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#His father had to marry his mother to rule but she died in childbirth and his father ruled the rest of the time alone

drakaripykiros130ac · 20 days

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“Rhaenyra and Alicent are the same. They are both greedy, selfish women who fight for the throne.”

No, they’re not. They are not the same.

Rhaenyra Targaryen was a very happy child (up until her mother died, at least).

All she ever wanted was to live her princess life, marry the love of her life and ride her dragon, Syrax.

Rhaenyra never cared about the Iron Throne. She was more than okay with her mother giving her a little brother who would shoulder the responsibility.

But everything changed when Viserys chose her as his heir. That meant the world to Rhaenyra. Imagine being the first princess in history chosen by your father to succeed him. That has never happened before. It gave her a sense of worth, of purpose, which she adored.

And then for the first time in history, the lords of the Realm presented themselves in front of a princess and swore to uphold her claim.

In that moment, it was as if Rhaenyra herself had sworn an oath to the Realm, to be their future Queen. She took on the responsibility, and sat beside her father at Court, learning everything about politicking. She then moved to Dragonstone when she was sixteen and learned to govern.

Rhaenyra was willing to give up on her dreams so she could make her father proud, so she could take on the responsibility and lead her House. And that’s just what she did. She spent years preparing to rule. She had to endure a marriage to someone like Laenor Velaryon (the ultimate challenge: have children with a man of a different sexual preference, and who is also unwilling to bed you, at a time when the whole Realm expects you to produce heirs).

And then…to have all that she was promised taken away from her.

I would rage.

To have sacrificed all these years of my life, to have endured childbirth for the sake of the Realm despite knowing that my own mother died in childbirth, to have to deal with greedy and backstabbing people all on my own…all that for nothing.

Rhaenyra didn’t covet the throne. She never wanted it, but it was promised to her. And for all she had sacrificed, she would be damned if she let her abusive stepmother and her worthless, lazy spawns take away what she worked hard for.

Alicent Hightower, on the other hand, was an upstart from the beginning. Being the daughter of a second son who had no fortune of his own, she couldn’t have expected to have too many prospects. She therefore slithered her way in Court life with the help of her father, became a lady in waiting and bid her time until the moment came to seduce the King and take the crown. She became the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, the Queen. She was given privileges which she abused, her children were well taken care of and lacked for nothing (and they rarely appreciated it).

But this was not enough for Alicent (or Otto). She wanted more. She was greedy. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than having her own blood on the throne, and she committed high treason to make that happen. A decision which destroyed her family.

So, no, the stories of these two women are not the same.

Rhaenyra fought for the oaths which had been sworn to her, for her father’s wish.

Alicent fought for her own selfish desires.

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une-sanz-pluis · 5 months

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Philippa of England, Queen of Norway, Denmark and Sweden

Philippa of England was the youngest daughter and last child of Henry of Lancaster and Mary de Bohun, Earl and Countess of Derby, and was born on, or shortly before, 1 July 1394, when her mother died from complications in childbirth. Little is known of Philippa’s early childhood but when her father usurped the throne in 1399, becoming Henry IV, her future changed dramatically. No longer the youngest daughter of an earl, she was now a princess.

The new king almost immediately began searching for marriage alliances for his two daughters. 1401 saw Henry enter into marriage negotiations with Margrete of Denmark for Philippa to marry Margrete’s adoptive son and heir, Erik of Pomerania. Like Henry, Margrete was hoping for an alliance to strengthen her domestic position and that of the fledgling Kalmar Union of Norway, Denmark and Sweden. It wasn’t until 1405 that the marriage was formally agreed upon and in December, Philippa was proclaimed Queen of Norway, Denmark and Sweden. In August 1406, the 12-year-old Philippa sailed from England in August 1406. She married Erik at the cathedral of Lund, and her coronation soon followed. Famously, Philippa is the first documented European princess to wear white at her wedding.

She spent the next three years at Kalmar Castle in Sweden, the first year under the guidance of Katarina Knutsdotter (the granddaughter of Saint Birgitta of Sweden), and probably owing in no small part to her youth, Philippa remained in the sidelines of rule until Margrete’s death in 1412. She retained close ties to Sweden, serving as Erik’s de facto regent there, and was the only queen of the Kalmar Union to ever achieve popularity in Sweden. Of particular note is her patronage of Vadstenna Abbey, the motherhouse of the Bridgettine Order. She often stayed there when in Sweden, was a generous patron, and petitioned the pope multiple times on the Order's behalf, even enlisting the support of her brother, Henry V of England. In 1425, Philippa donated a choir dedicated to St. Anne, where she was later buried. This may have had particular significance for Philippa, as she had no surviving children..

Philippa was deeply involved in the rule of all three kingdoms of the Kalmar Union. In 1420, demonstrating Erik’s trust in her, it was decided that she would serve as regent to his heir, Bogislaw of Pomerania, should the marriage remain childless, and her widow’s pension would effectively give her a ‘queendom’ in Sweden. In 1423, Erik went on pilgrimage and Philippa served as his regent, with all power that entailed, until his return in 1425. She also obtained the resources and support Erik needed for his war against the Hanseatic League. Indeed, it was Philippa who organised the defence of Copenhagen against the bombardment of the Hanseatic League in 1428 to great acclaim.

In late 1429, Philippa, apparently in good health, travelled to Sweden to secure further support for the war against the Hanseatic League. She was staying in Vadstena Abbey when she fell seriously ill and died on the night of 5 and 6 January 1430, possibly following a stillbirth. Philippa was remembered almost universally favourably, a reputation that was surely deserved.

Sources: Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS Lat. 17294), "Filippa, drottning", Svenskt kvinnobiografiskt lexikon (article by Charlotte Cederbom), Steinar Imsen, “Late Medieval Scandinavian Queenship”. Queens and Queenship in Medieval Europe, Mary Anne Everett Green, Lives of the princesses of England from the Norman conquest, Vol 3.

#philippa of england #edits #on this day #historyedit #henry iv #henry v #medieval scandinavia #kalmar union

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luneengene2 · 3 months

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MY HEIR IS STILL MY HEIR (Ethan Lee)

• Warnings : ANGST, Mention of death due to childbirth, misogyny (?), patriarchy, Grammatical errors

• A/N : This story is not a story about Character x Reader, but rather character's love for his daughter.

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Ethan glared at his mother and father because they dared to say the word he hated so much. Married again. Yes, Ethan really hates those words.

Since the death of his wife due to giving birth to their only daughter, Ethan has found it difficult to recover from this bitter reality. In fact, he didn't want to see his daughter, who had just been born at that time, for a whole month. However, with unwavering strength, Ethan slowly began to accept the wound. He took care of his daughter, raised her with love, looked after her with all his might. He didn't want to lose his gems again. He promised his late wife to always look after their baby. In fact, he was determined never to marry again. He just wanted to focus on taking care of his daughter and his duties as crown prince.

However, his parents, who really wanted a grandson, always made him angry. They insisted that their daughter would never be fit to be Queen. For his parents, this kingdom still needs a man as King when Ethan dies, Queen Ruler for them sounds strange and doesn't suit them.

"Haven't I said for eighteen years that I don't want to marry again, Your Majesty the King and Queen? Or have you forgotten about that?" Ethan asked, he didn't want to look at his parents. His hands clenched tightly into fists, restraining himself from punching objects around him.

"I know about your wounds, Ethan. But this is all for the future of this kingdom," The Queen said softly with her son. He spoke softly so that Ethan would understand their good intentions.

"If you understand how injured I am, why are you still discussing this thing that I don't want to discuss?" Ethan asked sharply. The father sighed, he massaged his temples looking at his stubborn son. "Your mother said this for the future of this kingdom, you need a male—"

"The future of this kingdom is in my hands, then in the hands of my daughter, father. Wasn't that clear a long time ago?" Ethan interrupted in a harsh tone.

"This kingdom needs men, not women as their leaders," The King looked at Ethan with a serious gaze and tone, and that was enough to make Ethan even more annoyed. "Nonsense. I can change those ancient rules if I ascend the throne in the future," Ethan said snorting and his father immediately glared at him. "Don't mess with royal regulations, Ethan—"

"Therefore, stop continuing to ask me to remarry and get rid of your obsession with that unseen grandson!" Ethan again interrupted his father's words. He's gotten bolder because he's been real about this in recent years. Parliament and his parents literally forced him to indulge their obsession with a grandson. "Prince Ethan—"

"What? You want to be angry with me? I should be the angriest one here, father! You openly told me that you wanted to get rid of my daughter in front of me!" Ethan snapped and he stood up from his study chair. He stood in front of his father with angry eyes.

"I swear I would never intend to get rid of your daughter, Ethan! After all he is my granddaughter!" Ethan laughed sarcastically and looked at his father, who he thought was very hypocritical. "More nonsense, you never loved my daughter because she was a girl. You only intend to keep getting rid of her, and I know that." The father grabbed Ethan's shoulder quite hard, making the Queen panic, she was afraid that her husband and son would end up fighting. "I'm just being realistic, Ethan. I'm not selfish, I just want the future of this kingdom to be bright!" Ethan threw his father's hand away roughly after his father said the thing he always used as an excuse. "And you think the future of this kingdom will be dark if my daughter is in charge, Your Majesty?" Before his father had finished answering his question, Ethan issued a crazy ultimatum. "Don't ever tell me to remarry and let my daughter retain her rights as my heir or I resign and renounce my title, Your Majesty?" His father and mother were immediately shocked when Ethan let those crazy words out of his mouth.

If a crown prince steps down from his position, aka takes off his title, the stability of the kingdom will worsen and can be used by anti-monarchy groups to attack the kingdom. And if Ethan did that, it would be the same as the royal family would be at the 'suicide' stage.

"It's better for me to live as an ordinary person with my daughter than to be surrounded by people who only want to take away her rights. I also don't want my wife's rights as Queen to be taken away by another woman," Ethan continued, his parents still shocked by those words. Because Ethan never plays around with what he says.

Heeseung even has a plan that when he ascends the throne, his wife's grave will have its title changed to 'Her Majesty the Queen' and will be moved to the burial area of kings and queens.

"You better think carefully if you really want to impose your will on me," Ethan bowed briefly then left his study, leaving his parents who seemed to have been attacked many times, because Ethan dared to say those words which were classified as forbidden.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he walked back to his room, Ethan's gaze was straight ahead, but his eyes were filled with tears. The people closest to him had such evil behavior towards his daughter. Even though their methods were indirect, Ethan knew they only wanted his daughter removed as the heir.

If Ethan remarries, he considers it the same as betraying his wife. He once promised not to marry again until the end of his life. Swear allegiance. The death of his wife and his struggle to defend his only daughter, Ethan will not just let it go. If his wife could bet her life for her daughter's life, then Ethan could also bet his life for his daughter's rights.

Ethan couldn't imagine if Ethan failed to protect his daughter's rights. He just wants his daughter to be his heir, that's all he wants until the end of his life. Not remarrying for the ambition of a son who may not be able to give the best like his current daughter.

"I promise you, darling. Our beloved daughter will not lose her rights, I am willing to do everything for our daughter's rights. I will not let the sacrifice of your life be in vain, my love,"

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen scenarios #enhypen angst #enhypen imagines #enhypen soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #lee heeseung #heeseung imagines #ethan lee #enha imagines #enha fluff #royal au

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violetlunette · 1 month

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A recolor of Princess Leah, Silver’s birth mom. (My version, at least.) The other color is here

Behold! My version of Leah, aka, Silver’s birth mother. I know that the popular fanon for her is that Leah was a strong, take-no-bullshit-from-anyone Lady who kicks her brother around like a soccer ball and is an all-around Girl Boss, but I imagine her as the opposite. Below is my long-winded / thought-too-hard history for Leah. Notes: *Spoilers for Book / Chapter 7 *Long post. Apparently, I had a lot to say. *My version of Leah’s tale is an angsty one with no happy end. Speaking of which; Trigger Warnings: *Mentions Emotional Abuse and Mental Abuse along with Gaslighting *There is value dissonance at play, which includes underage marriage, sex and pregnancy, as in the medieval time period where Lilia’s memories take place, marrying young was acceptable and encouraged. That being said, the problematic stuff will be treated as such. *Mentions of a rough birth

My version of Leah is a tragic figure lost to history like many Princesses before her. All her life, Leah carried an intense guilt in her heart as her mother died in childbirth birth, leaving her behind with a resentful King and Henrik. The King, in particular, disliked her as he believed that Leah was the result of an affair as Leah was far too beautiful to be his. (He wasn’t a handsome man and always had difficulties believing his gorgeous wife ever loved him.) As such, the King neglected her, and Henrik, following his father’s example, did the same. When they did meet the two were cold and poisonous to her, often belittling every mistake she made. And sadly, she made a lot as she was always jittery from nerves. Because of the mental and emotional abuse inflicted upon her along with a lifetime of gaslighting, Leah became very fragile and timid as she was often bellowed at. It became her nature to become quiet and soft-spoken as being otherwise resulted in harsh punishment, especially from her strict governess, who was as kind as Tremaine was to Cinderella. Even so, she adored her father and brother as much as Silver loved Lilia. Thus, she always forgave them and made excuses for their behavior. “Father and brother are just stressed from their duties.” “They’re right to scold me. As a Princess, I should be better.” “I stole their beloved person away, so they have every right to hate me.” Leah to earn their love by helping the kingdom. While this didn’t earn the affection of her family, she did gain favor with the people. It was actually because of her that the King adopted the Orphans. Leah naively brought them all to live at the castle when she saw the state of the orphanage and her father didn’t want to lose face with the people, so he took them all as wards. (Though as soon as he had the orphans, he turned them over to the army, arguing that it was the best way to give them a future.) The one joy Leah had in life was the fairy tale books she had, which spoke of true love and whatnot, tales she believed 100% as there was no one to temper her expectations. This is partly why she fell in love instantly with the Knight of the Dawn when she met him. Speaking of which:

Leah met the Knight when he saved her from a kidnapping. Seeing him as her hero from a fairytale, she fell in love instantly as he inspired feelings within her that no one had before. (Puppy’s first love.) After this, Leah hung around him often, creating rumors that the two were in love. When the King fell sick, Henrik left with the Knight to create Lilia’s tragic backstory, while Leah stayed behind to pray for everyone day and night. She also attempted to use healing magic on him to keep him alive, even though her magic lay in dreams. (Note: her unique magic was the same as Silver’s. She often used this magic to update the Knight on the King’s condition.) When the two returned, the King was cured. As a “reward,” the King gave Leah to the Knight as his bride and sent both to rule over the fae land the Knight “won” for the humans. The King did this as he worried the Knight’s popularity would be a threat to Henrick’s rule in the future. Thus, his Majesty decided that sending the Knight away was the best option, and allowing him to marry Leah had the King keep face with the people. After all, how can allowing the Knight to wed the beautiful Princess, whom he “loved” and be allowed to rule the land he claimed for them not be a reward for his bravery? Leah was overjoyed as she believed marrying the Knight was the happy ending to her tale and that there would only be joy in her life. Thus, Leah and the Knight were wedded three days later—even though the Knight was a traumatized seventeen / sixteen-year-old while Leah was only fourteen.

The two are sent overseas, where Leah gets pregnant two months after their wedding. The pregnancy is rough on its own due to her age, but other factors make it rough as well. Instead of the happy ending she dreamed of, Leah has to deal with a husband who is suffering from severe PTSD, not helped by living in the castle of the “innocent” woman he killed. On top of that, there were enemy fae constantly trying to reclaim the stolen land. One even tried to assassinate her while pregnant. The only help she had was the royal chancellors, who were more concerned with their ambitions than her and often took advantage of her trusting nature and ignorance. There was also the Diurnal, who also have their own goals, and the fairy godmothers, who try their best but are limited in what they can do. Despite this, she persisted and tried to stay optimistic, doing what she could. But then—she discovered something that shatters her heart. One day, during an argument, Leah learned the Knight never loved her. At least not romantically. He only saw her as a darling kid sister and his Princess. However, he was too timid to reject the King or correct the people who misunderstood their relationship. This is the final crack that finally breaks Leah’s heart. No one loved her. No one ever would. Realizing this, she isolates herself, not even coming out to say goodbye to the Knight when he goes to handle what she is told is a land dispute. A few weeks later, the fairy godmothers tell her he died, and they gift her his ring for the baby. The despair she feels sends her into premature labor.

The process was rough, and Leah nearly passed away. She survived thanks to the fairy godmothers. Holding her child, she realized that he looked just like his father and believed that, like him, he’d never love her. The Princess tried to care for the baby but wasn’t emotionally or mentally able to handle a baby. On top of that, she has trouble producing milk for him. This worsened her depression, as Leah believed that not only did she fail as a daughter and a wife but as a mother as well. One day, the castle is attacked due to her advisors screwing up. As the castle started to collapse, Leah tried to reach her baby but was unable to get past the collapsing rubble. Thus, she had no choice but to leave him to the fairy godmothers. Instead of running, she tried to fight off the enemy and give the godmothers time to save her child. However, because of her broken state, she blots over almost immediately. In her Overblot form, she killed everyone, friend and foe alike, till only Silver, protected by the Fairies magic, remained.

When she was done, not even a corpse remained (hence the lack of bodies when Lilia arrived 400 years later). Then, Leah vanished, drained of life and magic by her Phantom, who wanders away, not leaving even a trace of the Princess.

Notes about Leah; *When creating her, I wanted Leah to be Malenore’s opposite in almost every way. Appearance-wise, Malenore is a tall brunette with an imposing appearance. Leah is small (mainly due to age) and blonde with a delicate disposition. Malenore was strong-willed and arrogant to sin—albeit, with reason. Leah was humble to a fault and fragile, as her name implied. (Leah can mean “weary” and “delicate /fragile” as well as “heavenly flower.”) Malenore was loved by her family, however, they were distant (if Malefica’s relationship with her was anything like the one with Malleus). Leah was close in proximity to her family but was hated by them. The dragon Princess was beloved by all who knew her, including her “knight.” Leah was admired by the people but never loved. (Or at least that’s how she felt, especially by the end.) Malenore was an adult—a young adult but still an adult—while Leah was a child. Maleonre will be remembered by history and those she loved, while Leah was forgotten to the point she was barely a memory, only recalled in passing. However, they had things in common as well, such as losing their husbands while they stayed behind to “incubate” their children. They then died to give others a chance to save their sons. And, regardless, they were doomed by the narrative to never be a part of their children’s lives. *Funnily enough, despite being fragile, Leah did have her own strength as she was still able to stand and keep trying despite all the times her heart got broken. It was just she had no one to teach her how to fight, and she was forced to endure things even an adult would struggle with. Had she time, Leah would have been a loving and doting mother to Silver. Silver, in turn, would have been more of a momma’s boy than Deuce and super protective.

Real quick on the Knight—because this post isn’t long enough—I hope no one thought I was villainizing him. I just took what I saw in canon—him not being able to stand up to the royal family and his need to please everyone—and used it to contribute to their tragedies. Anyway, that’s my overly long headcanon for Princess Leah. Thank you for reading it all, and feel free to share your thoughts and your own version of Leah.

#mine #twst #twisted wonderland #twst silver #twst spoilers #poor tragic Leah #the tragedy aspect may have been influenced by the Remarried Empress #which had been in my head for good and bad reasons #twst Leah #knight of dawn #twst Oc #kinda #twst chapter 7 #twst book 7 #repost #I tried to put the warnings in the tags but it wouldn't show up in search with them so

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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The Great War

I vowed I would always be yours

Summary: Feyre Archeron's kingdom has been warring with King Rhysand for longer than she can recall. When, on an unlucky stroke, he stumbles upon her and her sisters locked in a tower, Feyre will do whatever it takes to keep him from finding them.

Even marrying him.

Happy @feysandmonth (but really LB appreciation month!) My only multi-chaptered offering.

Read more on AO3

“Someone’s on the horizon.”

Feyre Archeron looked up from her chair at the far end of the tower she lived in. Her sister, Elain, sat on the open window ledge, head resting against the slate gray stone. Her lips were tinged blue from the cold, not that Elain seemed to care. She merely tugged the threadbare blanket tighter around her shoulders, brown eyes never leaving the horizon.

Nesta leaned up from the fire she was keeping alive, her eyes pinched at the corners. They had been out of everything for months and it showed. Feyre could see her eldest sister's collar bone jutting from beneath a dress that had once fit her like a glove—it now hung like a sack over her too-thin frame.

Endless war had convinced their father to hide them away, terrified his enemy to the east would one day try and steal one of his daughters. It was supposed to be temporary—he’d promised six months or less. Feyre’s eyes slid towards the wall where Nesta kept count. Eighteen months had passed without a word and their supplies had run out well before then.

“Who is it?” Nesta asked, running her tongue over chapped, broken lips. Elain shrugged fragile shoulders. She, too, was suffering from starvation. All three of them were. “Is it father?”

“I can’t tell,” Elain admitted, squinting against the glow of sunset. “Who else would know where we are?”

Feyre and Nesta’s eyes met. He hadn’t come in so long they’d just assumed he’d forgotten—or worse. Sometimes at night, Feyre wondered if he hadn’t left them here to die. It was no secret that General Graysen Nolan was his preferred heir and that one of them would be married to him eventually. It would only ever make Graysen king consort, which irked the male-centric court of the north. Men had ruled in an unbroken line for centuries.

And then Nesta had been born.

Followed by Elain.

And then Feyre.

There might have been more–more daughters for their father to ignore, to abandon in the too-small tower, had their mother not died. Even a new wife couldn’t usurp Nesta as heir to the throne, and so laws were squabbled over, abandoned when King Rhysand of Velaris attacked their border, drawing her father's attention to the military.

They’d all been spared political marriages, ones that would surely grind them all into dust. None more so than beautiful, docile Elain. Feyre suspected she’d be given to Graysen and Nesta wholly disinherited. She’d overheard her father's council of advisors suggesting Nesta be sent to a temple far in the mountains where she would remain unmarried, a devotee to the gods. And Elain, who was easier to control, who was sweet and lovely and uninterested in ruling, could take Nesta’s place and Graysen rule through her.

Until she birthed him a son.

After all, women died in childbirth all the time. It was such a strange thing, to hear these men hope that her sister might die bringing a male child into the world, so they wouldn’t be forced to serve beneath a lowly woman. Feyre knew Nesta would be far kinder to their people than Graysen ever would be—and Elain would do as she was told.

“Is it father?” Elain’s voice cut through Feyre’s guilty thoughts. She didn’t equate to any of his plans. His forgotten youngest child, she knew he’d offer her up to some noble in exchange for riches or military might.

All at once, the three of them scrambled upwards. They were supposed to be locked in, unable to get out. Once they’d realized he wasn’t coming back, the three had set to work. Elain, sitting at the highest point of that massive tower, had made nice with a local fisherman’s son. He sent up fishing line and hooks when she told him she needed it for mending, along with the occasional fish and bread.

That hook and string had helped them get the latch to the bottom door opened. Nesta collected firewood and Feyre hunted small game for them to eat. It was never enough, especially now that they were in the brutal season of winter. The fishermen were gone and so were most of the creatures Feyre meticulously hunted. They hadn’t eaten in days and Feyre was starting to get desperate.

Starting to think they should steal one of the boats left behind and take their chances in the frigid water.

They hid everything they shouldn’t have, rearranging the tower so it looked exactly as it had when they’d first been locked inside. Elain straightened the navy rug on the floor while Nesta remade the bed and Feyre hid her little weapons behind a stack of lumpy pillows.

Elain slammed the shutters of the tower closed and grabbed her knitting needles. Nesta picked up a book and Feyre…Feyre merely stood there. She’d run out of paint long ago, just as Elain had run out of yarn and Nesta had read the book many times over.

It didn’t matter. They heard the grunting of whatever soldiers were yanking open that heavy iron door, followed by the sound of clanking chainmail and heavy boots on the winding stairs. None of them dared to look at each other, jumping when a pounding fist banged against the trap door.

“Girls?”

It was their father, just as Elain had said. Feyre came forward, her body heavy with exhaustion. She pulled back the rug Nesta had just arranged, yanking the iron ring with her limited strength.

Their father's head, adorned with a heavy iron circlet, appeared next. Hatred burned in Feyre’s gut at the sight of his full cheeks, of his glowing health. He certainly hadn’t suffered that last year and half. He climbed the rest of the way up, drinking the sight of them.

“There you are,” he murmured with relief. As if there was any doubt that they’d still be here. He looked from her to Nesta before his eyes fell fully on Elain. Feyre’s stomach knotted, nervous though she couldn’t explain why.

“Have you come to bring us home?” Nesta asked hopefully. Feyre, too, wanted to leave. The tower was perpetually freezing and they were hungry and exhausted. The fortress they’d grown up in wasn’t much better and yet they were at least well fed and warm bottles were placed beneath their bedding to keep them warm at night.

“Soon,” he murmured, not looking at Nesta at all. His eyes were still fixed on Elain, a frown ghosting his features. They looked so similar, though, on their father, those rich, brown eyes seemed soulless whereas on Elain, they were filled with warmth. Starvation couldn’t dim Elain’s beauty, though her once bouncy curls hung limp down her back and her heart-shaped face was thin and drawn. Elain, too, could have used some sleep.

“I will return for the three of you in a week's time. We are so close to beating the east back into those empty mountains.”

As if any of them cared. Nesta’s eyes sharpened. “We are out of food.”

Their father didn’t flinch. “You have enough for one last week.”

“And then what?” Feyre asked, cutting Nesta off before she angered him.

“Nesta will go to the priestess's temple at Sangravah and Elain will marry Graysen—”

Elain rose to her feet. “What?”

“Feyre will stay with me for the time being,” he added, ignoring Elain entirely.

“A priestesses temple?” Nesta demanded. It was all as Feyre had once heard. He’d decided it, then. Decided to sideline Nesta and hope Elain would be the easier-controlled ruler. Or worse, that she would die before him, giving Ellesmere the son he’d denied them. Elain didn’t respond at all, though her face was so pale it might have been bone. Graysen was not known for being kind or gentle. He would use Elain until she was nothing but a corpse, and her sister knew it.

“It’s been decided,” their father snapped.

“By who?” Feyre dared to ask. She could have reached for her bone knife beneath the pillow and tried to bury it in his neck…but he was her father.

And he had a broad sword hanging from his hips.

“By me,” he told them. Nesta scoffed while Elain said nothing, her eyes glazed over as she imagined this new future. “And you will do as I tell you or you will suffer my wrath.”

“We are already suffering,” Nesta informed him, her hatred burning in her eyes. Of the three of them, she looked the most like mother. Perhaps that was why he disliked her the most—he couldn’t look at Nesta’s silvery blue eyes and her golden brown hair braided atop her head like a crown and not see his once beautiful wife staring back at him.

Banishing her to a temple was like exorcizing a ghost.

“What’s a little more, then?” he all but whispered. Daring her to disobey him. Nesta couldn’t pick this fight. Not when her skin all but clung to her bones and not when he could have driven his blade through her chest with no repercussions at all. Feyre dropped into a chair, more exhausted than she’d ever been and Nesta followed suit.

To their father, who didn’t imagine they had any thoughts he did not permit them to have, it was an act of submission.

“It was good to see the three of you in good health,” he said, walking to Elain and brushing his fingers over her cheeks. Elain closed her eyes, clearly trying to keep herself from bursting into tears.

Feyre scoffed but said nothing else.

“Just a week, and then it's over,” he told them. As if it would ever be over. A new hell was waiting just over the horizon and Feyre had no intention of meeting it. She wouldn’t be separated from her sisters, either. She wouldn’t leave Nesta to die in a temple and Elain to perish in a marriage bed.

They waited until their father descended back down the stairs and that iron door slammed shut so hard it rattled the stones around them. They held silent and still, listening to the gallop of hooves and the accompanying silence as the sun finally set.

Elain broke first, drawing her knees up to her face with a soft sob. Nesta rose to her feet, pacing the floor, her hands outstretched before the fire.

“We’ll take the boat,” Feyre whispered. “We’ll take the boat and go south. They say their king grants asylum to those that make it to his shore. We can hide there for a time and make our way across the ocean.”

“We won’t survive,” Nesta said, her voice devoid of its usual emotion.

“I can spend the next two days hunting,” Feyre insisted. “We can scavenge for anything the fishermen left behind.”

Nesta shook her head but Elain looked up, wiping her eyes on her sleeves. “What does it matter, Nesta? We either die at sea or we die at his hands. Either way…” her voice broke with a sob. “I don’t want to be married to him.”

“It would be a terrible way to die,” Nesta said, though Feyre wasn’t sure if she meant death by their father's design or death at sea. Feyre was willing to take her chances, though. They could bundle, they could take water and food, and any other supplies in the covered ship that had been left behind. They’d be as protected from the elements within it as they were in the tower, and could fish if they ran low on supplies.

“It’s better than doing nothing,” Feyre replied.

Elain and Feyre waited. Nesta was always allowed the final say, their deference out of respect for the sister they’d always hoped would one day be queen. Those dreams were dead—they would live in exile or they wouldn’t live at all.

Two days—that was all Feyre was willing to risk. While she hunted, Nesta and Elain gathered supplies for the boat. Elain cleaned it during the day and Nesta organized until the three fell into bed each night bone weary and exhausted. They barely ate, trying so hard to preserve their rations for when they were out at sea and would have no other recourse.

Feyre went to bed that night feeling the smallest flames of hope. Hope that they’d make it to the southern border before their father realized what they’d done. That Helion, the king of that realm, didn’t decide to ransom them back. And most importantly, they managed to make it over the sea where they might live free lives for the first time since they were born. Unshackled by the chains of their father, or the monarchy, of the unfair expectations placed on women. Elain could choose her own husband and Nesta and Feyre their own fates.

The sound of someone pounding on the iron door of the tower dragged the three of them from a drowsy sleep. Their father had a key and the girls their own makeshift one—whoever was below was an interloper.

Elain flew from the bed, pushing open the shutters to blink into the dark.

“The east,” she whispered. “Rhysand.”

“How–”

“He followed father,” Nesta hissed. “He led them right to us.”

Feyre blinked as Elain wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and tossed the rope down the side. “We go now,” she hissed. “Before he makes it up here and slaughters us all.”

Feyre nodded, though in her heart, she knew she wasn’t going with them. Everyone was on their boat and ready to go. All Nesta and Elain had to do was pull the anchor and set out. Rhysand would follow them—would merely drag them back where they’d be imprisoned or worse. Someone had to slow him down.

Had to distract him.

“Go,” Feyre whispered, reaching for her own cloak and her bone knife. She pressed the knife into Nesta’s hand, pretending she was getting her quiver of arrows as Elain propelled down the side. “I’m right behind you.”

The door wrenched open just beneath.

“Hurry up,” Nesta hissed. Feyre knew if either of her sisters had any inclination of her split-second decision, they would have stayed, too. The point was to go together or not at all. Rhysand was cruel—evil and terrible. He’d lock them in a frigid dungeon, would ransom them back for land and coins and whatever soldiers their father had taken prisoner. There were rumors he stole women from the bordering villages and passed them out to his own men to use as they liked. Nesta and Elain didn’t deserve that.

She thought, perhaps foolishly, that she could withstand it.

Heavy boots on the stairs drew her attention to the trap door. Nesta was gone, halfway down the tower even as the trapdoor beneath the rug rattled. She wasn’t going to help him open it. Fingers clenched to fists, Feyre pressed her back against the wall and waited for what would happen next.

The wood trap door exploded violently, splintering over the once carefully kept room. Feyre pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. The man who appeared was nothing like Feyre imagined Rhysand to be. She’d always pictured someone her father's age, someone who would look like the nightmare she’d been made to be afraid of.

Rhysand was young—early thirties at best. His dark hair seemed to gobble up the little light emanating from the fireplace as his violet-blue eyes swept over the room. They landed on her, crinkling at the edges when he realized it was just her. He looked like a warrior in his dark leather, a massive sword strapped against his spine. She tried to make herself smaller as he took a step towards her.

“Where are the other two?”

“Dead,” she lied as another man appeared. They could have been brothers—they shared the same warm brown skin, the same inky black hair. This man was perhaps lovelier in a classical sort of way, and far colder, if the stone cut of his face was any indication.

“Cassian!” Rhysand, betrayed by the silver crown of stars around his head, bellowed down the stairs. His eyes were on the rope hanging from the window. “Bring me the other two!”

“RUN!” Feyre screamed out that window. Rhysand lunged for her, strong arms wrapping over her too-thin frame. She didn’t have the strength to fight him though the gods knew she tried. Feyre thrashed as his broad hand clapped over her mouth.

“So much for dead, huh?” Rhysand whispered against her neck. Feyre twisted, her foot kicking hard between his legs. He grunted but didn’t release her. “You look close to it already.”

He and the other man dragged her kicking and silently screaming down those stairs. Feyre endeavored to make it as difficult as possible, if only to buy Elain and Nesta more time.

It worked. By the time she was beneath that violet sky of stars, a third man was striding towards them. He was the biggest by far, tall and broad and terrifyingly imposing. A crisscross of swords over his shoulders made him seem more lethal than the other two men, though when he stepped into a beam of moonlight, she thought he had the friendliest face.

“They took a ship,” he said, amusement lacing his words.

Rhysand pushed Feyre into the colder man so he could bind her wrists.

“Track them down. I can’t risk Archeron finding them first.”

Feyre kept her mouth shut. Her sisters had escaped Rhysand—they’d escape their father, too. Cassian—that’s what Rhysand had called him—looked her over, offered a smile that didn’t seem too threatening, and then turned to vanish back into the gloom.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked him, her wrists bound in front of her body. Rhysand turned back to her, eyes sliding up and down her body. It wasn’t predatory or appreciative. In fact, he seemed almost disturbed by what he saw.

“How long have you been here?”

silver-edgedFeyre lifted her chin defiantly. She didn’t have to answer that. He didn’t care, either. Rhysand dragged her over the barren, frozen ground towards a midnight black stallion and hoisted her into a silver edged saddle with ease. He swung up just behind her.

“Would you like me to help Cassian?” the other man asked softly, his voice as dark as the night around them.

“I’ll need you,” Rhysand disagreed. “Cassian can handle two unarmed women.”

He nodded. Absolute obedience, just like Graysen ordered their father. Rhysand lowered his head until she could feel his breath on the back of her neck again. “Cassian will find them.”

“And then what? You’ll kill us as a family?” she asked him, twisting back so he could see she wasn’t afraid of him. It was a lie, of course. Feyre was terrified.

He didn’t need to know that.

Rhysand’s smile was cold—cruel. “Your father has something of mine. Now I have something of his.”

“Good luck getting it back,” Feyre retorted.

Rhysand only laughed.

It was a miserable night of riding. Feyre, half-starved and exhausted well before she was ever put in that saddle. By the time dawn broke, Feyre was miserably sore and hungrier than she’d ever been in her life. Her ribs ached, her thighs burned, and her head pounded. She was too focused on keeping herself upright to even think of her sisters, out on the icy sea all alone while a terrifying warrior tracked them down.

All she could think about was the constant twisting of her gut. As snow-capped mountains loomed, Feyre felt her vision slipping sideways. She blinked, trying to right the world, but once her lids clamped shut, there was no opening them. She heard a soft swear and realized she had tipped out of the saddle and Rhysand had been forced to catch her or potentially let her die.

She almost wished he had. Surely death on a mountain road was better than whatever he had in store for her. Still, Feyre was too exhausted to fight him when his thighs tightened around her and his arm became a steel lock around her middle. She didn’t stop herself from leaning into his solid strength, nor did she care when her neck inclined at a near awkward angle, bouncing off his shoulder each time the horse jolted.

She slipped in and out of sleep, roused when he’d grab her with a surprising amount of gentleness just beneath her jaw and demand she take a drink. At some point, she thought a blanket was draped over her body, though when she managed to pry open an eye, she realized he’d merely covered them both in his cloak.

“Will you walk? Or am I going to have to carry you into my palace?” Rhysand asked her, pulling Feyre from a rather strange, brightly colored dream.

“Go to hell,” she whispered, forgetting almost immediately what he’d even asked. It seemed like an appropriate response to anything and everything he might ask.

“I think she’s half dead,” another man’s voice murmured and Feyre swore he said those words with pure amusement. “Archeron beat you to it.”

“Shut up,” Rhysand grumbled. Feyre didn’t stay awake to hear the rest. For an unknown period of time, Feyre was lost to pure nothingness. Just bliss—utter, dreamless bliss. She could have died happy and, if she was honest, almost wished she had.

Coming back was hell. Feyre twisted against the tethers that kept her trapped in darkness, desperate to resurface. She needed to know where she was—what had happened to her sisters. And when Feyre managed to pry an eye open, she expected to find herself lying on the hard, stone floor of a damp, cold dungeon.

She was in a bed. In a room at least twice as big as the one she had at home. Bigger than the whole tower. Feyre was propped against a mountain of pillows and tucked beneath a sea of black and silver blankets. Curtains were tied from tall, wooden bed posts which made her feel, strangely, like a princess.

“You are a princess,” she whispered to no one in particular. In name only. Her filthy hair hanging in strings around her face and itching scalp told a wholly different story. Feyre pushed from the bed, strangely embarrassed to be in it at all. Her bare feet touched a plush, cream carpet that stretched the length of the bed against dark wood floors.

A fire crackled merrily in a large hearth across the room, keeping Feyre warm even after she left her blankets. She padded for the jutting, rounded windows that were curtained in more glittering silver. Pulling them aside, Feyre clapped a hand over her mouth. An ocean of icy snow blanketed the world around her, broken only by the rising mountainside she was currently trapped in.

That would make escape trickery, though not impossible. Feyre was used to the cold, the dark. If he thought to disorient her with the nice, furnished room, he didn’t know her at all.

Ignoring the bathroom, with a tub big enough to be a pool and a wall of glass that let her stare out into the snowy expanse, Feyre marched the curved, double doors gilded in more silver. He clearly had a color scheme, if nothing else. He also hadn’t locked her in. Feyre stepped into an empty hall, painted a soft lavender and trimmed in cream. No servants, no guards. Like she was no threat to him at all.

That infuriated Feyre. She marched down the hall, forgetting she hadn’t eaten in days—months, even, given the sparseness of what was available to them. She hadn’t passed out from fear, but from exhaustion and hunger. Her anger quickly evaporated into fear as blinding white spots bloomed behind her vision. Feyre reached for the wall, holding herself steady while her knees trembled violently.

“No, no, no,” Feyre moaned, her legs giving way beneath her. She clutched for the wall, looking for any purchase to keep her steady, but there was none. Only the tilting world and the brief flash of pain when her head bounced off the floor.

And then darkness again.

She came back the second time fighting. Feyre shot upwards, the heavy blanket of her bed pooling in her lap as she gasped for air. A tray of food was set on her night table and Rhysand himself sat in a chair by the window. He seemed irritated if the set of his jaw was any indication. She supposed he had better things to do than babysit her.

When she woke, he turned his head until those violet eyes were firmly on her. He cocked his head, causing a lock of his inky black hair to flop against the middle of his forehead. He was the picture of casual elegance. Bored, yet graceful, nobility. They didn’t have his type in Ellesmere–slick, polished, and arrogant.

“Good evening,” he offered, his voice rough. Feyre didn’t respond, though she did pull her knees to her chest. He watched the whole thing, no hint of his thoughts betrayed in his expression.

“You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He didn’t smile. “Sure. I suppose you like it when I carry you down the halls like an underfed corpse?”

Feyre felt embarrassment rise through her chest. “Who asked for your help?”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on powerful thighs. Feyre very much doubted he had ever missed a meal. She swallowed, hiding her hands beneath the blanket so he wouldn’t see how they trembled.

“Maybe you should ask it, darling. If this is how your own father treats you, maybe whatever I have in store would be a kinder fate.”

She all but spat at him. Hatred bloomed in her chest knowing whatever fate he had planned likely involved her eventual death. The deaths of her sisters, her home, and everything she’d ever cared about.

“How long do you plan to keep me captive?” she asked instead, pointedly ignoring what he’d told her.

Rhysand leaned backward, shrugging his broad shoulders. Clad in a tunic of black and silver that cut just beneath his jaw, he seemed strangely casual to her. No cape, no rings, no crown. Not even a circlet graced his forehead.

“You’re hardly captive. More like my guest.”

“If I’m your guest, that means I can leave–”

“Feyre,” he interrupted patiently, “darling. You can barely walk down the hall. Where do you imagine you’re going?”

“Away from you,” she hissed, well aware she sounded like a petulant child. The curved smirk gracing his face told her he agreed with her silent assessment.

“Well,” he murmured, rising to his feet. She’d forgotten how imposing he was. Even without the leathered armor and the sword, he cut an imposing figure. “Maybe you should eat some dinner, first. It’s no fun to best you on a technicality.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, certain he was making fun of her. Warily, Feyre waited for Rhysand to respond. To mock her, as the courtiers back home always had.

“Are you not the Huntress of the North?”

She hated him for his use of that nickname. It had only ever been sneered at her, her bow and arrows the endless source of amusement for the men in her father's palace. A princess who wielded a weapon was practically sacrilege. That she was any good? Well, they found ways to keep her in place.”

Feyre jutted her chin, determined he would not make her feel any smaller. “Yes. That is exactly what I am.”

There was no hint of mockery in his gaze. “Then eat.”

He strode from the room without looking back to see if she obeyed him. It was only after he left that she realized night had fallen, hidden as it was behind the semi-sheer curtains. How long had he sat there, waiting? It made her uneasy, to be so helpless in front of him.

And the thought of passing out, at being left at his mercy and hoping he’d be kind was enough to motivate Feyre into eating. She swallowed her guilt, hoping her sisters were safe and, if nothing else, not starving too terribly before she pulled apart a roll of bread. Steam curled around her face and Feyre nearly moaned at the sight. It had been a long time since she’d had anything hot. She tried so hard to go slow, so she wouldn’t be sick, but the vegetables were seasoned with spices she’d never tasted, and the meat and potatoes covered in a rich gravy that had her all but licking the plate.

She could have kept going. She was tempted, even, to climb out of bed, find the kitchen, and ask for more. Instead, Feyre climbed out of bed, legs still shaky, and made her way to the bathtub.

Bastard as he was, Rhysand was right about one thing.

She’d never escape him in her current condition.

Feyre very much intended to escape.

Just as soon as she killed him.

Feyre spent a whole week minding her own business. The decision had been more practical than anything–every time she stepped into the hall, a wave of dizziness sent her practically running back for the bedroom. She would be damned if Rhysand put his filthy hands on her again. Feyre’s pride wouldn’t let her be caught in a compromising position by her enemy, which in turn ensured she ate every meal that was brought to her. The first few days had seen her all but living in the bathroom while she adjusted, gulping water from the tap when she felt feverish. She slept, she ate, she bathed, and did little else.

She felt like a traitor. Her dreams were consumed by her sisters—were they safe?

Were they alive?

She had no doubt if Rhysand had managed to find them, he would have paraded them about like his trophies like he’d no doubt done with her. The thought offered the faintest amount of relief. Only she was here.

Whoever left the trays just outside her door didn’t seem to know who, exactly she was. Or maybe they didn’t view her as a threat. Either way, she’d been provided a steak knife each night, and Feyre had begun to collect them. The silver alone would be enough to fund part of her journey, and the sharpened point sliced easily over her pointer finger. It would do well enough against anyone who put the fleshy parts of their skin too close to her body.

Feyre woke to an actual servant the dawning of that second week.

“The king requests you dine with him,” an elderly, no nonsense woman declared. As if that were the end of things. Feyre knew, from growing up around her own father, that the king's word was law. She didn’t obey him, though. He wasn’t her master.

“And if I say no?” Feyre asked in her brattiest tone.

An arched brow was the only expression she got. “I hear a palette of straw is far less comfortable than a bed made of goose down.”

She hated that woman, with her severe gray bun and her unsmiling eyes. Still, Feyre begrudgingly got into the tub and submitted to her all the same. She allowed herself to be dressed in an, admittedly, a pretty amethyst gown made of gossamer silk. She said nothing while her hair was curled and pushed off her face with a pearl-lined headband, or when thin, silver earrings were looped into her ears so it looked as if delicate trails of starlight clung to her skin. Her eyes were coated and lined until they looked bigger—more pronounced. Her lips were made softer and painted the most delicate shade of pink.

It all irritated her. Like she was a doll for dress up, like her too-thin, sharp appearance was solely for his pleasure. “Is this what your king likes?”

“Hardly,” that servant snapped. Speaking to her like that in her own home would have gotten someone killed–not that Feyre would have tattled. Still, the sharpness took her aback.

“Then why–”

“You have a problem looking nice?”

Truthfully, Feyre had no problem looking nice. Her problem was the way she felt as if she were little more than a pretty object. She didn’t want to look nice in Rhysand’s kingdom, at a breakfast he almost certainly would also be attending. He’d see her and approve of her, which was the opposite of what she wanted.

Feyre marched down the halls, and for the first time since she’d arrived, there was no danger she’d fall flat on her face. The hall led into a larger atrium, with a winding staircase that led both upwards and back down into the palace. Feyre tried to memorize her path, but the steps leading down only directed her into another branching hall of the same cream and lavender and arching doors lined in silver pulled tightly shut.

She’d expected a large dining hall filled with people. That’s how Feyre had always eaten. A dozen eyes were always on her, listening for any morsel of gossip they could run to her father with. When the doors were opened for it, Feyre found an intimate scene. A table for five people, perhaps, but no more. Round, with only two chairs decently separated and covered in a selection of food she could directly spoon onto a silver plate herself.

Rhysand, too, waited with his usual boredom. He was framed by a line of windows frosted over from the cold. Same black tunic and pants, to the point Feyre wondered if he owned any variations to that outfit. He had taken no food, and stood when she entered. He nodded to the servant just behind, which apparently signaled to close the doors. Feyre was trapped in the chamber with him.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing towards her chair. Feyre hesitated, her slippered feet sliding against the wood just beneath. It was the wafting scent of chocolate that sent Feyre to her seat. She hadn’t had anything sweet in so long, a terrible curse for someone who liked sweets as much as she did.

“Eat,” he ordered once she was in her chair. Feyre tried her best to ignore him, scooping eggs and fruit, and cheese onto a plate. She took sausage and bread before she realized the scent of chocolate was coming from a silver pot. Hot chocolate.

His mouth twitched, watching her pour it into her porcelain cup. Feyre took a sip, trying to suppress the moan that rose in her chest. She didn't succeed and in response, his eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Are you always so adaptable?” he asked, only serving himself when she was finished. Feyre didn’t offer him a response, too busy shoveling food in her mouth. It was, as it always was, perfect. His manners were more refined, reminding her that the time she’d spent in that tower had made her wilder than before.

The silence stretched between them. It seemed unbearable for him, because Rhysand set his fork back to the table, eyes pinned on her. “Why were you in that tower?”

“Who were you expecting to find?” she sneered. Rhysand raised those dark, immaculately groomed brows and she realized belatedly he’d never meant to run into her. Who had he been looking for, then? Clearly, when the opportunity presented itself he hadn’t been able to resist and still…Feyre wanted to know.

“Answer my question.”

“We were there because of you,” she whispered, gripping the knife just beside her plate so tightly the whites of her knuckles were exposed.

If he felt guilt, he didn’t betray it. “How fortunate, then.”

She was going to stab him. If she stood, Feyre could bury the blade in his neck before he could react. “Fortunate? Did you find my sisters?”

Another casual shrug. “Cassian hasn’t returned.”

“Maybe he’s dead,” she hissed. Rhysand smiled.

“Maybe,” he agreed, his tone suggesting he did not agree. “Can I ask, darling, why I was the cause of such a slow, terrible death for you? Why not behead his daughters and be done with it?” Feyre’s heart pounded in her throat as she rose, her plate half untouched. He was fixated on her face, unaware she still had the handle of that knife fisted in her fingers.

“Our suffering amuses you?”

“Confuses me. If your father sent you to that tower to die–”

“To protect us!” Feyre interrupted, certain he couldn’t be that stupid. “To keep you from harming us!”

He reclined in his chair as she moved towards him, her knife hidden in the flouncy material of her skirt.

“You believe that?”

“Who were you looking for? What did he take of yours?” she asked sharply, halting just in front of him. Part of her was desperate for any information, even if it came from his lips. She had never once been granted any she hadn’t stolen, and even then Feyre couldn’t be certain it was true or not.

He assessed her. “Why would I tell someone hoping to kill me anything?”

“You’re stupid?” she guessed, inching closer.

“I’ll trade you, darling. I’ll answer any question you have if you give me the knife in your hand.”

Feyre hesitated. “Do you swear?”

Rhysand nodded, that lock of dark hair falling against his forehead again. Pressing a golden hand to his heart, he said, “I swear it.”

Quick as a viper, Feyre lunged. Rhysand shouted, unprepared to have the blade of her knife buried in the back of his hand. She’d stabbed with all her pent up fury, all but pinning him to the table by the point of the serrated blade.

His face was altogether too close when she turned to look at him, those violet eyes blazing with some unreadable emotion. “You never said how I had to return it.”

Blood dripped onto the wood as Rhysand used his other, unwounded hand to pull the knife out of his hand. She waited for him to go back on his promise, to call her names or punish her—all of which she deserved. Feyre straightened.

Bracing herself.

“I want Nolan,” Rhysand gritted out, unfolding a napkin to press against his hand. “Finding you was merely good luck. I can trade you for the General. As for what he has that belongs to me, well...” he raised his hand, as if to show her why he wouldn't be divulging that bit of information.

Feyre laughed. “You could trade Elain for Graysen. Maybe. But me? You might as well kill me right here, right now.”

“I won’t be doing that,” he hissed, holding the napkin against his wounded hand. He didn’t move from his chair, though she expected him to. He merely sat there, his napkin blooming the same red that was still puddled just beside his plate.

“Then what–”

“You will live here until you die,” he interrupted snappishly. Their gazes held and for a moment, Feyre felt as though his eyes had tied a string between them, immobilizing her entirely. She’d forgotten, for a moment, a bloodstained knife had punctured his hand and that she’d been the one who’d done it. Standing over him was wild–intoxicating.

He blinked and the spell was shattered.

“Let me go,” she breathed, swallowing hard. He crossed his ankle over his knee, one foot bouncing anxiously. “I’ll tell you anything–”

“You know nothing,” he dismissed, eyes cutting towards the door. “Another of your foolish bargains.”

“You can’t keep me here,” she insisted, turning her back to him. Feyre made a show of lifting her skirts, of stepping around the droplets of blood, all the while Rhysand watched.

“You would be surprised at what I could do. What I might do, if provoked.”

She looked over her shoulder to his wounded hand, bound in that napkin and held for her perusal. There was a darkness to his gaze that should have unsettled her. Feyre thought she could have counted the constellation of stars within it—a dangerous thought, given who he was. It struck her only then that he was handsome. Too handsome.

Beautiful. Certainly, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life. She’d been so consumed with hating him, with survival, to pay him any attention before. Now, though, as her adrenaline ebbed into fear, she saw him for what he was. Just for a moment—lovely.

She stamped that thought deep, deep down.

“Hardly a punishment, keeping me in finery,” she taunted, swishing her pretty dress around her to emphasize her point. It was then that he stood, and Feyre so badly wished he hadn’t. She stopped her teasing, her body flooded with cold at the sight of him.

“No. You’re rather pretty, dressed in my things,” he began, holding his hand against his chest as he surveyed her. “I wonder how much prettier you’d be in my bed chamber–”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed, her heart thudding in her throat.

“How even lovelier still, in my lap, on my throne—” “Stop it,” she half pleaded, half ordered. He raised a brow.

“Oh? Commanding me, are you? There’s only one person allowed to make such demands of me,” he said, stepping closer and closer until her back was pressed against the wall. Rhysand didn’t back down, his thigh sliding between her legs to pin her between them. Feyre couldn’t control her rapid breathing, hating how close he was.

How good he smelled.

“Ask me who,” he said. She shook her head no, unable to look away.

“I’ll tell you,” he continued, his tone far too heavy. “The only person who can give me a command is my wife–”

She slapped him, sending him stumbling back a step. He needed to learn what would happen if he invaded her space. “Under no circumstances would I marry you,” she hissed, slipping around him for the door. She’d just pulled it open, had all but begun running down the hall, when he called after her.

“Not to save your home? To end this war? To keep your sisters from being traded back to your father so I can hang one man?”

Feyre whipped back around, terrified of the intensity on his face. “I can’t trust you.” “I would shield them,” he all but whispered. He looked crazy, his shirt bloodied, his hand wounded. His face, was slightly ashen from how she’d hurt him and still decisive. “And you.” “How can you protect me when my greatest enemy stands four feet from me?!” she shrieked. He arched a brow, as if to call her statement into question.

“None of this would have happened had you not intervened!”

“There are things you don’t understand,” he protested, but Feyre took a step through the doorway, out into the hall.

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, holding her again until his gaze tied a ribbon around her very soul. She shook her head, just to prove she could still move her body independent of him.

“I’ll kill you first.”

He laughed, then.

“You may do whatever you like to me, darling.”

Everything they’d ever said about him was true. Feyre thought that as she turned her back to him, her body far warmer than she’d ever admit. Feyre knew two things with absolute certainty.

One, if she didn’t manage to escape and soon, she’d never be free of him.

And two—Rhysand wasn’t going to let her go. Not to her father. Not to the world.

Maybe not ever.

#feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #is it enemies to lovers if hes ready to marry her the minute she stabs him?#you decide

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horizon-verizon · 20 days

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1/? Do you think the show could have been better with fewer time jumps? And if so, how would you have structured it? I can't help but feel that they were so desperate to get started on the dance that they rushed it in the middle of the season and I feel that the ones who suffered the most from it were the blacks, specifically the Velaryon Boys and the dragon twins. I'm not really sure how to articulate it but for example we didn't see like Rhaenyra (now an archetype of not like other girls)...

2/?...had to accept her motherhood and overcome her fear of childbirth. I know there's been talk of people wanting to see the relationship with Harwin but I'm less interested in it than the exploration of her as a mother, the changes in her body, the the fight to remain present in the public sphere when they would like to remove it, her decision to do that to the point that she ends up enjoying having children, etc, etc. They also make a good effort in establishing the character of the green.... 3/3...but at the end of the day the other 5 are generically... Rhaenyra's children and Rhaenys' granddaughters (because the erasure of Daemon as her father is impressive). They don't give them depth or motivations or anything for the audience to empathize with. It sounds cruel but when Luke died... I didn't care, it's a tragedy but it was also an accident. They made Aemond an OP and they emphasized the narrative that Aemond "struggled" and they are spoiled and unworthy. The twins are just there

Yes, the show would have been better with just one or two tjs and even then not for that long of a period for those tjs. jeynearrynofthevale points out:

Better pacing with less time jumps. End season 1 with Aemond claiming Vhagar and Luke cutting out his eye. This is a great way to demonstrate how the previous generation has fundamentally influenced their children and that there’s no going back. It establishes that conflict is coming and the sides are becoming more equal in terms of man power. And by having Viserys enforce no punishment while Rhaenyra demands Aemond be tortured, we see why Alicent fears for her children’s lives if Rhaenyra is queen.

Last bit, no. Why? Because A) Rhaenyra was never going to touch those kids unprovoked and B) Rhaenrya is claimed to be as stupid as to actually expect her father to torture Aemond, one of his own kids...no, she only wanted to put pressure on him to question Aemond severely and not let up, to focus on that bastardry thing so Alicent can slip up or try to stop Viserys from being harsh or try to punish Aemond and thus expose herself. I need people to be so fr--why would Rhaenyra make things worse for herself but demanding that her brother be tortured?! To call for a prince's torture, when such a thing is beyond even a self proclaimed caring father's ability?! to expect a father to have one of this sons physically tortured? That's so cartoonishly evil, the same sort of thing many of you green stans have said made the greens subpar characters in the orig story! So when it's Rhaenyra doing something like that, it all of a sudden makes sense?! We don't even have reason or proof to suspect Rhaenyra of hating her siblings in the show for people to think this way, and no epi 3 doesn't show her hateful of Alicent or her siblings but terrified and lashing out bc Viserys is a dumbass! (this post explains) That's you choosing to think the worse of her bc you probably believe that she would kill her siblings even though she expressly states in the orig story that she wouldn't AND show!Rhaenyra is not even as nearly vindictive as book!Rhaenyra for you to think show!Rhaenyra would have that sort of fieriness!!! Everything else in that paragraph, yeah sure.

We needed to see how exactly Rhaenyra ruled Dragonstone. both before and after she married Daemon. How he let her rule without attempting to overpower her authority as what's canonically suggested. How Daemon interacted and developed her first 3 sons; how Rhaenyra became a stepmother and a motherly figure to the dragon twins. Contrast that with how Alicent and Otto interact with her kids. Show us how the black kids interact with each other and come to support or care for each other. How Rhaenys and Corlys navigates their relationship to these boys, as well as how and when she visits Rhaena. As it stands, the show makes as if Rhaenys couldn't pick herself up and ride Meleys to Dragonstone several times to see Rhaena at least...how convienent....

anyway, back to the prompt.

So, let me see if I can remember all the cookups I thought these past few years.

Well, we obviously begin with the time jump before epi 6--erase that or reduce it! Rhaenyra and Harwin. I'd make it so that we go towards Rhaenyra and Harwin come together--comfort after a month or so of the murder of Joffrey Knight of Kisses, multiple scenes of them taking notice until a kiss, their sex scene with actual intimacy, some sort of discussion about what she wanted from him and his acceptance--then her first pregnancy with Jacaerys. Her terror both with the concept of pregnancy and with how she expects either Viserys or Corlys to react and ruminating over Aemma (flashbacks are our friend). Maybe a scene of her refusing to even give birth during labor. Her struggle with aborting the pregnancy, even, once she finds out about it. Not just bc this is the love she had that kept her afloat and made her a mother for the first time, it is also how she may have been restored to the notion of a devoted "knight" who believes in her ability to rule. They're both obviously conflicted about Jace. No, Jace is not Criston's. How does Alicent, when she first puts 2 and 2 together, approach it with Viserys and what is their first onscreen serious disagreement like? Does she threaten (she wore a slit in her front at the feast, is she so daring now?) How does Aemond, Aegon, Daeron all talk to and about Rhaenyra's sons behind doors, around them, and to their faces? Let us see Alicent pretend not to hear them so she needn't "discipline" them. How do the V boys respond, how does Jace clapback? How often, if so, does Corlys and Rhaenys visit the Keep to develop the relationships they have with these boys for Corlys to be so tender to Luke? I'd make it often enough and they stay long enough to catch onto Alicent and Larys' dealings and "sublte" jabs.

There needs to be maybe two more "party" scenes. Viserys was man of party and feasts and celebrations just because. In these scenes, have Rhaenyra and Alicent make several jabs at each other and Viserys barely able to hold them back. We watch Rhaenyra maybe try to talk to or hold her siblings, Alicent holds them back in some manner...bc remember she is totally against Rhaenyra now, and is spreading those rumors. It gets to a point where Rhaenyra just stops trying.

Behind doors, Rhaenyra perhaps tries to speak to various courtiers and council men. Show us which ones are sincerely at her side, which ones feign and pretend, which ones visibly think her not worth the effort or avoid. Who does she make into her ladies in waiting? Does she barter with any lord of lady for support? How successful is she for Alicent to be so "no one supports me!"?

When Lucerys is born, we have Alicent force the baby up, Rhaenyra, however, seeing as this is her second pregnancy come so close to her 2nd, accidentally passes out and is unable to prevent the babe from going up. Perhaps this first attempt is with Jace, but it makes a bit more sense to me for it to be with Luke, not Jace. In those aforementioned feast/"party" scenes, we see Aegon direct Rhaenyra's sons to do more and more naughty things to Aemond with Aegon maybe promising them things. Maybe not. We reinsert Jace talking to Luke about why the court and their uncles seem to dislike them and the crooked finger bit. Because why not just melt our hearts?

Meanwhile, we're doing a back and forth b/t this and DameonxLaena, & this time they are a real couple. Daemon enjoys Laena's being, she does him. Daemon fights the Sealord of Braavos for her as it is written after he speaks to her again after the RhaenyraxLaenor wedding, when he leaves KL for Driftmark, remembering that conversation they had. Laena lets him know about her knowing about him and Rhaenyra having a thing, BEFORE all of this, though, in one of their talks (tops, two scenes), that she was not going to be 2nd place and she'd rather have tha Sealord son be on her neck and herself be free than be 2nd place. Daemon agrees. this occurs after the scene with Rhaenyra and Harwin, as it will match and contrast with how Rhaenyra gets with Harwin and heals as Daemon is "soothed" into fatherhood. Obviously a sex scene, and it's hot. One more non performance dragon riding scene of the two in the skies. Perhaps this is where we get the flashback of Laena bonding with Vhagar, and even her making those ropes we see Aemond climb in episode 7--all as in one of their talks before they marry? Successful birth scene of the twins, Daemon is visibly overjoyed as he sees and holds their girls for the first time. He puts both of their dragon eggs into their cradles, but he's not so disappointed with Rhaena's not hatching over the years. Perhaps sad for her, as Baela hatches Moondancer and is able to bond with her dragon to enjoy her companionship almost since childbirth. He tells her that most Targs don't even bond with their dragons until they hit at least 13, even Aegon the Conqueror himself. Laena had to bond with Vhagar in her teens, her own mother! Does that make Rhaena weak or lesser than Baela, of course not! Otherwise she'd be calling her mom weak, and Laena bosses your poor old dad around! It's fucking saccharine and everybody better enjoy it! (Rhaenys is skeptical, though, she may still suspect Daemon's just in it for the politics or more resents him for "keeping" Laena away from Driftmark).

Daemon doesn't keep Laena in Essos long after the girls are born, though. HE just takes the entire fam to Driftmark after the first time Laena goes up to him, or he asks her.

At this point, I'm just rewriting the damned show, but anyway...

Rhaenyra goes to Driftmark to see Laenor and Corlys, but also to congratulate Daemon, and befriends Laena. They talk abt their children, dragons, fathers, mothers, and maybe not so much abt Daemon unless we give both characters a good sense of humor. Rhaenyra's boys also visit, perhaps they bond with Daemon even now, here, and with Laena. IDK, perhaps just Jace. Depends on how old they are. this spans not 10 years but the orig 6, so maybe Jace. Rhaenyra and Laena have a dragon chase scene by themselves, Daemon-less. It starts out, though with not just Daemon but Laenor being a part of this racing game. Like in the book, Rhaenyra is there to try to save Laena from dying and stays to mourn her with Daemon. There's no self immolation.

So how do we get to Rhaenyra birthing Joffrey in the Keep? She happens to visit there and goes into labor, or course, if that's really what people want. She still lives there, if the HotD writers really want to insist on such 🙄. Now it's easier to see how Rhaenyra's relationships motivate her into keeping herself close to Joff when Alicent does what she does.

#asoiaf asks to me #hotd writing #hotd critical #hotd suggestions #hotd wrongs #driftmark

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cantarella-if · 2 years

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Since you guys seemed to like the piece I did with Lucrezia Borgia's hair, I thought I would show you another artifact that will be mentioned in Book 1 as being in the museum. It's one of my favorite historical pieces.

This looks like a picture of an ordinary (if not extravagant) bedframe, but the truth is, it's the only surviving bed from the middle ages! It was constructed in 1486 for King Henry VII of England and his new bride Elizabeth of York, parents to the infamous Henry VIII. While their son may have not had the best luck with romance, to put it mildly for his six queens, Henry and Elizabeth's story was the exact opposite and very sweet.

Elizabeth became heir to the throne of England as the oldest child of King Edward IV after her two younger brothers mysteriously disappeared (look up the Princes in the Tower if you get a chance, the story is really interesting). At the time, Henry Tudor was the Duke of Richmond, exiled after his family took the wrong side in the ongoing civil war at the time, the Wars of the Roses. Both were cousins; Henry came from the Lancastrian half of the ruling Plantagenet family represented by the symbol of the red rose while Elizabeth was from the Yorkist side who took the symbol of the white rose.

As of 1483, England was ruled by Elizabeth's uncle Richard III, who is now famous because of Shakespeare's play which incorrectly portrayed him as a hunchbacked tyrant who murdered his nephews to gain power. Richard had been on the throne for two years before Henry came back to England with an army as the last male member of the Lancastrian line and the two fought to the death in August of 1485 at the Battle of Bosworth Field, which saw Richard killed and Henry take the crown by right of conquest in a real-life Game of Thrones.

One of Henry's first acts as king was to marry the beautiful and kindhearted Elizabeth, not for romantic reasons, but because she was technically heir to the throne and he needed an airtight claim to power. Their marriage brought an end to decades of civil war and merged the two families together into one of the most infamous dynasties in history; the Tudors.

Eventually it grew into a love match that lasted 16 years. This bed was commissioned for their wedding night and it was perhaps here that the couple conceived the the first of their seven children (only three of which survived into adulthood) and brought a new era to England. However, the happiness all came to an end when Elizabeth died in childbirth with a stillborn daughter on 11 February 1503, her thirty-seventh birthday. Henry was devastated to the point that the normally stoic man who refused to show any signs of weakness or strong emotion in the past, broke down so badly that it was feared he himself might die of grief. He locked himself away and refused to let anyone see him including his doctors, becoming a cold recluse who instead became obsessed with his money and filling up the royal treasury. When he died six years later, it was said to have been from a broken heart. His son and heir Henry VIII commissioned a splendid tomb in Westminster Abbey made of gilded bronze, pictured below, as a testament to their love and seems to have spent his life trying to find the same kind of companion for himself as his mother was to his father.

After Elizabeth's death, the bed disappears from history, probably because Henry refused to sleep in it after her passing, and it was packed away until after bouncing around between locations, it was sold at auction in 2010 without the buyer knowing it's significance. It was later proven to have been made of authentic Tudor era English oak and is now one of the most important pieces of furniture in England behind the throne itself.

#artifacts

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loksthegreat · 3 months

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vis and otto!! either a sketch or more infodump about their relationship!

I choose Infodump! (Though some art is gonna follow eventually)

So Visenya and Otto met in 101 AC, when Visenyas grandfather, Baelon died and Viserys was chosen as heir by the council and wanted his oldest daughter by his side and Otto became the new Hand of the king. Vis wasn’t all that happy having to leave Dragonstone in the first place and she and Viserys didn’t get along one bit, and since Aemma was rather soft spoken and rarely successful in calming the raging princess, Otto would often go to conciliate between the two of them. They formed a rather strange ‘friendship’ during this time and a years later Viserys and Otto struck a marriage alliance, much to Visenyas anger, who felt betrayed by both her father and the hand, whom she had just begun to trust. They married in 102 AC, upon the princess’ sixteenth name day in a grand ceremony, with feasting that lasted for seven days. The early months of their marriage were filled with a fierce hatred from the princess’ side, as well as an undeniable tension filled with petty arguments, occasionally broken by a shared moment of tenderness, and not long after the wedding, the couple discovered that they were with child. The last stage of pregnancy often left Vi miserable and emotional, during this time she and Aemma grew close for the first time, over their shared pains and memories of their mothers, both of whom had died in childbirth.

Filled with fear and lonely as her husband worked away at ruling the realm day and night, Visenya promptly left the red keep unnoticed in the chaos that broke upon the death of king Jaehaerys, she sneaked into the dragon pit to claim a dragon for herself and return to her true home on Dragonstone, and she succeeded in mounting her late great grandfathers dragon, Vermithor, the bronze fury. Flying through a brief but heavy summer storm, the princess reached her destination and by the time Otto and her father had made it to the island by boat, she had given birth to her first child, a son she named Maegor, in spite of her husband and fathers wishes. Upon her return to the red keep after her brief stay in her ancestral home everyone that knew Visenya would find her to be a changed woman, she scarcely cried and scream in public as she used to whenever she and her father would argue, instead within the few weeks she had been gone, she had mastered a different expression of anger, she would speak with refined cruelty, eyes cold and unyielding and voice dripping with venom when displeased, she was however much slower to anger than before and spend most of her days seeing to her son. She and Otto grew to work together better in this time, though it was not a closeness born from love, they had a kingdom to rule and did so.

In 104 AC Visenya visited the wedding of her close friend and former lady in waiting, Gilliane Glover, to Lord Stark, a visit from which she would return with the bastard knight, Ser Arthur of the Forrest, the third knight to join her side among her sworn shield, gruff Ser Lyle Bracken and the handsome knight of flowers, Ser Lothar. Shortly after her return, Visenya and Aemma both announced that they had fallen pregnant once more. And in 105 AC both women went into labor, Aemma at the red keep, Visenya on Dragonstone. And while Aemma and Prince Baelon died, Visenya and Otto welcomed their second son, Baelor, whoms birth had been a deeply traumatic experience for the princess, who had been plagued by visions of her stepmothers death. In the following months Visenya remained anxious and Otto was painfully reminded of the girl he had meet four years ago, broken by the loss of her foster mother, queen Alysanne and her beloved grandfather, prince Baelon, while not a pleasant time, it served to bring the princess and the hand closer together, allowing each other to be vulnerable around the other for the first time. When the princess fell pregnant again not long after Baelors birth, Otto expressed his concerns about having for children, causing many fights among the couple, but this time around forgiveness would follow quickly and soon enough the twins Rhaenar and Saeron were born, Otto being present for the birth for the first time. The following year on Dragonstone would be the happiest of their relationship.

In Late 106 AC Prince Daemon and Lord Corlys start their war against the triachy, Viserys refuses to send his troops and he and Visenya fight about it long and hard, but eventually Visenya has enough and takes matters into her own hands, seeking the help of her cousins on the iron isles and soon enough the Greyjoy fleet manages to turn the tables for Daemon and Corlys. Still the war rages on for another two years before Visenya returns home, giving birth to her fifth son Jaehaeron soon after, the rumors surrounding the boys parentage as well as the long months spend apart serve to drive a wedge between the princess and her husband and soon enough when Otto returns to his duties as Hand in 109 AC the two fight beyond the point of reconciliation. Otto leaves for Kings landing, while Visenya and her children stay behind on Dragonstone, the princess once more with child. Lord Otto would not met his youngest Son, Aurys, for another few years or so.

In 111 AC Daemon and Viserys would set their differences aside for a short while, and Visenya even visited kings landing for a tourney held to celebrate the return of the brother to his kings side, but the familial reconciliation was short lived, ending with Visenya humiliated by her father, Daemon sent away once more and the Hand greatly angered by by his king. Visenya and Daemon returned to Dragonstone together, and would relive the days of their shared childhood spend chasing around the island. It was at another tourney in 114 AC, held to celebrate the betrothal of princess Rhaenyra, that Otto and Visenya met again. Otto who usually refrained from competing in tourneys, entered the lists after being provoked by Daemon, they would break multiple lances, before Daemon managed to unsaddle the Hand and win, frozen with fear for her husbands live, Visenya only broke from her trance when Daemon went to crown her his queen of love and beauty, the girl would rush past her uncle falling into her husbands arms. It seemed it took the shadow of death to bring the Hand and his dragon bride back together, but once reunited they would not stray from the others side again. And while Daemon was send into exile by the king, a choice that Visenya was greatly unhappy with, she and the children left behind the foggy isle of their ancestors and returned to live at court.

Within the same year Aerion was born and it seemed the couple was closer than ever, especially when not a year later, their first daughter was born, little Alysanne, who served to fully smooth over the scars left on her parents relationship. Otto adored the girl and would often leave his study early to see her to sleep personally and in turn the little princess grew to be her fathers constant shadow. Visenya has visited Sunspear with Daemon a few year prior and upon the news of prince Orys death she went to attend his funeral, during her stay in Dorne Visenya had princess Nymena, the sister of the late prince, and the regent for his 12 year old daughter, Velaris, would strike up a friendship of sorts. On one of the last few days of her stay, the princess was attacked by Dornishmen who distasted the relations of Dorne to the iron throne, the fight resulting in the death of her close friend Ser Arthur, who had accompanied her, as Ser Bracken was not fond of flying on dragonback. Visenya returned home with the body of a man she had loved and a broken heart, that Otto could never quite mend.

In the following year Visenya would give birth to another son, Daeron, and slowly but surely start to recover from her loss, Daemon who had married Laena Velaryon, had also returned to court to present his daughters to the king. And while the princess and her uncle exchanged their grievances about how their shared time had ended, it would be decades before they would be as close as they once were again. Instead Visenya focused on getting more involved with politics and preparing for her future reign. At this point Vi and Otto had been married for nearly 15 years and few things were able to get between them.

So yeah that’s the big ups and downs of these two, obviously their gonna be married for another 33 years so there’s still some other stuff happening, but yeah this is pretty much the many story!! Hope you enjoyed that and let me know if you’d like to know more or have any other questions!

#asoiaf oc #hotd #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic #otto hightower x oc #visenya ii targaryen

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dragoneyes618 · 4 months

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The Araluen royal family seems very small - riskily so. Royalty and nobility usually try to have at least several children, so in case the heir dies - the risk of dying young was a lot more common back in the old days, between sickness and accidents - there's still other family members to inherit if needed.

But Duncan has no siblings. Cassandra has no siblings. Madelyn has no siblings.

We don't know anything about Duncan's childhood. Maybe he did have more siblings who died. (I personally headcanon that Oswald and Deborah got married later for whatever reason so Duncan was the only child they had [which is part of the reason why Oswald changed the law to allow girls to inherit, because if he and Deborah only had a daughter and couldn't have any more children than someone needed to rule the kingdom] , but that's just my headcanon.)

But we know about Cassandra, and we know she's definitely an only child. Alright, so we know why Cassandra is an only child. Her mother died in childbirth. Maybe her father was too brokenhearted to ever remarry. Not to mention that what with having to deal with the aftermath of Morgarath's war, build himself a reputation as a good, strong king (with Morgarath not having actually been defeated, and with the army unable to get him out of the mountains, that probably didn't look very good for Duncan's first war as king) and raise a newborn daughter, remarrying was probably not high on his list of priorities at the moment.

But after a few years, even if Duncan himself didn't want to remarry, his court should have been beginning to urge him to. After all, Duncan only had the one heir. If anything happened to Cassandra, there'd be no one to inherit the throne. And indeed, Cassandra came close to dying many times. What if she'd died in Celtica? What if she'd died in Skandia? The future of Araluen's throne would have been in jeopardy. It would've been a lot less dangerous and risky if she'd had one or two siblings, just in case.

Moving on from Cassandra, there's Maddie, who is an only child as well. Again, it's risky for the monarchy to have only one heir. Especially now that she's no longer living safely at the palace but is training as a Ranger. Sure, she's not planning on actually becoming an active Ranger, but Ranger training in and of itself can be risky. Ranger apprentices are expected to go on missions and risk their lives just like full Rangers. Maddie almost died when she was wounded in the hip that time. What if she actually had died? What if she dies from an accident during training? All that would be needed is one bandit or whoever to get in a lucky shot, and that's it.

Royal families usually try to have at least "an heir and a spare." Just in case something happens to the heir, that's what the spare is for. But Araluen hasn't had any "spare" in generations.

The kingdom needs heirs, and generation after generation of only children in the royal family aren't enough of them to secure a stable future for Araluen if there is no direct heir. What if Maddie dies, and Cassandra at this point is likely too old to have children? Who will inherit the throne after Cassandra?

#ranger's apprentice #ra #john flanagan #araluen royal family #king oswald #queen deborah #king duncan #queen rosalind #rosalind serenne #evanlyn #princess cassandra #madelyn altman

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birdie123au · 2 years

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hubris

hubris - excessive pride tending to lead to defiance toward the gods

Being a young servant girl of a disgraced priest meant that you were often ridiculed; forsaken by the gods. By a chance encounter with the crowned prince of Salamis, Ajax, you find yourself infatuated despite the concerns of your dearest disgraced father.

part one of five

// next

The scent of sea salt came with the breeze as it blew through the palace halls. The sound of leather sandals against the granite floor flooded your ears as you walked down the hallway side by side with your dearest friend, Rosaria. The two of you were tasked with carrying large buckets of chum to bring down the cliffside towards the beach. The older Rosaria held two buckets with you only held one. Instead, you opted to extend your left arm outwards to run across the textured pillars that adorned the halls. The sun shone bright, high in the sky. The hot weather in combination with the cool sea breeze of the palace made for a perfect summer day. The perfect day for you to complete all of your chores in a comfortable, timely manner before the king would call you and your fellow servants in for meal time.

You had been born into servitude, similar to most of the other girls in your age range, such as Rosaria. What had made you so different, however, was the fact that your father was once a high priest of the goddess Hebe, daughter of Zeus. He was a well respected man throughout the land of Salamis, a philanthropist, an honest man, and a defender of the people. Many thought that he would someday become the head priest of the entire church, though those thoughts were shattered the moment he had you.

The very night you were born, you were told your mother had died. Your father packed all of his belongings into one single bag, and made the expedition to the king's palace to swear his life to servitude. Once word had gotten out about your fathers actions, many people of Salamis were appalled. As a priest of Hebe, your father was never supposed to marry, let alone had a child. Rumors had spread that this was the doing of the gods, that your mother had been cursed to die in childbirth and that your father was forced to become a servant. Some say you were cursed as well, whispering appalling things behind your back and calling you names such as ‘bastard’ or ‘the cursed child’. Those who were especially religious would oftentimes avoid you all together, afraid that they too would anger the gods if they stood too close.

Despite the fact that many palace members, mainly the upperranked servants or warriors, would purposely bully and degrade you, there would still be lower ranked, dirt poor servants such as yourself willing to befriend you. One of these people was Rosaria, a girl about three years older than you who was the bastard daughter of a weaver, the result of her mothers affair. She had been sent to live at the palace when she was five years old, and the two of you had been inseparable ever since. Servants like Rosaria grew to appreciate your father and his naturally moral manner. He always gave wondrous advice on how to deal with difficult situations, and although he was no longer permitted to lead sermons in the palace church, he found ways around this rule. Every other Friday night when the warriors and high ranking officials and servants would be out enjoying a game, you and the lowly servants would meet behind the large, jagged rock on the eastern side of the cliff to listen to your father preach and tell stories of great heroes and their adventures.

Tonight was another even friday, which meant you and your fellow lowly servants were in especially high spirits about the nightfall, and with the perfect weather conditions the two of you could hardly believe your luck.

“Rosaria, did you hear that the prince, son of Telamon, will be one of the players in the ball game tonight?” You asked as the two of you approached the rocky stairs that would eventually lead you down the side of the cliff. Rosaria simply scoffed at your question, clearly not in the mood to engage with you in conversation. It was also no secret that she detested much of the royal family, despite the fact that King Telamon was a respected and honorable warrior.

Your father had always been on good terms with the king, who was willing to look past his scandals and welcome into the servitude ranks, knowing the effect on morale he held with the poorest of workers. You had only ever seen the king in passing, when you and Rosaria were tasked with transporting items around the palace. He was a strong, muscular man, whose most prominent features you noted to be his long auburn beard that matched the color of hair on his head. The way he spoke and fought with a stone cold expression surely would bring even the strongest of enemies to their knees , you thought.

“Did the head mistress tell you where we should put these buckets?” Rosaria huffed, clearly growing tired from carrying around not one, but two buckets packed to the brim with chum.

“Oh yes, she told me to carry the buckets past the rocks and playing field out towards the stables.” you replied earnestly.

“Couldn’t they have gotten some of the boys to do this work? Why are they making their female servants do all the heavy labor!” she angrily replied.

“Well that's because all of the boys are setting up the formal playing field at the otherside of the mansion at this hour.” you said, earning you another exaggerated groan from Rosaria.

Of the many servants of the palace, a majority of the time it was the boys who did the heavy labor and long trips across the manor. Though because of the fact that they needed to set up the field for the copious amounts of wealthy guests that would surely be arriving today, they were needed elsewhere. The head mistress couldn’t have spared even a single boy to help the two of you young girls out, afterall, the young female servants of the house were forbidden to interact with the male servants until they were at least fourteen. This rule was put in place for your own protection , the head mistress would always say, you wouldn’t want your future husband to know you used to hang around and do your daily chores with a bunch of boys, would you? She was most certainly right.

The sweat on the back of your neck made your hair stick to it making for a quite uncomfortable sensation as the two of you approached the end of the step pathway. The moment your feet hit the sand you exhaled a breath of relief; the hardest part of your journey was over. You and Rosaria took a moment to place down your buckets and catch your breath. Under most circumstances your taking of a break would result in punishment, though Rosaria reassured you it would be alright since your superiors were nowhere in sight. You enjoyed the way your hair felt as it blew along with the cool wind, helping to take some of the heat off your body.

The creak of the bucket handles was Rosaria’s sign to you to follow her head and pick up your buckets once more; “So, do you know what legend your father plans on telling tonight?”

Your ears perked up at the word ‘father’; “Oh no, father would never tell me in advance. He refuses to spoil the surprise!”

Rosaria simply laughed in return as the two of you continued walking forward to your destination.

–––––––––

The everpresent seasalt wind viciously blows through your hair as you walk on the warm sand beneath your feet. You, of course, thoroughly enjoyed any amount of time you were permitted to walk along the palace beach, however, the way your hair vigorously blew into your face served as a great annoyance when you were trying to get your work done.

Rosaria seems to be having a similar issue. Though, unlike yourself, she did not have a free hand to brush away all of her hair that used to be in a ponytail away from her face. She instead opted to try to blow the hair away, but by the way she was huffing angrily you could tell her efforts were futile. You took this as your cue to inch closer towards her, tucking the loose strands behind her ears to the best of your abilities. The two of you walked in comfortable silence as you began to take note of the change in scenery all around you.

Before the only thing present from beside the long staircase on the rocky hill was simply the ocean. However, as the two of you walked towards where the front of the castle is at the top of the hill, you noticed an increase in greenery, playing fields, and marble statues of various gods attached to fountains. Despite the fact you were on the beach, the feeling of being in a lucious, green backyard never seemed to disappear when you were at the nicer parts of the palace. The parts of the balance where the nobles lived, worked, and played in.

“Ugh, I can’t do this anymore!” Rosaria angrily said, dropping the two buckets. As you turned your head to meet hers, you noticed she was staring at her hands. Two large blisters had begun to form where she was holding the wooden handles, no doubt she had splinters as well.

You began to panic as you realized you were now in a part of the palace in which head maids and servants lurked about. If any of them were in an especially bad mood and came across the two of you slacking off, you were sure you would be meeting the end of a stick that night.

“I shall carry them for you, Rosaria!” you said, childlike determination in your voice.

“Really?” she gave an annoyed reply, “You’re gonna carry all three buckets?”

She could tell she was teasing, though your face lit up lightly. How embarrassing. Rather than respond to her obvious gest of a question, you instead picked up one of her buckets and continued your walk forward.

“Well isn’t someone determined?” she smirked before grabbing the remaining bucket to follow after you.

“Oh look!” you suddenly said, “It’s the practicing field!”

You tried your best to point with one of the buckets, though you found it difficult to lift even a foot higher off the ground.

Amongst the columns decorated with green, there lay a large field full of sand with vertical hoops attached to the centermost columns. This place, known as the lesser field, served as a practice arena for all the young boys in the house, those who were training to be warriors. Currently, there were about twenty or so boys playing ball, some looked to be about your age, others either looked much older or younger.

“I wonder if Theo is playing right now!” you said.

Theo was a servant boy such as yourself. However, due to his innate talent at playing ball, and his natural large frame for a fourteen year old, he had been invited to practice with the rest of the wealthier boys. You wished you could ask him what his experience was like yourself, your father instead had to explain the various stories Theo would tell the other serving boys and their fathers. The stories you were forced to miss out on as you and the ladies learned how to weave properly in your spare time.

Although not all that interested, Rosaria stopped alongside you as the two of you attempted to view more of what was happening. You once more began to walk, only this time more towards the field. It was unfortunate timing, truly, or maybe an act of fate when a ball suddenly came hurling towards you. As you were in the process of walking, unable to stop yourself with such little notice, once the ball came in contact with your unbalanced legs it sent you flying forward.

Face in the sand with two painfully giant buckets of spilt chum all on your back, you heard the cries and laughs of boys coming from in front of you. Rosaria was at you side in an instant, despite the fact you swore you heard her chuckle the moment your face hit the sand. It didn;t take too much longer until the two of you were completely surrounded by the group of boys, who were all whispering and laughing amongst themselves. You had doubt they had ever been in this close of contact with servant girls such as yourselves.

“Woah man, you really hit her good!”

“Ew, what was she carrying?!”

“That’s so disgusting!”

The sounds of their mocks and questions overwhelmed you as Rosaria helped you up off your face. Although you were not that keen on crying in front of others, you felt that this moment would be a very justified time. Just as your eyelashes began to grow damp with tears, out of your peripheral vision you saw one of the guys, the one holding the ball that had just hit you, step forwards to meet where you sat.

“Are you alright?” he said, his voice an awkward combination of a laugh and a cringe. His shoulders were being held by two guys behind him, Rosaria’s hands grew tense. You recognized this boy immediately.

Telamon had four children, three sons and one daughter. The boy standing right in front of you was his oldest child, Ajax.

Ajax looked to be about your age, twelve or so. He was tall, but lanky, not quite yet old enough to develop any sort of noticeable muscles. His face was adorned with light orange freckles, most likely formed during the amount of time he had spent outside in the sun. His most striking feature of all, however, was his light ginger hair that illuminated under the light.

One of his arms rested rigid on the back of his neck, despite the smug grin he wore on his face, his inability to maintain eye contact with you was a sure sign that he was nervous. So this was who kicked the ball at your legs.

“Erm,” he made a noise at your lack of speech, “I’m sorry for…for hitting your legs.”

You only wished to cry more. What would father say? You panicked, unsure of how he would react to the entire situation you had gotten yourself into. You closed your eyes, simply wishing that you were elsewhere, somewhere where you weren't falling on your face and embarrassing yourself in front of a group of boys.

“Here, let me help you up.” Rosaria gasped as Ajax made his way towards you, handing the ball to one of the very amused boys observing his antics. You almost flew forward once more at the sheer force he used to pull at your arm.

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t know you would be that easy to pull up!” he smiled widely, his friends all laughing in response. You weren't sure if you wanted to burst out crying or slap him in the face. Maybe both.

“Oh, I know!” He said, “The ocean is right nearby! Allow me to take you there.”

“No! I mean uh, she can come with me…” Rosaria attempted to interject, getting shot back with laughs from the rest of the group. Making fun of her for daring to disobey the prince’s suggestion. Though you knew they had to know why she would suggest that in the first place.

Before she could open her mouth to reply, Ajax had once more taken your arm. He tugged less harshly this time, yet you had to admit it was difficult to keep up with him as the two of you ran off. Running along the sand was harder than you imagined, his and your feets picking up large amounts of sand whenever you tried to take a step. You tried to tell him to slow down, though you found it especially difficult considering you were yet to say a word to him.

–––––––––

“Ugh, this stuff smells real gross!” Ajax laughed, dunking you under the water once more. You were terrified, truly. Despite the fact the boy was only a few inches taller than you, he managed to have the strength to repeatedly pick you up and toss you into the water. You couldn’t even imagine how strange it must have looked from afar: the young prince trying to waterboard a young servant girl.

After ripping you out of the water once more, Ajax placed you harshly in the upright position. Your hair was soaking wet and you felt you had at least choked on a gallon of saltwater. As you took the moment to catch your breath, Ajax continued his berate of teasing; “I had no idea it was possible to look this much like a fish out of water! Don’t tell me you’ve never been swimming before.” He meant it as a jest, you assumed, but you couldn’t resist the urge to retaliate. To protect the little pride your father’s name had left. You lifted up your right leg before swinging it into the water in the direction of Ajax.

“Gah!” the prince cried, rubbing the salt water from his face. His expression quickly changed from that of pure shock to instead a mischievous glare. “Two can play at that game!”

Ajax took a swing at the water towards your direction, laughing as he did so. Perhaps challenging a boy who you had just witnessed playing ball was not the best of ideas, as the amount of water he flung at you sent you stumbling backwards, just in time for a large wave to knock you off your feet. Your body trashed under the water, you found it difficult to emerge back to the surface considering the wave sent you doing flips. It wasn’t until the ocean’s wrath settled down that you could finally stand upwards, falling back slightly as you felt a pair of hands secure your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry! No idea that wave was even coming, I promise!” the prince laughed, clearly not taking this situation as seriously as you desired.

“Gods…” you mumbled, spitting out the salt water that remained in your mouth. You were then hit by a horrible realization; “Oh no! My clothes…what will my father say?”

You had managed to destroy one of your only outfits. If you told your father, he would need to contact the head maids, and they would need to fetch you a new outfit to work in. This wouldn’t go unpunished either, you were very aware that no one would dare blame the prince for knocking you over. I’m gonna be on cleaning duty for the rest of my life! You lamented, angry at yourself for even trying to view the game in the first place. You knew you should have just done what you were told, afterall, look where misbehaving had left you…

“Oh, don’t worry!” Ajax replied, letting go of his grip on your shoulders, “I’m sure the sun will dry your clothes in time for supper!”

You gave a slight smile to him, though his words did little to sooth your worries; “Speaking of fathers. My name is Ajax, son of Telamon! Though I’m sure you already knew that. And you are?”

The boy flashed you his best prideful smile, putting his hands on his hips and shutting his eyes from dramatic effect. You resisted the urge to kick water at him once again. You finally introduce yourself formally, hand shake and all. Ajax seemed to take a special interest once you had revealed the name of your father.

“Wait, as in the old priest?” you nodded your head at his question, “Huh. I didn’t know his daughter was my age.”

The boy scratched his eyebrow as he processed all you had told him; “Father would sometimes mention him. I think the two of us were even formally introduced when I was little… That’s so awesome!”

The boy's attitude once again turned joyous. You were slightly put off by the level of enthusiasm he had when speaking with you.

“I think that’s super awesome that we met!” he said, “Where have you and your terrible balance been my whole life!”

You winced slightly as he playfully punched your arm. His jovial, carefree nature began rubbing off on you, as you soon found yourself laughing along with him; “What do you mean? I’ve obviously been dropping chum buckets the whole time. Can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner.”

The boy laughed even louder at your words, covering his freckle painted face with both of his hands as he attempted to calm himself down. He seemed to have a sudden realization as his laughter ceased with no warning.

“You’re coming to my game tonight, right?” he asked, eyes wide, “You are, surely?”

Your laughter halted at his question. You knew it would be rude to deny the prince, but you would surely be punished if one of the head maids had found you at such an event, surrounded by people well above your social standing.

“I’m sorry your highness, but I don’t think I’m allowed to go.” the boy opened his mouth to protest your words, you cut him off before he even began, “My father wouldn’t permit such a thing.”

Ajax knew better than to argue against the words of a father, so he reluctantly nodded his head as another wave crashed into the side of the two of your legs. The way his expression fell sort of made him look like a sad puppy. Though he swifty got over what was bothering him, shaking his head as his grin returned. He reached his hand out to grab your arm, guiding the two of you towards the shore.

“I get that! You probably have lots of important stuff to do.” he stopped as the two of them met the shore, turning his body to face you once again, “But promise me that you will come see one of my games soon. I’ll have one of my personal men talk to your dad myself!”

He held out his pinkie finger towards you; “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I’ll leave you for the flies. The heat will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the sand will burn your tongue so you never lie again.”

You bursted out laughing at the riddle he told you. Rosaria had taught it to you years prior, and the two of you had since declared it ridiculous. Ajax laughed along with you as your pinkies linked together.

Not long later, the young boy began his journey back to the ball field, giving you a small wave as he ran off to his friends. As you yourself made your way back to where you saw Rosaria in the distance, you found it hard to wipe the smile off your now warmed face.

–––––––––

“Y/n? My child, is that you?”

You heard the familiar voice of your father ring from the corner of the small shed-like home the two of you shared. Made of wood yet sturdy as stone, you lay your hand against one of the walls by the entrance to take off your sandals. Rosaria stands next to you in the doorway, arms crossed as she continues to process the events that had just occurred.

“Yes father, Rosaria and I have come home.” you replied.

Hearing your fathers signature rumbly laugh, the two of you turn the corner to see him sitting under the light of the window. His hair tied back into a low ponytail, despite his young age numerous gray hairs painted his hair. For a man of 32 years, he was more akin to that of a 70 year old man. He was reading another one of his scribes. The servants of the palace had always admired your fathers ability to read, a talent that you yourself barely possessed, while the majority of the servants were completely literate. You shudder slightly as you are met with flashbacks to when you were younger, sitting on the chair underneath that same window being scolded by your father for mispronouncing the alphabet. You were proud of how far your reading had come, especially considering the fact you were a girl.

“Welcome home, my girls.” he begins, “I do hope you finished your tasks in a timely manner today.”

Rosaria takes the seat opposite to your father, sighing in relief after being able to sit down for the first time in hours. You walked over to your fathers side, quickly trying to glance to see if you could recognize which story he was reading. Unfortunately for you, due to your fathers position, his arm was covering the majority of the text. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you notice your father’s body language change completely.

“Is that salt water I smell?” he asks calmly, “Oh my child, don’t tell me you evaded your work to go swim in the ocean.”

“Oh no!” you shifty retort, eager to clarify the meaning of this, though you found yourself stumbling over your own words “I had a little accident. One of the boys…he well– um hit my leg an-and I spilt the chum and then we–”

“The boys?” your father accused, “What could have possessed you to hang around those–”

“No father! We were quite far away, it was a ball that hit my legs!”

Your father’s gaze softened ever so slightly; “Whose ball? Must I tell the headmistress about this?”

“Please don’t father. It was the prince’s kick that hit me.”

You realized quickly the mistake you had made judging by the way your fathers eyes opened wide, his mouth falling open in shock.

“The prince?” he asked angrily, “You fool! Don’t you know what kind of reputation you will have seeing as you have made a mess of yourself in front of the heir to the throne? Is he the one who helped you swim?!”

As he continued his lecture, his voice grew angrier. Your father had only ever wanted to protect you, as he was very aware of the foul reputation you already had due to his own wrongdoings. He couldn’t bear to watch you in pain anymore, even if his methods of expressing his disapproval were often harsh.

Before you could respond to his accusations, he cut you off; “Rosaria? Did you know about this?”

You looked over to your equally surprised friend. She clearly did not anticipate this foul reaction from the man who treated her like his own; a man who would do anything for his daughters.

“No–well, yes sir. But it wasn’t Y/n’s fault! The prince knocked her over, mocked us, and then nearly drowned her in the water!”

“Drowned!” your father yelled.

He looked towards you for confirmation. You reluctantly nodded your head, gazing to the floor rather than trying to meet his eyes. “Y/n, my child. Promise me. Promise me you will not become too attached to this boy.”

You looked at him, confused as to why he would think such a thing. His expression grew quite painful, it was obvious he knew something more about the implications of your interaction with Prince Ajax, though you weren't quite sure how or what he knew.

“Father…” you replied, “I don’t understand.”

“Then tonight, I will make sure you will.”

Your father’s bold declaration was accompanied by his swifty standing up and reaching for his cane left on the side of his chair. You and Rosaria both were quick by his side, offering to help him go wherever he needed to. He motioned the two of you away, claiming he needed to go on a walk of his own, as he needed to rethink his entire lecture for the night.

Munching on the stale bread your father must have grabbed more from the kitchen after the conclusion of his work day, you and Rosaria sat in silence as you nervously imagined what he could have possibly meant by his words. Perhaps you would try to ask him once he returned, perhaps he would be unwilling to communicate with you entirely. Regardless, you knew it must be a very serious matter.

–––––––––

The small bonfire lit by one of the older serving men lit up the dark knight sky. The stars seemed to be hiding behind the clouds, something unusual for the island you all lived on. You and dozens of poor servants sat gathered around the fire, while your father had taken a stand in front of everyone. Propped up against his cane as well as one of the youngest boys, years younger than you, your father prepared his sermon for the night.

“Daedalus was a genius man.” your father began.

“Born with the hands of a sculptor, he created pieces of ceramic so fine that even the most perceptive of men could not distinguish them from real humans. The inventor of our beloved bath houses, dance floors, and wooden dolls. Daedalus could create it all.”

A few excited murmurs from the crowd arose as your father began his story; “Daedalus was so wonderful, that many said he stretched human limitations created by the divine.”

Limitations created by the divine. In Greece, mortals were mortals, and the gods were gods, there was no circumstance in which those lines were to be crossed. “Much like all good things, an equal yet opposite reaction occurred. Daedalus was an egotistical, stubborn, hubris ridden man.”

“Driven by madness to be the greatest creator, he soaked his hands in the blood of his own uncle. He was forsaken from Athens, city of scholars, and forced into the Kingdom ruled by King Minos.”

A few gasps could be heard from the crowd, you and Rosaria's hands gripped tighter in anticipation; “King Minos’s foolish wife was cursed by the God of Sea and Earthquakes, our own Posiedon.”

“The shameless woman fell in love with a bull. With the help of the cocky Daedalus, she was able to conceive a child, the Minotar, with the bull through the use of a prosthetic cow costume.”

Disgusted whispers filled the audience, condemning both Daedalus and the foolish wife. “King Minos did not stand for this. After demanding Daedalus to construct an inescapable Labrinth, he was locked away along with his only son, Icarus.”

“However, this did little to stop Daedalus.” your father’s gaze darkened, “Using wax from a candle and the loose feathers of a bird, Daedalus constructed wings for both him and his son. Together, the two flew into the sky.”

“Unfortunately, Icarus too was a fool to the power of hubris. Ignoring his fathers commands to be weary of flying too close to the ocean or two close to the son, Icarus was overwhelmed by the power he felt when being able to fly.”

Your father took a pause, “The wax on the wings melted, and Daedalus could only watch in terror as his sun was struck down from the sky.”

“Afterall, the only creatures who could fly besides birds…” your father looked directly into your eyes, “are gods.”

At the conclusion of his story, the crowd erupted into cheers and riveted discussion of your fathers magnificent story telling. As you and Rosaria discussed what you had heard, you felt the warning gaze of your fathers eyes on the back of your head.

–––––––––

As you lay in the bed you and your father were both forced to share due to the size of your home, you found yourself struggling to sleep after all that had happened in just twelve hours.

The moral of the story that your father expressed through his sermon was clear to you, though you failed to stay focused as thoughts of the red-haired prince clouded your mind. You found yourself infatuated by your interactions, replaying each individual word the two of you exchanged.

Eventually, you began drifting off to sleep, hoping only that the prince had too been thinking of you…

#tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #ajax x reader #rosaria genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact #greek gods #tragedy #angst with a happy ending #genshin angst #time skip #growing up together #prince ajax #poor reader #daddy issues #misoginy #duh its ancient greece

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drakaripykiros130ac · 6 months

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You know, TG stans are so hypocrite.

They are the same ones who complain about how House Velaryon should not support Rhaenyra because of Vaemond - when Vaemond only wanted to be Lord of Driftmark because of Corlys' money - and the significance of him being black.

And while I agree HOTD producers have failed in portraying their opulence and pride, Corlys and Rhaenys owe nothing to the greens. That offer Alicent made would have been reversed and they would have given Driftmark to Daemion Velaryon, Vaemond's oldest son, in order to defend male claims over female claims. And Corlys and Rhaenys wanted Baela as queen and Rhaena as Lady of Driftmark, true, it's not the same, but as we see how Rhaenyra raised her sons - and also because of Corlys and Rhaenys' pressure - they would have listened to their opinion in matters of government.

And yet they are the very same ones who criticize Daenaera simply because she exists; it seems they are willing to support Vaemond but not Daenaera.

They say it's creepy how Daenaera is described as a smiling child whose eyes sparkle. As excuse me, if someone is fetishizing a child, it's them, Daenaera is described as beautiful because she is, and her description is meant to be one of a child's innocence, not describing someone in a sexual way. In anything, it's the greens who are sexualizing a black girl (as the Show! Velaryons are black) because they are pissed Daenaera's descendants were princes and princesses and Jaehaera (a white girl) didn't have descendants.

Exactly!

Alicent offering Rhaenys Driftmark for her and her granddaughters was such an idiotic move on her part. She literally usurped the throne from the rightful Queen on the basis that she is a woman, and she is offering the seat of the second greatest power in the Realm to another woman in exchange for approving and supporting this usurpation. Seriously?

Regardless of what TG stans claim, Corlys and Rhaenys would have always been Team Black. There is nothing tying them to the greens. Their biological and adoptive grandchildren are Team Black, and their interests align with theirs. As for what happened to their children - none of it was Rhaenyra or Daemon’s fault. Laena died in childbirth, as many women did during those times. Daemon’s own mother died in childbirth, as did Rhaenyra’s. The Maesters in Pentos were very good and they couldn’t do anything to save Laena. No one is to blame for her death, and even Corlys knows that.

As for Laenor - Corlys and Rhaenys are pretty much responsible for putting him in such a situation they knew perfectly well would bring him hardships. He was not suited to be the Consort of a ruling Queen and he couldn’t even perform his duty and give his wife heirs she needed to secure her claim. Rhaenyra cannot be held accountable for finally ridding herself of the dead weight in her life which could have cost her everything.

Don’t even get me started on the TG stans obsessing over their Green girl and how much they hate Daenaera for replacing her.

Daenaera was a Velaryon and her marriage to Aegon III brought the Velaryons back in the royal fold for the second time in history. It is an important union between the two Valyrian Houses. Way more important than the marriage between Aegon III and the last surviving member of a defeated faction.

Aegon III was already broken, having witnessed horrific things. He needed someone to help heal his broken spirit. He needed light in his life, and that light was Daenaera. If he had stayed married to an equally broken girl with issues and whose father practically killed his mother, I am pretty sure Aegon would have ended up jumping off a balcony.

Daenaera and Viserys II are responsible for healing Aegon III.

And this whole marriage pact between Aegon III and the green girl for “keeping the peace” between the two factions is such bullshit. The green faction was defeated. Only one member was left alive: a broken eight year-old girl. There was no need for such a marriage.

What would the remaining so-called green “supporters” have done if Aegon III didn’t marry that girl? Plot to put her on the throne in his place? Um…isn’t the reason why they started the war because the rightful heir was a woman? To me, Aegon III’s first marriage was so completely unnecessary, and since it was never consummated, it can’t really be considered a true marriage.

I don’t have anything against that little girl, but she belonged to the losing faction and was a constant reminder of the treasonous acts and other atrocities committed by her family. Aegon III deserved better than that.

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guessimate · 1 month

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I've been building the ancient houses, mostly trying to replicate what I did before in my old hood. I might have gone a bit overboard with the bathhouse. It has a mini clothing store (because as per the rules of the challenge you need a clothing store and I couldn't be bothered to have it on a separate lot), a sauna, hot springs, swimming pools, hot tubs, and a massage table. The plebeian houses should really be apartments but it's more convenient for me to make them into regular lots.

Here is the ranking of the original families I revisited just to double check their standing. Below there is a short summary of each:

Bruni - 122.000$ - no surprises here, the most kids mean you are going to become emperors in this challenge. This family's firstborn son is already dead but he has 2 children. He also has a brother. So it will be interesting to see who will become the emperor of the next generation, because for now it's the patriarch, one of the founders. #bruni

Tia - 113.000$ - patricians - this family consists of the patriarch, his son and 3 grandchildren. The heir's sister is deceased by now, but she was married to the heir to the throne so she'd be the queen mother of the next emperor. Lovi is running away to get married abroad as soon as she can, but that's fine because she has a younger sister and a brother. This family definitely already has connections to the ruling household, and they also have some connections to the occult. #tia

Imago - 105.000$ - patricians - this family consists of a patriarch and his son's family - wife and one child [for now]. Sadly the heir's twin sister is already deceased (she married into the Tia family and had 3 children). #imago

Orange - 60.000$ - plebeians - a family of a father, his son, and grandson (sadly moms died in childbirth due to unfortunate rolls). They have one puppy they acquired from the Wolfens. Because the heir of this family got married in the previous era, they have a connection to the royal family. Damu Orange married Tefnut Bruni (one of the to-be-princesses). The patriarch of this family is a bit of a Casanova. He's been romancing hobby instructors after his wife's passing. #orange

Wolfen - 44.000$ - plebeians - this is the family of the father and son who have got a ton of wolf puppies. The heir wants to get married rich, but I don't know how rich of a spouse he can get. I would have to check if any of the Asian sims count as rich. #wolfen

So who is going to be the servants? I think I'll do what I've done before and if I need to, I'll make them in CAS. I know you are supposed to have servants in the wealthier households, but I didn't always do this, because these households are so big... I also have a 'bonehilda' (spectral assistant - I use a default replacement and a summoner object - careful with this one, I think it creates an NPC but I'm fine with that).

#thesims2 #ts2 #build #custom hood #ancient #tot #test of time

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gardenofkore · 1 year

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Et quia solum Guilielmum Capuanorum Principem habebat superstitem, veritus ne eumdem conditione humanae fragilitatis amitteret, Sibiliam sororem Ducis Burgundiae duxit uxorem, quae non multo post Salerni mortua est, et apud Caveam est sepulta. Tertio Beatricem filiam Comitis de Reteste in uxoris accepit, de qua filiam habuit, quem Constantiam appellavit.

Chronicon Romualdi II, archiepiscopi Salernitani, p. 16

Beatrice was born around 1135 in the county of Rethel (northern France) from Gunther (also know as Ithier) de Vitry, earl of Rethel, and Beatrice of Namur.

On her mother’s side, Beatrice descended from Charlemagne (through his son, Louis the Pious), while on the paternal side she was a grandniece of Baldwin II King of Jerusalem (her paternal grandmother Matilda, titular Countess of Rethel, was the King’s younger sister). The Counts of Rethel were also vassals of the powerful House of Champagne, known for its successful marriage politics (Count Theobald IV of Blois-Champagne’s daughter, Isabelle, would marry in 1143 Duke Roger III of Apulia, eldest son of King Roger II of Sicily).

In 1151, Beatrice married this same Roger. The King of Sicily was at his third marriage at this point. His first wife had been Elvira, daughter of King Alfonso VI the Brave of León and Castile and of Galicia, who bore him six children (five sons and one daughter). However, when four of his sons (Roger, Tancred, Alphonse and the youngest, Henry) died before him, leaving only William as his heir, Roger II must have feared for his succession. In 1149, the King then married Sibylla, daughter of Duke Hugh II of Burgundy. She bore him a son, Henry (named after his late older brother), and two years later died of childbirth complications giving birth to a stillborn son. As this second Henry died young too, Roger thought about marrying for a third (and hopefully last) time.

It is possible that Roger’s choice of his third wife had been influenced by the future bride’s family ties with the Crusader royalties as Beatrice was related with both Queen Melisende of Jerusalem and the Queen’s niece Constance of Hauteville, ruling Princess of Antioch. Constance was also a first cousin once removed of Roger, who had (unsuccessfully) tried to snatch the Antiochian principality from her when her father Bohemond II was killed in battle 1130, leaving his two years old daughter as heir.

Beatrice bore Roger only a daughter, Constance, who was born in Palermo on November 2nd 1154. This baby girl (who would one day become Queen of Sicily) never knew her father as he died on February 26th.

Nothing certain is known about her widowed life, although we can suppose she took care of her only daughter. Beatrice died in Palermo on March 30th 1185, living enough to see Constance being betrothed to Emperor Frederick Barbarossa’s son, Henry.

The body of the Dowager Queen was laid to rest in the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene, together with her predecessor, Elvira, and her step-children, Henry, Tancred, Alphonse and Roger. Through her daughter, Beatrice would become Emperor Frederick II’s grandmother.

Sources

Cronica di Romualdo Guarna, arcivescovo Salernitano Chronicon Romualdi II, archiepiscopi Salernitani Versione di G. del Re, con note e dilucidazione dello stesso

Garofalo Luigi, Tabularium regiae ac imperialis capellae collegiatae divi Petri in regio panormitano palatio Ferdinandi 2. regni Utriusque Siciliae regis

Hayes Dawn Marie, Roger II of Sicily. Family, Faith, and Empire in the Medieval Mediterranean World

Houben Hubert, Roger II Of Sicily: A Ruler Between East And West

SICILY/NAPLES: COUNTS & KINGS

Walter Ingeborg, BEATRICE di Rethel, regina di Sicilia, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 7

#historicwomendaily #women #history #women in history #historical women #House of Hauteville #Roger II of Sicily #Beatrice of Rethel #norman swabian sicily #costanza i #people of sicily #women of sicily #myedit #historyedit

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tevinter · 1 year

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Can you give me some beautiful and wonderful lore about your oc? I am really intrigued by her.

Be careful what you wish for... Behold my very long ramblings -

Antigone is named after the character from Sophocle's tragedy, and I like to think that she has the same qualities I see in the original - extremely loyal, caring, stubborn, marked by death all her life but it never made her bitter or cruel. The 'memento mori' aspect of her character is such an inspiration to the way I think about my Antigone. From the very first scenes in the play Antigone makes clear that she is not afraid to die to do right by the ones she loved, because there is beauty in that because there is love. Her actions may be morbid but they are full of so much love and honour and stubbornness that it makes her one of my favourite characters of all time, and I wanted my mc to have those qualities too. I didn't want her to be a sad edgy girl (nothing wrong with those). She has an air of longing and melancholy and quietness, but it is the form of the gentlest happinness and wonder. I think of her as a bit ethereal, a bit morbid, extremely gentle. Like the ghost of a loved one. Or a little black bird that seems an omen of death but if you hold it in your hands you'll feel how gentle it is. And I think it fits so well with the time period! I really love the Victorian Era and its mourning rituals and memento mori-ness and search for spirits and séances.

She was born to a Lestrange mother and a muggle father, in France. Her mother was erased from the family tree à la Sirius Black when they married, for being a blood-traitor and whatnot, but her mother contracted tuberculosis close to childbirth and died soon after she was born. Before dying, though, out of spite, she gave Antigone the family surname. The Lestranges would not accept someone with their name being raised by a muggle, even though they despised her and called her a ''little blood-traitor spawn''. The elders of the family discussed the situation - they thought about killing her, but there was some distant great-aunt who was recently widowed and lonely in her estate in England, so they sent her there to be raised by her and keep her company. They obliviated her father's memories of his wife, daughter and the subsequent events relating to them. She did not show any signs of magical abilities during her childhood, but she could still see ghosts and eventually Thestrals, though they were rare.

Living with her great aunt was ok. She wasn't treated as a daughter, more like a pet. Sometimes like a dignified house elf. At least until she grew into a well-behaved, graceful girl. Then she was seen with kinder eyes. Her aunt was very much the typical Queen Victoria ''forever in mourning'', and black clothes were the norm in the household. They were the very contrast of old and bitter and young and spirited, though connected by their memento-mori-ness. Antigone lived in this estate and had to think of pasttimes that did not involve magic. She learned to play some instruments (piano and violin) and transcribed music sheets. When she went to London once, she got separated from her great aunt and found herself in a theatre, where there was a ballet presentation. She took opera librettos and some books back home. Sometimes she practised dancing like a ballerinna when she was alone. She also liked to roam the woods next to the estate, because she marvelled at nature. She was particularly fond of the magpies that nested there and the wild hares. She even loved the spiders, especially seeing their webs adorned with dew in the morning. It was a good childhood, despite the strict rules and chores, and lack of friends or familial love.

When she turned 14, she started showing signs of magical abilities. Her great aunt was a bit pleased, but also scared to be alone again, so she acted bitterly about it. Nevertheless, her Hogwarts letter came and off to Hogwarts she went.

I have more ramblings about Hogwarts and Ominis and the other characters but this is already too long.

Due to death being one of the first things she ever saw, her Patronus is a small Thestral foal.

#Antigone Lestrange #thank you for the ask 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

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butterflyintochains · 17 days

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The Targaryen Baker's Dozen

Just a little AU stem of if Jaehaerys I and Alysanne's children had different fates. Don't know if I'll do anything with this, but here it is.

Prince Aegon Targaryen - still dies in infancy. Born and died in 52 AC.

Princess Daenerys Targaryen - Born in 53 AC. Survives her shivering sickness. Eventual rider of Dreamfyre. Marries the eldest son of Alaric Stark - Eddard Stark, and has four children with him:

Lord Torrhen Stark - Born in 70 AC at Winterfell. Lady Alysanne Stark - Born in 73 AC at Winterfell. Lord Rickard Stark - Born in 75 AC at Winterfell. Lady Lyanna Stark - Born in 79 AC at Winterfell.

Prince Aemon Targaryen - Born in 55 AC. Becomes King, succeeding his father. Rider of Caraxes, owner of Blackfyre. Heir to the throne. Marries Jocelyn Baratheon, and has one daughter:

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen - Born in 74 AC at Dragonstone.

Prince Baelon Targaryen - Born in 57 AC. Rider of Vhagar. Second son and Aemon's best friend. Marries his sister, Alyssa. They have two sons, and Baelon comes into possession of Dark Sister.

Princess Alyssa Targaryen - Born in 60 AC. Rider of Meleys. Second daughter and Daenerys' shadow. Marries her brother, Baelon, and has two sons with him. Alyssa does not die in childbirth:

Prince Viserys Targaryen - Born in 77 AC in King's Landing. Prince Daemon Targaryen - Born in 81 AC in King's Landing.

Princess Maegelle Targaryen - Born in 62 AC. Becomes a septa and trains as a healer. Doesn't die of greyscale here.

Prince Vaegon Targaryen - Born in 63 AC. Becomes a Maester still, specializing in Valyrian history.

Princess Daella Targaryen - Born in 64 AC. Still marries into House Arryn, but to Rodrik's son - Jonnel Arryn, and gives him one daughter, it's a struggle, but she does, however, survive Aemma's birth.:

Lady Aemma Arryn - Born in 82 AC in The Eyrie.

Princess Saera Targaryen - Born in 67 AC. The dramatic sister(tm), never does things by halves, elopes with Ser William Blackwood and weds him. Giving him three children:

Lady Jocelyn Blackwood - Born in 86 AC at Raventree Hall. Lady Bethany Blackwood - Born in 90 AC at Raventree Hall. Lord Brandon Blackwood - Born in 90 AC at Raventree Hall.

Princess Viserra Targaryen - Born in 71 AC. The beauty queen of the family, with her finger on the pulse of courtly gossip. But, marries Lord Lyonel Dayne, and has five children with him:

Lord Arthur Dayne - Born in 87 AC at Starfall. Lady Elaena Dayne - Born in 89 AC at Starfall. Lord Joffrey Dayne - Born in 92 AC at Starfall. Lady Clarissa Dayne - Born in 95 AC at Starfall. Lady Myriah Dayne - Born in 99 AC in King's Landing.

Prince Gaemon Targaryen - still dies in infancy. Born in 73 AC, dies in 74 AC.

Prince Aenys Targaryen - Born in 77 AC. The wild child of the family, but eventually becomes a knight and joins the Kingsguard.

Princess Gael Targaryen - Born in 80 AC dies in 99 AC. Her mother's favourite, born with a learning disability, is a lovely girl who loves animals. However, dies birthing a son from a brief affair with a court bard.

Prince Aegon Targaryen, born in 99 AC. raised by Aemon and Jocelyn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Myriah and Aegon are the last grandchildren born before Alysanne passes away in 100 AC.

I've changed Valerion's name to Aenys, I just felt as if Jaehaerys and Alysanne could honour their mother, they should also honour their father. And, Valerion sounds like the Targaryen equivalent of, like, Paris Hilton. Naming a child after a physical place.

Overall, I'm kinda pleased with this one. I imagine Aemon and Baelon would rule as almost co-Kings in a way, and Jocelyn and Alyssa would be co-Queens in effect if not in law.

Queen Alyssa still marries Rogar Baratheon, and has Boremund and Jocelyn, and, due to her advanced age at the time, I couldn't save her. But, more of her grandchildren do go on to have better lives and fates of their own.

#house targaryen #asoiaf #game of thrones

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