his head. “I don’t need to take his hands.”

Abby struggled to find words, a strange and unfamiliar thrill coursing through her that she could not examine too closely in the moment. “And what have you decided to take instead?”

As the dance came to a close, Aegon reached up to cup the softness of her cheek, tilting her head back with his thumb on her lower lip. He leaned in, mouth brushing against hers, and the vow he made was full of promise.

“His pride,” he murmured, and kissed her in front of the realm to seal it.

What was your favorite moment of the chapter? What's something you're looking forward to? Any fun theories!? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you're enjoying about Maiden and any curiosities you might have! And if you're not sure what to say, just a kind reblog with a heart or something would be lovely <3

[Chapter Fifteen]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby #my fics

[valaglarios]

rough drifter timeline/Fun Facts post about them and also a link compilation for myself so i can keep my inane thoughts about them in one place

the "original" drifter/alternate universe operator died on the zariman. drifter as we see them in duviri is a figment of their imagination borne out of their desire that they were strong enough to protect their loved ones on the zariman, which they then projected onto the "hero" from the actual tales of duviri book. more on that here, in the last pargraph; here; and here

drifter comes into existence and the inner conflict between their partial identity as both an extension of a real person and as a storybook character means that they have a huge identity crisis. having no memory of what their "place" in duviri is or where in the "real world" they came from, they just kind of start to ignore/block out all the freaky "dreams"/memories they have but can't make sense of. their identity as a "real" person sort of melts away and they become a living archetype like other duviri characters. thrax, absolutely shit scared of them discovering that they're The Hero who's supposed to "save" duviri from him, takes advantage of this to be like "don't you remember?? you're one of my courtiers!! haha please don't usurp me"

i think brimon still exists in this version of duviri -- there's no reason why there can't be more than one avatar of pride -- but where brimon embodies the sort of surface-level pride where, like, yeah he's a braggart and kind of obnoxious but that's really it, drifter is, as The Hero, that sort of "heroic" pride that's actually really isolating and self-destructive. they don't necessarily view themself as being above or inherently better than others -- instead they're an avid perfectionist, every little mistake they make eats away at them, they're adamant about doing everything Alone and they will refuse any semblance of help if it means literal death. this is what keeps them from accepting teshin's help for a long time, and finally learning that they do actually do need help and that they're not Bad for it is the first step in helping them break their spiral and become capable of growth

they're aware that it's weird that they're not blue (da ba dee) and will hide it while in public with makeup/just keeping their skin covered but they aren't remotely inclined to examine Why they're so weird. thrax uses this to emphasize that they need to stick together bc they're both weirdos

thrax in general is desperate to have drifter stick with him because 1) He Needs Control and knows that if anyone can take that from him, it's them, and 2) he recognizes that they're opposite sides of the same coin, that they're both extensions of the child who died on the zariman, and they're the only person he has left that he feels he can actually trust and relate to. i've discussed before that i think he feels responsible for drifter's happiness -- he's The Inner Child to drifter's Maladjusted Adult, he's the embodiment of the coping mechanisms they formed as a scared kid, and the idea of not being able to keep drifter happy, that they don't need him anymore and would do better without him, scares the fuck out of him. maybe i'll compile that whole rant in another post lol

also this

so thrax affords drifter a lot of dignity that he doesn't really give his other courtiers. he views them as more or less an equal while he considers the other courtiers as clearly beneath him/them.

drifter's role is basically to be his PR agent. this isn't explored a lot in canon, but i do envision that most of the courtiers had/have roles beyond just entertaining thrax: lodun, of course, is in charge of duviri's military force & is basically a cop; mathila, in this duviri, is his advisor for "peasant business" (keeps tabs on her island's trade & economy/crop yields/use of the land, organizes their tribute, etc); and drifter is a spy of sorts who does a number of odd jobs like political assassinations, doing a lot of propaganda work/damage control for thrax, stemming discontent among the peasantry before lodun has to come in and put the boot down, stuff like that. they're also sort of a supervisor to the other courtiers and keeps them all on track, enforces deadlines, etc.

i think drifter thinks that they're genuinely Doing Good in their job. at the end of the day, they're an embodiment of pride, and they're not going to admit to potentially being wrong easily. i think their rationale is that they do a lot of "little" harms (poisoning one or two malcontents) to prevent "big" harms from happening (thrax getting pissed and sending a wyrm in to destroy an entire island and everyone on it). i think they have a lot of love for the kingdom and believe that thrax does too. also, like, who else could they possibly install as monarch??? lodun??? absolutely fucking not.

i talked about this extensively in another post but drifter Does Not Fucking Like lodun. however they do end up befriending mathila, who is the only person in all of duviri who tolerates lodun, and i'm obsessed with the idea of mathila scruffing them both like they're kittens and putting them in a room together and telling them that they have to get along now Or Else.

and it works.

pretty much everything that happens in-game still applies to them... i haven't sorted out the rest of the stuff that leads up to the duviri paradox but obviously at some point they find out that thrax has been lying to them about Everything the whole time and they're like "hey what the fuck dude" and ditch him, and after a lot of bargaining to try to get them back thrax gets pissed and starts hunting them down. etc etc etc.

i think they probably actually spend a lot of time in duviri after the events of paradox bc like... that's their home and also they recognize that they owe it to the citizens to help build a better place to live, and help thrax grow, etc. a bit on that here

idc what DE says, drifter adopts thrax with their wife hombask and everyone in duviri gets to come live on the zariman before the void consumes them all and they all live happily ever after

a lil more about drifter and hombask here and here

#wfblogging #drifterblogging