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#the viper of bronze
evilhorse · 6 months
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All life is a gamble
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shiny-jr · 13 days
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✦ damnation [ the vizier's vassal ]
– Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.
– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.
– Characters: Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper.
– Note: Please enjoy this post! Hopefully everything is okay, since I just copy and pasted from the quiz and skimmed.
– Pages: 42
– Not satisfied? Try looking here for the quiz to take it yourself and see where you end up banished!
The Diviner   |   The Vizier's Vassal   |   The Raven Retainer
Feathers. Colorful feathers tickled your nose. A woven shawl sat on your shoulders with vibrant colors and macaw feathers along the clip that held it in place above your collarbone. As your vision readjusted to the scenery, you could make out an old desert city stretching out as far as the eye could see, until it met over the horizon with the starry night sky. It was nothing like the court you were in moments ago. Instantly everything came flashing back to you, the trial, the judges, your punishment. This was your punishment. “Holy shit.” 
“Is something wrong?” 
You looked to the side, surprised to see a servant placing a tray beside you. You were on a balcony, a beautiful grand spacious terrace where the arches were decorated with ivy and walls of flowers while pillars of flames provided light and there was a large water fountain in the center. You were laying on the edge of that fountain, when you pushed yourself up and looked around. That’s when you noticed your clothes had changed too. Somehow your simple change of clothes from before had become easy-to-move-in loose trousers and a simple tunic, but with the colorful shawl over your shoulders that resembled wings. “What? What the hell?” 
“Is there something wrong with the food?” 
Food? You looked down at the tray the servant had brought, surprised to see a plate of kofta with a chalice of water. The delicious smell wafted in the air, making your mouth water and stomach grumble. How long has it been since you ate? Probably well before you were arrested. If you got food, you were expecting cold slop, not this scrumptious meal that was cooked to perfection. Instantly you snatched it up, assuring the servant, “No, no, forget it! This is fine, uh, thanks…!” 
“Very well.” They bowed their head to you, “Please, enjoy the meal, vassal.” 
Vassal? You stopped mid-bite, about to ask them about it and where you were, but they had already taken off. Well, you weren’t complaining. You had thought you were going to die, or end up in some horrible hell. This place was actually quite nice. You could feel the breeze of the cool desert air and smell the flora growing on this terrace, you heard the city below with the crackling of fire from the pillars and the running water beside you, not to mention you were eating the best food you ever tasted! If this was hell, then being banished might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you! 
“You! Jamil’s vassal!” 
There it was again. What the hell did they mean by vassal? Your cheeks were stuffed with food you had shoveled into your mouth, as you slowly and awkwardly turned around to face whoever called you. Who was Jamil? You had no idea. A little annoyed that your dinner was interrupted, you eyed the approaching stranger up and down before swallowing your food and muttering, “What do you want?”
Appearing offended at your response, the young man stomped up to you, closer so you could see him better in the dim lighting. He looks a little young, if you had to guess, you’d say the guy was no younger than eighteen. Sharp blue eyes and long thick black hair styled into a single braid, not to mention he wasn’t smiling. This was no servant judging by the expensive looking blue garbs he wore and the gold on his bronze ears that complimented his handsome face. It had to be someone of high standing. When he was right in front of you, he frowned down at you and placed his hands on his hips, “Where is Jamil? And where is my cousin?” 
You lowered your plate of food, squinting incredulously at this stranger. Who did he think he was? Jamil? Cousin? “Your cousin…? Jamil…? How should I know?” 
“You should know. As the vizier’s only vassal, you should know where Jamil is. That is your job, to serve him. Or is he slithering about in places he shouldn’t be?” As his blue eyes bore down at you, he continued his tirade, “You haven’t bowed your head or greeted me as everyone does, by saying, good day, Prince Jaseer. And you’re here slacking off while everyone else in the palace is dutifully working.” 
“I’m on a lunch break.” You mumbled in reply, tempted to snap. Wait… had he said prince…? A beautiful royal in blue wearing gold, with long black hair, who is spirited and no-nonsense, like a princess in a fantasy tale. A princess that lived in a palace just like this one, where there was a vizier and sultan–– oh fuck. How was that possible? This was like a stupid kid’s story you heard all the time! Before you could ponder on the topic, you were reminded of who was in front of you by him cleaning his throat. You immediately bowed your head sloppily, begrudgingly, as you recited the words he wanted to hear. “Good day, Prince Jaseer…” 
At your less-than-satisfactory response, he crossed his arms over his chest and replied still with that frown, “If you can’t answer my question, then there’s no use talking to you. I’ll find someone who can tell me where my cousin and Jamil are. Let it be known, I have my eye on you and your master. My cousin may be fond of you both, but I am not.” 
When you slowly lifted your head, you watched the prince storm away, likely to go find his cousin, whoever that was, and the vizier, this Jamil guy. As soon as he turned a corner, you scrunched your nose and scoffed, “Brat.” 
Wait… that meant this was a story. It was all too similar to a story that began much like: it begins on a dark night, where a dark man waits with a dark purpose. If this was that story then what were you…? Apparently working for the vizier, wearing a shawl of rainbows, and feathers… oh my god, you were the fucking parrot. As you resumed your eating you busied your mind with processing these thoughts. “At least the tax collector can’t find me here.”
All you knew was that you were in the role of his parrot, his pet. What a stupid role to end up in! In this version you hoped you were at least some sort of glorified servant! At least you weren’t dead, this was much better than that. You knew the tale of Aladdin by heart, it was a very popular story growing up. You had even envied the protagonist, a thief, for ending up with a genie and winning the love of the princess. Turns out that princess, or prince in this case, was not all that. Well, they always say to never meet your heroes. But, there was one thing that was bound to be great, no matter how much this story would change. The magic lamp that held the genie. You wanted it. Maybe if you stuck around this vizier long enough, you could take it for yourself whenever the opportunity presented itself. You had the advantage, you knew exactly what was going to happen. That genie could grant any of your wishes! It could take you home if you wanted. You could make all those judges rue the day they banished you! You could rule this world and yours! You could bathe in an endless amount of gold and cash! The possibilities were endless! 
As you finished your meal, another figure came into view. The figure of a guard, like the ones you’ve been watching patrol and march around, approached you nervously. Only when he noticed you glance at him and nod your head, did he begin speaking, “G-Good evening, vassal. The candidates, they’re ready for the vizier, he’ll be here any moment. You are the only one he trusts, everyone knows this, won’t you put in a kind word for me? I fear he’s in a foul mood, his venture to the cave in the desert didn’t end well again.” 
Candidates? Vizier? Cave in the desert? After a few seconds of the guard waiting in anticipation, you were able to connect the dots. This must’ve been a specific rendition of the story where the vizier found the Cave of Wonders in the desert but instead of using a magic machine he created to find the diamond in the rough that could enter the cave, he used his power behind the scenes and in the dark to search through prisoners and criminals and send those he thought might be worthy to die trying to enter the mystic cave. This vizier, Jamil, would no doubt be growing frustrated since he’s likely been keeping at this for so long without finding a single person that can successfully enter the cave. Jumping off your seat on the fountain after finishing your last bite of food, you looked over to the guard and smiled, “Alright, let’s go. We can’t leave the master waiting, can we?”
“Of course! Allow me to lead the way.” So you followed the meek little guard, and as you trailed after him you thought about what would happen and what would you do. The guard had said that it was a fact that the vizier trusted only you, or rather, the person who you’ve replaced. The prince didn’t notice you were not the vassal, and neither did this guard or any of the other servants, so it was likely that no one would notice unless you slipped up, not even the Vizier Jamil. Hopefully. 
You watched as the pristine halls of the palace became dark and dim the deeper you went. As the smooth walls became rugged stone lit only by lamps of fire, and the lush green plants and overpriced furniture and decorations became absent. There were also, noticeably, less people. It felt like you and the guard were the only ones as you followed them deeper into what you guessed was a dungeon where you heard chains rattling and the echoing screams of those held captive. Before you could enter the room, the guard turned to you and pleaded, 
“Please, stay here. I’m sure seeing you will give the vizier a bit of peace. He should be here any second now. I will go ahead and be sure everything is in order.” 
Before you could even protest, the guard scurried ahead to the end of the hall and not too long after, you detected footfall behind you. When you turned around, you saw what you presumed had to be the Vizier Jamil. The vizier looked sort of imposing as he appeared from the dimly lit halls, and with the flames on the wall you could just make out his appearance. A thin figure clothed in red and black robes decorated with gold, holding a golden staff that ended in the shape of a cobra’s head. Long thin hair as black as night coiled down his brown shoulders like snakes in multiple small braids and loose strands decorated with gold, and instantly his sharp gray eyes painted with eyeshadow darted over to you upon noticing your staring. He looked irked, but since you supposedly had a good relationship with him, maybe you could poke and prod without worrying about suffering any consequences. From what you recalled, the vizier’s parrot in the tales was a loud-mouthed creature with a bad temper. 
“Welcome back, oh great vizier. So, how did it go?” 
“Not a word.” The vizier hissed, sending you a glare. Yet it wasn’t threatening, it felt more… annoyed. Like when your friend was pestering you, except without the light-heartedness. At least he didn’t snap, he did have the power to command you to be put to death. Yet all he did was give you a look before his frown instantly morphed into a stoic expression in the blink of an eye, so fast that it sent you reeling.
Jamil wasted no time in walking forward, not bothering with greetings as he entered the first room of the dungeon that was dingy and dirty. Inside was the guard from before, nervously standing off to the side just across from a line of prisoners in shackles with their heads hanging low, and more guards behind them. These prisoners reminded you of yourself, but less. Now you’re free of any shackles, you’re wearing fine clothes and eating food made by the best chefs while living in the luxurious palace. To avoid being at the center of attention, you stood off to the side, leaning against a corner. Listening in could give more insight.
You watched intently, curiously, as Jamil approached the line of prisoners, scanning them all with those sharp eyes as he walked by them slowly. The men and women in rags and chains tensed when he stepped near, but kept their eyes glued to the ground. Whether it was out of respect or fear, you weren’t sure, but you watched as some of them squirmed in place or nervously glanced at him. After a minute of going down the line of a dozen or so prisoners, he stopped in his tracks and turned to face the guard who guided you. On his face was obvious disappointment. 
“You bring me the rough, but never a diamond.” That cold stare of his remained on the anxious guard, never looking away even as he commanded the others, “Take them away.” 
You purse your lips and shake your head, watching as the other guards forcefully dragged the prisoners down another hall, to a fate unknown. Poor suckers. You could hear them pleading, begging the vizier for mercy from whatever end they knew awaited them. In one rendition of the story, when the princess snuck out of the palace and gave apples to poor children, apples she had no money on her to pay for, she nearly lost her hand as punishment. It was likely that these prisoners were about to lose much more than a single hand.
The meek guard sent you a pleading look as they whispered frantically, “You said you would put in a kind word for me…!” 
Turning your attention to them, you scoffed, “I never said that. I said I would follow you.” 
“You…!” At your shrug, he directed his sights towards the vizier who was walking away, his back toward him as he seemed to be prepared to follow the guards and prisoners going elsewhere within the dungeon. “Please, my vizier.” The vizier stopped, and the words were caught in the guard’s throat until he finally forced them out with wavering uncertainty, making it sound more like a question than a statement. “... Perhaps this diamond in the rough does not exist…?” 
For a moment he paused but didn’t turn around, and quietly replied, “They’re out there.” A response with unwavering certainty. 
“But we’ve searched for months!” It appears that the guard was showing signs of frustration as well. Who knows how many prisoners they’ve interrogated and how many criminals they’ve captured in these months, all in an attempt to satisfy the vizier’s wish of finding a diamond in the rough. “I do not understand what could possibly be in that cave that could help a… a man as great as you. You are already second only to the sultan!”
“Second? Uh-oh.” You exclaimed, bracing yourself for what was to come and ignoring the guard’s growing irritation towards you. In the tale, yes the vizier worked for the sultan, he was the sultan’s most trusted advisor. But, behind the vizier’s facade of charm and loyalty, there was only a burning hate for the sultan who believed in him. The vizier wished to be the most powerful man in the kingdom, second to no one. So to be told he was second, straight to his face, would be like a slap. You watched as Jamil turned to the guard with a deep frown, and you could only whistle, “Who’s in trouble now~?” 
Jamil turned to face him fully, staring at the guard beneath him with such a disdainful gaze before questioning firmly, “Do you believe second is enough?”
Without hesitation, they nodded, the answer to them was obvious. “Yes. You were not born to be sultan, you are not of royal lineage. His Majesty, Kalim Al-Asim, was born to be sultan.” 
Kalim Al-Asim. So that was the sultan’s name. The mere mention of him was enough to tick off the vizier. He narrowed his eyes and began to speak in a quiet murmur, “Do you know that I’ve served him my entire life? From the day I was born, they dictated that I was a servant to him and they chained my entire existence so it depended on him.” Slowly he stepped forward, inching closer with every word he spat like venom. “You have no idea of the things I’ve been forced to do for him. The sacrifices I’ve made and blood that’s stained my hands, the bodies I’ve buried and times I’ve watched him be praised for his minimal efforts I can easily best.” The closer he got, the more frightened the guard appeared until he was right in front of them. “Everyone will one day learn that I am not worthy of a mere second place, I am supposed to be first. That’s why I need the lamp, and I no longer need you––!” 
Right before your eyes, you watched as Jamil swiftly struck him with the bottom of his staff and he fell backwards into a well. A seemingly bottomless well, because you heard his scream growing distant until an unsettling silence lingered. You covered your mouth in shock, but Jamil paid you no mind. It’s as if he’s done a dozen times before, as if you had witnessed all of them before. 
After a moment, he sighed and lowered his staff, regaining his composure to cover up for the anger that slipped through in that moment. Again, in a flash, he had a stoic expression as he turned to gaze at you in the corner, when he beckoned you closer with a motion of his finger. “Come here, my vassal. It’s time for a meeting with that irritating sultan.” 
Now you were on your way to meet the sultan. Kalim. You hoped he wasn’t anything like Jamil. This vizier was to be feared, but at least he didn’t seem to mind you. So you probably won’t be pushed down a well anytime soon. As you followed him when he began walking, he questioned abruptly, 
“What did you do while I was gone?” 
This wasn’t good. You weren’t here for that long before he returned, and you got the feeling that Jamil was a particularly observant fellow judging by how he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes. “That royal brat confronted me while I was eating. They’re so annoying.” 
“Ah, Prince Jaseer?” Slowly he nodded, as if agreeing with your words. Phew. You were doing alright, fitting the role just fine it seemed. “Annoying would be putting it lightly. He’s just another entitled royal born with a golden spoon in his mouth, an ignorant person who knows nothing of how the real world works.” 
“You’re telling me. The guy made me bow and recite a greeting like I was nothing but a pleb beneath him! Then he had the gall to say I was lazy! I was eating! Can’t a person like me eat in peace once in a while? I was starving!” 
By now you were in a better part of the palace, where you were once again surrounded by riches. Upon hearing your response, Jamil replied without hesitation, “You are lazy when I’m not around.” At his remark, you stared at him incredulously as he continued with zero reservations, “You are uncaring, murderous, deceitful, aggressive, cunning, and annoying.” 
Unable to help it, you snapped back in reply, beginning to rant and list off your fingers. “ME? Look in the mirror bud, you just basically described yourself! You’re cruel, immoral, narcissistic, power-hungry, sadistic, and secretly deranged! You're a two-faced, snake!” When you looked over to him, he still had that stoic expression but he rolled his eyes. Your jaw dropped. There was no way he just fucking–– 
“You used that insult, two-faced snake, two weeks ago.” Before you could add anything more to the growing pile of insults, he lightly tapped your forehead with the cobra head of his golden staff, appearing unbothered. “Come up with something else or get on my level, then you can talk back. For now, be quiet. We’re nearing where Kalim wanted to meet us. I don’t need to remind you to be on your best behavior around the sultan.” 
Rubbing your forehead, you glared at him and mumbled, “Oh, I’ll come up with something shocking, you sorry sack of––ACK!” You coughed, bending over in pain as he quickly jabbed the end of his staff against your stomach to shut you up just before a silk curtain separating the halls from a room opened up. 
“Jamil! Oh, and your vassal too! I’m so happy to see you guys! You’re just the ones I wanted to see!” 
You had to squint just to look past the stranger’s bright beaming smile. It was a young man, just a bit shorter than Jamil, yet he was dressed in finer garbs than the vizier. The bright pearly-white smile matched some of his odd white strands of hair that poked out past the silk cloth messily tied around his head, the turban he must’ve usually wore to show his high status was off to the side beside a model of the entire city. The energy in his red eyes was just as bright as his smile, but even brighter than that was the gleaming golden accessories glittering over his tawny brown complexion. Golden rings and jewels over his fingers, gold buttons stitched onto his silk clothes, even the tiniest patterns on those silk garbs looked shiny enough to be real gold. So much gold–– 
Jamil wore a charming devilish smile, but once this Kalim looked away for a second, he quickly slapped your hand as soon as you lifted it, sending you a warning glare, as if saying, do not touch. You glared right back, but as soon as Kalim returned his attention to the two of you again, he pleaded, “I could really use your help, Jamil! You’re the person I can trust the most!” 
“You have always placed your trust in me, and I’ve never failed to deliver.” He replied smoothly with a bow of his head. Damn, he was really good at lying. It was a teensy bit concerning. 
“It’s all this suitor thing with Jaseem!” Kalim exclaimed, beginning to lay down his worries, “You know I promised I would take care of my cousin before his parents passed, I promised them to help him find a wife when he got older. And now, well, he’s older! I don’t remember it being nearly this hard when I had to marry.” 
The vizier followed Kalim as he continued to rant and bemoan, stepping beside him as they stopped in front of various shelves of scrolls and books and tables of documents and knick-knacks. Meanwhile, you followed closely behind, reminding yourself not to input anything or risk gaining suspicion. Once Kalim was finished, only then did Jamil respond casually, “To be fair, your marriage didn’t last long due to… unfortunate circumstances. I’m afraid Prince Jaseer is different. He’s already met ten times the suitresses you ever did. Your standards are nowhere near as high as the prince’s.” 
“Pfft…” You slapped your hand over your mouth, going quiet as both Jamil and Kalim looked over at you. Fuck, you were in trouble now, weren’t you? 
Kalim blinked before joining in on the shameless laughter, lifting the mood substantially. “You’re right, I never had this problem. It honestly didn’t take a lot to impress me! Oh, have you eaten today? You should totally try these cheese and sauces on crackers! They’re my favorite snack right now! Here!” 
You held up your hands in defense, “Wait, a minute. Actually, maybe–– mmph!” You nearly choked as he abruptly stuffed a handful of the crunchy saltines in your mouth, and he placed his other hand to pat your back so you couldn’t step away. 
The sultan grinned as you were forced to swallow the food. That’s when he held up more, and urged, “It’s good, isn’t it? You should try more! Hey, you can even have dinner with me if you want! The more the merrier, right?” Before you could even input anything, Kalim shouted loud enough so the servants outside could hear him, “Keep the snacks coming! And make sure to have an extra seat for later! I’d like to eat dinner on the balcony tonight with Jamil’s vassal! Make sure to serve the best, most delicious dishes we have to offer!” 
“Hah, you have such a kindness that extends to everyone, don’t you, Kalim? Even to the dense little attendants.” 
You shot the vizier a glare at his not-so-subtle jab directed towards you. The only reason you didn’t say anything to his face was because you still had a mouthful of crackers that you could barely swallow without gagging. 
Clearing his throat, his soft laughter stopped as he resumed his professional attitude and he was back to business. “Now then, allow me to divine a solution to this pesky problem. As well as take care of… the work you often leave in my care. As per usual.” When you glanced at him, the moment Kalim spun on his heel to catch up with the slowly moving vizier is when you noticed the dark haired man’s annoyance that flashed for a second. “However, I will be needing access to the restricted area of the library, to look at the ancient texts of laws and such. You understand, don’t you?” 
“The restricted section? The one reserved only for me and other members of the royal family?” The young man tilted his head, appearing a bit apprehensive as he tapped his finger against his chin in thought. “I dunno, Jamil. Normally I’d let you, but I think that’s against the rules. There’s a lot of secrets hidden there.” 
“It’s necessary for us to continue.” Lifting his golden staff, he nonchalantly examined its enchanting ruby red eyes before his fingers slid across the smooth golden surface and he turned it so the cobra head was gazing right at the sultan. A slight sly smile grew on his face as he hummed, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” 
You watched with intrigued, both fascinated and horrified as he pressed the end of his staff against the ground and leaned the cobra head forwards, causing the sultan to stiffen up and go oddly silent. That’s when you realized it was happening. Jamil was using his powers to hypnotize and manipulate the sultan, just like in the stories. 
The sultan’s own red eyes mirrored the rubies of the staff, but quickly his smile dropped into a blank expression as held a staring contest with the cobra head. As if in a trance, he quietly repeated the words spoken to him. “––Everything will be fine…” 
That smile on his face grew to a smirk as the vizier repeated his request, “Permission to use the restricted area of the library?” 
“Yes, Jamil…” Kalim remained unblinking. His once bright eyes full of life were now… empty. It’s like they were covered with a mist. Slowly, robotically, he held up a blue diamond ring and spoke, “The key… Whatever you need will be fine.” 
Instantly he snatched it up, tucking the ring away safely within his robes as he thanked, “You are most gracious, my liege. Now, run along and have fun, enjoy your dinner. Hm?” 
“Yes…” 
With a swish of his cloak, Jamil began to walk away and you trailed behind him as Kalim stayed in the room, mindlessly gazing out the window. As soon as you were past the curtains and saw no one else present, Jamil’s professionalism dropped and he rolled his eyes, wearing an annoyed frown. You spat out the crackers you couldn’t swallow, it left crumbs in your mouth and salt that burned the roof of your mouth but at least now you were able to speak your mind a little more freely. “I can’t take it! If he tried to stuff one more cracker in my face, I’m was gonna––!” 
“Calm yourself, my vassal.” Jamil replied, his expression less refined and now just a resting bitch face. Turning to you, he stopped and instructed, “I will go scour that private area of the library to see what secrets it may hide. The key to our troubles may very well be hidden among those carefully guarded secrets. You will stay here.”
You gawked. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Pressing a pointed finger against your shoulder, he continued his instructions, “Keep that halfwitted idiot busy, stay for dinner as he wants. Have a little tea party with him if it amuses him. Afterwards, I expect to see you back within my tower. I’d prefer you not stay around Kalim for longer than necessary, especially because his ignorance may rub off on you. Or has it already?” 
“Haha, yeah, sure, laugh it up. Very funny.” You scowled at his grin, watching as he turned to leave. “Have fun doing that lame boring reading! I’m gonna enjoy this time off eating until I can’t take another bite!” Once he was out of sight, you spat, “Jerk.” And promptly returned back inside beside the sultan. 
When you found him, he was still gazing out the window with those empty eyes. The hypnotic technique continued to last for a few seconds even after Jamil took his leave. However, thankfully, after waving your hand in front of his face and lightly slapping his cheeks, he was beginning to regain consciousness. “Hey, you! Kalim–– er… sultan, wake up.” 
Kalim blinked repetitively, the hazy mist in his gaze disappearing until his eyes were bright and red like polished rubies once again. As if awaking from a deep sleep, he groaned and pressed his cheek against your hand, not fully realizing what was happening until he blinked again and looked up at you. “What…? What happened? Ah, I’m sorry, I zoned out again…!” Despite realizing how close you two were, he made no effort to move. Was he that trusting or that stupid? “Where’s Jamil?” 
“He’s busy. Had to go back to work, uh… sultan.” You were a little upset that he’d leave you with this odd little ruler, but you couldn’t complain too much when you’d get to have your fill of food. 
“Ooooh, okay then! And please, you can just call me Kalim! Any friend of Jamil’s is a friend of mine.” He hummed, taking your hands as soon as you stepped away and lowered them away from his face. “I’m so happy to finally get to spend time with you! Jamil is always so hardworking and you are too! I mean, you’re always helping him, and he seems to trust you a lot and that’s saying something because he hardly trusts anyone! So I’ve never gotten to really talk this much to you until now! This is a little exciting, isn’t it? Come on!” Without warning, he began to tug you along, apparently forgetting the exchange from earlier. So he really didn’t remember that he had been hypnotized. As he dragged you along outside of the rooms and down the pristine extensive hallways, he continued, “I wanna know all about you! Our dinner should be ready by now! And what better way to get to know someone than over dinner? What kind of food do you like? What’s your favorite drink? Oh! And we can’t forget dessert!” 
Suddenly you were out on the balcony where you first gained consciousness, it was still dark out. It all happened so quickly, in a flash you were seated on a long plush chaise lounge draped with numerous pillows and blankets. In a rush, the servants came out, setting out tables and trays filled to the brim with food until you were surrounded by mounds of food that all smelled so delectable. Before you could even think of something to say, Kalim was already piling food on your plate, making it so high that it resembled a small mountain. 
“Eat as much as you want! Oh, try this! And this too! And you gotta have a little of this! Dinner is one of my favorite times of the day, because you get to relax with someone, whether it be family, a friend, or a complete stranger, and talk about anything!” 
There was so much on your plate that you almost struggled to peek over it just to see the face of the sultan. Yeah you wanted food, but this was too much even for you… As the young man explained what dish was what, you glanced behind your shoulder at the servants transporting trays and pitchers. Your eyes narrowed, but you pretended to pay attention to the sultan by nodding at whatever he said, as you watched out of the corner of your eye. One servant carrying another silver tray, leaned forward to place it on the table, while his other arm was folded at his midsection. His body had been covering your view of the pitcher, but once he stepped back and began to walk away, you noticed the liquid fizzing for a moment and became an odd color before the solution dissolved to blend in with the beverage. That substance he slipped into the drink… was he trying to poison the sultan?
Your eyes followed the servant as he turned on his heel and began to retreat towards the kitchen. Narrowing your gaze, you interrupted Kalim while he was going on about some story of him having dinner with other royals, when you blurted out, “Hey, you.” 
It went quiet, the sultan appeared confused and leaning over to get a better look at what you were glaring at while all the servants froze in their tracks. 
“Yeah, you with the stupid face and red sash. I’m talking to you. What the hell were you slipping in that drink? You sure have guts to be doing that in front of me. Either that or you're brain-dead.” 
Everyone tensed up at your implication, the guards nearby honing in on the servant with the red sash around their waist. Immediately they had them restrained, one of the head guards ripped off his sash to remove a suspicious vial with some liquid still left in it. Despite the servant’s panicked squirming in the hold of the soldiers, the head guard turned towards the sultan, holding up the vial and nodding in affirmation, “Your Majesty, it is poison…” 
“Again?” Kalim sighed somberly, slowly gripping onto your sleeve. 
Again? What the hell did he mean by again? How many times did this usually happen? As if on cue, the remaining servants rushed in to remove all the food that had been brought. Now, they would have to double check everything to make sure nothing else was poisoned. Without even being told, the armored men escorted away the frightened servant that had failed to harm the sultan. Instantly the area was cleared, save for extra guards further away but still close enough to watch. 
After a few seconds, the realization of something appeared to dawn on the sultan’s face as he gripped your sleeve tighter and peered up at you with wide sparkling red eyes. “You… You saved me! I knew it! You are trustworthy! Wait, what am I talking about? Of course you’re trustworthy, Jamil trusts you, but this just confirms it! I might’ve been poisoned if you hadn’t said anything! You are a good person, just like I thought! You see, I’m a great judge of character so I knew that you were good from the moment I met you!” 
You resisted the urge to laugh at his choice of words about you being a good person. At first you thought of letting it happen, but if the sultan were to die now, that would rush things along. Prince Jaseer would inherit the throne if he gets married quick enough, and then he would definitely get rid of you and Jamil. Then, you’d be poor and powerless on the streets, or worse, dead. So what did you do? Call out the servant, duh. “It’s nothing, really.” 
Shaking his head in refusal, he continued to insist, “But it is something! Don’t be so modest. Everyone should know of what you did for me tonight! The whole kingdom deserves to know! You deserve a reward! If you need anything, just say it, and it's yours! Anything at all!” 
You couldn’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes as a semi-amused smile appeared on your face, “Don’t say that, I’m going to make you regret it.” You’d definitely rob him blind if you could. He would be such an easy target too, like stealing candy from a baby, if he wasn’t always being watched by a troop of guards twenty-four-seven. 
For a moment he was quiet, his red eyes analyzing your smile with surprise before he broke out into the brightest beaming expression that nearly made you shriek from being blinded. “But I mean it! I really do!” As his hands gripped your arm a little tighter, he noticed your colorful shawl. Curious, he began to trace his fingers across the woven shapes, entranced by the colors as he murmured in awe, “Woah, I really like your shawl. The feathers are pretty, and I love the colors! I think I might want something styled like that.” 
He was actually… strangely casual for a guy that was nearly poisoned. Then again, maybe it was a common thing for him. He was the most powerful man in the entire kingdom. “You like it that much?” You watched as he quickly nodded, to which you plucked one of the five long red feathers beside the clip of the shawl. Its red faded into blue, with one edge even tinted with the tiniest bit of yellow and green. “It’s the only thing keeping me from freezing right now, so I can only give you this. That way you can show it to your tailors or stylists or whatever you rich people have, and they know what you want.” It was totally not to distract him and get the sultan off your back so he’d let go of your arm. 
Kalim’s eyes widened as he swiftly reached out and gingerly took the feather in his hands. Those eyes of his looked at the feather with wonder, as if it was worth more than rubies or gold. Turning his wonder-filled expression up at you, he looked so joyful as he leaned forward and spoke, “Thank you…! I love it!” Then, his expression flattened a bit to a more solemn look as he glanced down at the feather he held tightly and back to you. His voice got even quieter so as to not be heard by anyone that may be in the halls nearby. “Since I trust you… can I tell you a secret…?” 
You deadpanned, turning your attention away to the scenery. “No.” 
“Whew, okay, here it goes…” Focusing on the feather, he quickly forced out, “I’ve never gotten a gift like this before…! There. I said it!” 
In that moment you stopped to squint at him, not believing a word he said. “Wait a second, you’re kidding, right? I mean, you’re sultan. You live in a giant palace, you have countless servants and soldiers, your kingdom is one of the most powerful and prosperous! Don’t lie to me, I bet you have people lining up to give you gifts everyday! Gifts of gold, jewels, all that fancy expensive stuff!” 
“I’m not lying! All of that is true, but… this gift is special!” Kalim immediately replied, only gripping the feather tighter as he explained, “I think gifts given on the spot, out of the goodwill of your heart, are way more valuable. Yeah, I get a lot of gifts, and I’m thankful! But it’s not the same! I will treasure this feather because it’s from you, and your kindness!” Eventually his gaze traveled down to your shawl, he was shivering a bit from the cold desert winds. Looking back up at you, then your shawl, then you again, it’s as if he was trying to convey something. “I-It’s getting a little cold, aha… Can I…?” 
Frowning, you flopped back onto the soft cushions, your fingers gripping the very edges of the shawl. “This is the one thing that’s mine. No, you can’t have it.” 
“Haha, I wasn’t asking for it! Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be asking my tailors to make me one like yours so we can match! I meant I wanted to share it with you right now!” With zero hesitation, he flopped down beside you. He was close, so incredibly close, enough that you could feel his body warmth and he could probably feel yours. It did not help that when you tried to inch away, he took the initiative to snuggle closer, draping the ends of your shawl around himself as he continued to hold the feather you gifted him. 
When he was right up against you and gazed up at you with those bright eyes and always happy smile, you scowled and muttered, “What’s with you? You got a problem, princey?” 
Without missing a beat, he responded casually. “I’m not a prince, that would technically be my cousin! I’m a sultan! Although I was a prince before, but not anymore.” 
“That’s not what I–– nevermind.” You tried to ignore him for your own good. You couldn’t exactly get away with hurting the sultan, no matter how much you wanted to take a swing. Well, it wasn’t all bad was it? This meant you were on his good side, right? 
As you glanced back at him, you could feel him beside you. Shoulder-to-shoulder, as he gazed up at the stars, looking up at the endless night sky with twinkling eyes. “This is great! I rarely ever have company like this. I mean, I always have company but like–– company that I can just relax with, you know? Oh, look up there, at those stars––!” 
At this point you weren’t really focused on the sultan or what he was saying. Actually, you were focused on something just past him, past the stone curved ends of the balcony where you could see the rest of the city and part of the palace. That's when you made out a figure, like a small ant against the vast backdrop, running fast. They moved quickly, jumping over obstacles and climbing walls like an acrobat, as if it came natural to them, all while avoiding the lights of torches and staying in the shadows. They were dressed in rags too, like a peasant. Like… a thief. 
“––Anyways, that’s the story behind my favorite constellation! What about yours? Do you have a favorite?” 
“OH MY GOD––” Your eyes widened as the realization struck. The thief, they were the protagonist! The protagonist was making their move!
The sultan appeared startled at your sudden exclamation, but his shock quickly turned to a smile as he laughed, “Did you like the story that much? I like it too! Let me think of another one to tell you about!” 
Immediately pushing him away, you sat up and scrambled to get off the chair, “Welp, this is getting weird. And I have to go report back to Jamil! Damn, you know how it is, with work and all. You get it, don’t you? Yeah, of course you do!” Brushing yourself off, you bolted just as the sultan was sitting up and looking bewildered at your odd reaction. “Okay, I’m gonna go before you can say anything, m’kay, bye!” 
“W-Wait!” 
Nope. Not waiting. You ran, not even sure how to reach the vizier because you had no idea where his main quarters were, so you disguised your lack of knowledge as questions such as looking for his extra robes or even where the vizier himself was currently at, demanding answers along the way from unsuspecting servants until they pointed you in the direction. You had to hurry, you had to point out the thief so Jamil could use him and lure him to the lamp. Once he got the lamp, you’d take over from there, you’d come up with a plan eventually. Just not right now, not when you were rushing to make it back to inform the advisor of the intruder as quickly as possible. You climbed the spiraling staircases to one of the towers where the vizier’s quarters were located. 
As soon as you threw open the doors, you found him looking over a tome. However, as soon as you entered, he turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow as you heaved for a breath while you slammed the door shut behind you and leaned your weight against the wooden surface. You exclaimed breathlessly, “Thief!! Thief in the palace!” 
“Thief in the palace?” Jamil parroted, looking even more perplexed as he narrowed his eyes at you and you pointed to his open balcony that overlooked part of the city and part of the palace. 
Stumbling over to the balcony, you leaned your weight on the stone edges, letting the cool desert air fan your face. Quietly you mumbled, “That’s what I said. Catch up, or are you deaf?” When Jamil joined you at the balcony, he stood straight and tall as his dark eyes gazed out into the night. 
There, shrouded in the shadows, was the thief moving nimbly on rooftops and wooden pergolas covered in vines. They moved so quietly and effortlessly, going unnoticed even by the armored guards on patrol just below them. Finally, they disappeared into a hall, where there would only be servants cleaning and handling chores to keep the palace pristine. For once he finally appeared pleased, content, as he glanced at you and instructed, “Have the guards extend an invitation to our intruding guest. I will be escorting them to the cave. And you, my vassal?” 
You? As much as you wanted to go, it wasn’t like you could go into the cave yourself. You also couldn’t reveal that you knew that this thief was the diamond in the rough that the vizier had spent months searching for. No matter how much you wanted that lamp now, you couldn’t risk changing the plot. It was probably better to stay here until the thief would come back with the lamp, genie, with riches and a new name. While they would be busy with wooing the prince, that would be your opportunity to strike. “I’ll stay, keep Prince Jaseer and Kalim off your back if they come asking.” When you noticed Jamil’s attention still on you, you clarified smoothly, “I don’t wanna watch another failure with the cave going up in smoke.” 
“Quit being so pessimistic. This is the one.” He scolded, immediately turning to walk away. However, not before leaving another command to follow. “Go, make yourself useful and inform the guards immediately. I’ll be preparing to leave with the thief.” 
Rolling your eyes, you stood up and prepared yourself to rush down the steps and inform the guards. At the very least, you could get some well-earned rest once he left. “As you wish, your rottenness.”  ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧
“(Y/n)?” 
Your peaceful slumber in the vizier’s quarters was disturbed. On the lounge on the balcony you lay, eyes groggily blinking open only to be met with a familiar face leaning over you. You blinked again for extra measure, your mind processing who you were seeing. 
“Good morning!” Kalim smiled, his head just over yours. Out of instinct you jolted upright, accidentally hitting your forehead against his. “Ow! Ah–– you’re finally awake!” The young man cheered, ignoring the pain on his forehead as you hissed and rubbed your own head where it now hurt from the brunt of the impact. 
Glaring at the sultan for waking you up from a pleasant sleep, you squinted at his bright expression while rubbing your eyes and the now sore spot on your skull. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you even find me? How did you get in here? I locked the door before I fell asleep!” 
“Oh, that? Well, when everyone found out I was looking for you, they told me that you were asleep in Jamil’s tower. Obviously I knew where that was, but when I came to find you, the door was locked! I know, I know, Jamil really likes his privacy, but I just wanted to see you and you wouldn’t open the door! So, I just had the guards use the backup key to open the door and I’ve been waiting here ever since!” 
You sat up, taking a moment to process everything. If you weren’t already squinting because of your vision not yet adjusted to the brightness of the sun from the open balcony and grogginess from your own sleep, you would’ve been squinting even more to look at his smiling face incredulously. Rubbing your tired face, you sighed, “Let me get this straight. You couldn’t wait, so you had your people basically break into the vizier’s room and for what? Just to say good morning? How long were you waiting for me to wake up? Don’t tell me you were watching me sleep.” You scoffed somewhat sarcastically.
“I wasn’t watching you! Well… kinda. I just wanted to make sure you were okay! I do owe you.” You were kidding about that last part, so his response genuinely surprised you. Before you could even think up something to say, he stopped leaning over the long lounge chair you were on and stood up to show off a new article of clothing. A colorful woven shawl, similar to yours. “Look! Isn’t it great? They finished it while I was sleeping, and now we match! The tailors sprayed it with perfume too so it even smells like jasmine!” 
Frowning as you watched him happily twirl and show off the shawl, the feather you gave him stuck to his headband, you muttered, “All I smell is bullsh––” 
“Shhhh!” Appearing incredibly content with his new shawl, he continued to chatter on happily. ��I love it so much! Tell me, is this the latest fashion trend in the city? It’s been a while since I’ve gone out.” 
You replied gruffly, “I dunno, why don’t you stick your head out the window and check? I’m not your tailor. Why don’t you ask them? Or even ask to go out or something.” 
At your words, his smile faltered the tiniest bit. It turned somewhat sad, but he continued to force that cheery expression as he averted his gaze downward albeit awkwardly. “I’d love to go out! But… I’m not really allowed. I’m sultan, remember? I’m only allowed to go out during special occasions, and I’ve never been allowed to just be with everyone else past the gates. My dad used to say it was dangerous, and even now the council says it’s not a good idea.” 
Wait a moment… This could work well to your advantage. There was plenty of time before Jamil returned. It would serve as a good excuse to gain your bearing and at least a bit of knowledge on the environment past the high palace walls. Plus, you would get points with the sultan if you made him happy. Besides, being on Kalim’s good side, as annoying as he was, could work out in the end. Especially if things start to go south. It didn’t hurt to be trusted by both the first and second most powerful people in the entire kingdom. Damn you were a genius. You smiled somewhat slyly. “Who says you gotta ask?” 
“H-Huh?” For once Kalim was caught off guard as you hopped up from your spot on the lounge. Once you got up, so did he. He followed you as you stepped over to open a cabinet of clothing. “You mean, go without asking? You really mean it?” 
Kalim was sultan, he’d obviously be recognized without a disguise. But if you just covered his white hair and lower face and switched his riches to common rags, he’d be fine. Probably. Hopefully. Picking up a few handkerchiefs and scarves he could use, you pretended to reconsider, “I dunno… We’d have to sneak out and break the rules–– just kidding, let’s sneak out!” Holding up some cloaks and fabrics he could use as a hood to cover his signature white hair and to mask his lower face, your smile grew as you persuaded him further, “Come on, let’s just go for a midday stroll and snack. We’ll just let everyone think you’re spending time in the vizier’s chambers waiting for him to return or something. Just follow me, out the window, ‘round the garden, I’ll carry you over, and we’re gone.”
Those red eyes of his turned to the open balcony and view of the city on this hot summer’s day. He stood still, as if contemplating it. But it didn’t take much convincing, or that long to ponder over his decision, because like in a snap, he broke out into a grin and eagerly bobbed his head up and down. That’s when you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. 
It took a bit of tip-toeing around, but eventually you managed to get Kalim past the gates with little to no trouble. You had a few coins you snatched from Jamil’s chambers safely secured within a pocket on the inside of your shawl, along with a few knives you tucked away in various parts of your outfit but those were mostly for a last resort. You didn’t plan to go too far because you didn’t know the layout of the city well, and plus you knew there was always the chance of thieves and pickpockets skulking about. The good thing was, that thief protagonist wouldn’t be here, they’d still be in the desert and the Cave of Wonders. All you were here for was a snack and to make the sultan happy, and happy sounded like an understatement. 
The young man was practically glowing, vibrating with energy as he danced on his heels. Kalim fit in surprisingly well. Since he wasn’t tall, he didn’t stand out that much in the busy crowd. Not to mention the lack of silks and fancy garbs helped. It was a good idea you gave him that average quality material to wear. On his body he wore a casual old white tunic turned beige with age and loose-fitted orange pants, with that rainbow shawl he commissioned recently and a dark orange hood with a black cloth around his lower face to top it off. The only thing you could really see if you got close to his face, were those big red eyes just sparkling with life. 
“Stop staring at me with those big old eyes.” 
Immediately he closed his eyes. Although the black fabric concealed the lower portion of his face, you could just tell he was wearing some stupid grin by the slight crinkle appearing on the bridge of his nose and the mirth dancing in his tone. “Sorry, sorry! This is all just so exciting! What are we going to do now? Everything smells so good! Oh, what’s all that––” 
When the sultan seemed set on some shady foreign merchants selling a variety of unlabeled goods, you grabbed the back of his collar, preventing him from dashing across the busy streets and being run over by carts hauling goods or being scammed for all the cash he had, or worse. “Hold on. When was the last time you actually went out? Like, as a normal person.” 
“Oh, the last time was… the beginning of never, actually. This is my first time!” The sultan beamed. 
Kalim was a merchant’s dream, like a sitting duck susceptible to astronomical prices and greedy exchanges. But more like a golden goose instead of a sitting duck. For now, the plan was to safeguard him. He already owed you for saving his life when calling out that assassin with the poison, but there had to be a definite connection. The sultan would be your plan B, should all else fail when attempting to acquire the lamp with the vizier Jamil. If Jamil were to go down, you would betray him in a heartbeat, and turn to Kalim. However, in order for Kalim to truly believe you, the trust had to be as solid as the gold that filled his palace. 
“Of course it is. I should’ve guessed.” Resisting the urge to just drop him off at the gates and enjoy your freedom, you opted that the safest options would just be the food stalls and he would be entertained by all the happenings in the market.
And you had been right, but what you didn’t take into account was how talkative he might be. Even as he happily munched away on street food sold at various stalls and carts. “You know, it makes me sad that I can’t go out like this. This is the first time I can stand in the middle of the city, without people crowding and staring. People just walk past me as if I’m nothing–– do you know how crazy that is?” 
He was sultan, and a prince before that, so he must’ve been accustomed to everyone bowing to him as he passed. All eyes would be on him, but here? Not a single person gave a passing glance. 
Taking a bite of the skewed spiced meat and grilled vegetables you bought for yourself, you shrugged at his words before finally adding in your own two cents. “If you take away your title, you’re just a guy.” 
“Just a guy…” He murmured quietly, like he never really considered the fact that without his name and his family’s wealth, he was practically a nobody. Taking a slow and concentrated bite of his own skewer, he allowed the taste to settle before looking down at it with a sense of wonder. “This is delicious! I’ve never had the privilege of just eating food without a taste tester. I might have to bring the man who made this back to the palace with me.” 
“Don’t blow your own cover.” 
“I won’t, I won’t! It’s just…” Kalim appeared to look down thoughtfully, taking another bite. As a sultan, he was probably so pampered and protected that he never once tasted street food or walked on a dirt road before. “Today, you’ve done something truly special for me, my friend. You gave me something worth more than gold or gems, you gave me a once in a lifetime experience! These days it’s hard to trust anyone around me.” 
Pausing mid bite, you raised an eyebrow and listened attentively. Possible intel? This could be useful, good information to store in the back of your mind for a later time to utilize when it was most advantageous. 
“All the servants are loyal for the most part, but that’s because there’s rules and payment involved. Sometimes, there’s one or two among them that have tried to harm me and my family.” He continued softly, almost seriously. This wasn’t like his usual cheery demeanor and loud tone. Right now his gaze was eerily calm and he spoke quietly, just loud enough so you could hear as you stood beside him. “For a while, I was okay with it. That’s how I grew up, it was my normal. But then I got older, my parents passed on, I got married for a little while but that didn’t last. Even some of my siblings, who I thought I could trust, turned against me just to get to the throne. It seems like everyone I love is either taken away from me or turns against me.” 
In that moment, he turned to face you, gazing at you with those big red eyes.  
Softly, he pleaded, “Promise me you won’t be like that? Taken away from me or turned against me–– I don’t think I could bear it. I can’t believe I never spoke to you properly sooner than I did! We could’ve been best friends by now!” His soft hands clutched yours, as he still awkwardly held the skewer between his thumb and pointer finger. 
You began freaking out a bit when his hands moved up to your face, squishing your cheeks between his palms as he brought your face closer to his 
“I mean, you make me so happy I could just kiss you! It wouldn’t be hard.” 
There was no way you just accidentally snagged a sultan. How? You of all people! With the rotten personality and a heart so shriveled and three sizes too small that it could rival the Grinch’s own beating core. Oh this made things too easy. Kalim was now the ace hidden up your sleeve. If worse came to worse and the original plan had to be abandoned, well, certainly playing the role of the sultan’s favorite little lover wasn’t too bad. At least until you could obtain the lamp. 
Certainly while the sultan was oblivious, he wasn’t dumb. However, he was most likely no expert when it came to love, as it appeared he wasn’t the most skilled at basic interactions from his cushy palace life. It couldn’t be that hard to keep him seduced, could it? Surely if he miraculously felt attracted to you, it was possible to keep him hooked for a while, until you had the wishes you desired. 
All it took was a single kiss on his forehead, to see those ruby red eyes dazzle so brightly in the sunlight. Although his lower face was concealed by the fabric around his head, he was bound to be grinning ear-to-ear like an idiot. And wrapped around your pinky to have at your disposal. “Happy?” 
Eagerly he nodded, taking a deep breath to hold so he wouldn’t squeal with joy. What a sucker. “So so happy, my dove!” 
“My dove? Huh…” At the little nickname, you sigh and shrug, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes so as to not appear too cold toward his advances and words. “Then let’s go back now before they go looking for you. Oh, look over there, what a beautiful bracelet…” You casually remark, gesturing toward a stand across the road that sold a variety of jewelry. If you had to kiss up to a man, might as well make it all worth it by causing his pockets to hurt. But what was a bit of gold and jewelry to his pockets that ran so deep? 
✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧
“What is that…?” The vizier demanded, glaring at you. When he returned, he was in a foul mood. It must’ve been because the story was progressing and that thief got trapped in the Cave of Wonders with the lamp, but he said nothing about it other than it’s gone. However, even when he was outraged by his recent failure, he still noticed the golden bands wrapped around your arms. 
Seeing where his gaze was directed, you lifted your arm and showed off the golden bands speckled with white diamonds and decorated with swirls within the metal itself. “Oh, this? You like? The sultan gifted them to me.” You grinned, noticing his frown deepening. Using the opportunity, you flaunted. “I think that chump has taken a liking to me ever since I saved his skin.” 
"So I heard of your heroic deed." If the vizier had laser vision, he’d be searing your bracelet into a puddle of molten metal liquid by how hard he was glaring. “Don’t lose sight of what we’re after. In the end, the lamp can provide enough wealth to put that tiny gaudy thing to shame.” 
At his words dissing the rather expensive and delicately crafted accessory, your eyes widened as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Ohhhh, I see… You’re jealous! Ha! You’re mad! Stay mad!” 
A scowl etched his way onto his features as he hissed, “You think I’m jealous…?!” Pausing, he collected himself. Or at least, he tried to. But it was probably difficult to do so with the reminder in the back of his mind that his victory was within his grasp, only to be fumbled. Taking a deep breath, he seethed, “No, I am not jealous. In fact, you’re doing me a favor by distracting that airhead and also that bratty prince in the process. So, continue. I encourage you, but remember who your efforts are for. Now, there has to be another way to find another person worthy to go into that cave…” 
Scoffing, you readjusted the bracelet over your arm. Such a shiny thing that would’ve cost a small fortune back home. “Don’t worry, even though you’re a despicable serpent, you’re still my favorite.” Whether that was true or not, it was best to stay in his good graces. “I heard what happened from the few guards you took with you… it’ll be fine. The lamp is gotta still be there under all that sand.”
Ignoring your words, he still paused when he heard them, but he didn’t acknowledge them in the slightest. In fact, he only gave a command without so much as a glance in your direction. “Go get me my tome from that shelf.” 
Offering a smile without the pretentiousness, you went over to the shelf and picked the heavy tome he required. Almost everyday he seemed to read from this thing. “Okay, master, I’ll get you the dark wizard daily so you can enchant yourself some bitches.”
Bringing his fingers to his head, he rubbed the bridge of his nose as if in annoyance. For a moment you thought he might snap, but instead he only muttered, “I already have one that talks day in and day out, endlessly bothering me to no end. I do not need another one of you.” 
“Haha–– Wait, what?” 
That cold expression didn’t change, until his eyes wandered down to your arm. And as he continued speaking slowly, he grabbed your wrist within his hand. He removed the golden bracelets Kalim had bought for you in the market. Those golden bands were eventually in his hands. At their brilliant shine, he scowled and tossed them aside. On your arms, he placed silver ones. Silver bands that curled around your arms like snakes, to replace the ones the sultan gifted you. 
“What I mean is…” Using his golden staff, he extended it outward, using the cobra head on it like a hook to turn your head towards where he was seated, directing your gaze to his eyes. Those gray eyes were hypnotizing, this was what it must’ve felt like when Kalim was met face-to-face with the cobra head on his vizier’s staff. However, there was no magic being used at the moment. “You’re mine, not Kalim’s. Do you understand?” 
You frown as he switches them, closely examining the shine of your new bracelet. “Gold is shinier than silver…” 
He sighed, irked. “Then I’ll just make sure to take a gem, as big as your greed, from the treasury and have it engraved into one heavy necklace. Now––” Seeing you grin in content at his promise for another shiny treasure, he continued from where he left off. “You are mine. My vassal. Say it back to me. Yours.”
Jamil was dead serious as he spoke, clearly not in the mood for too many jokes or teasing. And for once, you were too stunned for words to blurt out anything. Besides, it wasn’t like you could when he was so close and staring at you so intensely. 
“You… Yours?” You parrot awkwardly, wincing at the way it came out of your mouth. However, the young man still keeping you close with his staff seemed content with your response. 
Those gray eyes remained focused on you. His eyes were thin and sharp, making it look like he wore eyeliner. As cruel and cold as he could be behind that calm and polite facade, there was a mysterious charm to him. It was as enticing as it was dangerous, and yet that was how you liked most things. Curse him for that. 
It’s strange. You thought he would be more enraged about the lamp and the incident at the Cave of Wonders. However, he seemed almost calm as he gazed at you. And without his fancy garbs composed of so many layers that pooled around him, he didn’t look so intimidating. The black sleeveless shirt he wore was loose but intricately decorated, and his pants looked like flowing silk. There wasn’t even that headpiece over his hair, which made him look… normal. If that were even possible. It made you forget the fact that he was a villainous vizier, meant to eventually go mad with power and accidentally curse himself to an eternity of solitude and servitude when he finally wished to become an all-power genie. Maybe if you could steer him down that path, you could have him for yourself as a second wish-granter...
“Mine.” He confirmed, giving you a hard stare as he lowered his staff. With a hand, he guided your fingers to his long dark tresses. Most of it was loose, but some strands were in thin braids that extended all the way up to his scalp. When you delicately pinched one of the braids between your fingers, the braids tied so tightly made them look like little scales. Slowly you unravel them for him, he didn’t protest. In fact, he appeared almost relaxed. “I’ve let him take away many things from me. Too many things. And I’m not about to let him snatch you away too.” 
“Eh, he’s annoying. Silly, but annoying. You on the other hand… my boss who’s a tall, dark, and sinister ugly man.” 
His eyes watched your every movement, looking on idly as your fingers slowly untwined his braids. So casually you were touching a man who had committed unspeakable crimes, most of which you could not even begin the picture. What else had he done to defend the sultan when it was his duty? What had he done to climb the ranks and try to climb even higher to the most dangerous heights? How many souls had he sacrificed to the Cave of Wonders? How many assassins did he personally fend off? How did he punish and silence those that dare try to reveal his secrets and plans working behind the scenes without the royal family or others taking notice? 
Jamil crossed his arms, indifferent to your insult. His gaze never once left your figure as he replied smoothly. “You’re a terrible liar… If I was as ugly as you claimed, you wouldn’t be staring at me like that or touching me. Now, sit down.” He was close–– too close when he added the next words in a way that left you puzzled as to what exactly he could’ve meant. “You’ll be rewarded for recognizing my greatness, before anyone else did. But for now.” He handed you a scroll. "Read, find something useful of the lamp or the cave."
Maybe the most unnerving thing about Jamil, was his mysterious allure. The sultan you knew was cheery and laidback, the prince was spirited and independent, and the thief you would learn about in due time. But the vizier? It seemed impossible to pinpoint anything to him. One moment he was stoic and silent, the next he could be taking your banter and come up with a witty reply, and the very next second he was enraged and permanently extinguishing a life. Yet he wasn’t wildly violent nor too charming that it felt like a mask. And yet, you couldn’t distinguish was was genuine emotion from him or just acts with different intentions behind them. And that was the most concerning part about the vizier–– did he truly like you or was this some elaborate facade?
✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧
The following day you were awoken by thumping. Staying up late to assist the vizier search through old scrolls and books, wasn’t the brightest idea. The night was a bit of a blur, as you had stayed up so late researching with him. It was a blur of printed text, bickerings and snide remarks, fingers running through hair, and intense gazes, among other things. As you awoke later in the morning to an uproar from outside and a shaking of the ground like an earthquake. Trumpets and bells served as your alarm, as you fell out of the desk you had slumped over last night, a blanket over your shoulder that you hadn’t placed. 
Outside was quite a parade that could put all festivals to shame. White stallions carrying men with banners, camels carrying drummers whose sounds vibrated in the air, bands marching in the most vibrant uniforms, dancers in fine purples like pristine peacocks. It was like a traveling circus, zoo, and party all in one. And in your dazed state, the realization arrived suddenly–– 
“That’s the thief––!” 
Instantly you ran to your own room, or rather, the old vassal’s room, to wash up and change as quickly as humanly possible. You knew this would happen eventually, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon. The thief, now a princess, was here! Here, arriving with a genie masquerading as their most faithful trusted servant. The lamp, she had the lamp with her! 
Once changed, you stepped back into the vizier’s tower. There was no one there, he even cleaned up after his research session, leaving no evidence behind of his plot with the Cave of Wonders. No book, scroll, or even a page was left. Damn, he was good. In your mind there’s no doubt he’s cleaned up after other plots and murders. What a slippery cretin. 
Quickly departing from the tower, you made your way through the grand halls, past the guards and servants. Although most were entranced by the grand spectacle that princess, or rather a crook, managed to display through the streets of the city. To think all that splendor and so much more was just within reach. But just because the finish line was in sight, did not mean that it was safe. There were more ways to die here than the number of tales Scheherazade had to tell. While having the favor of the sultan and vizier was certainly both an ego boost and a benefit, it didn’t make you invincible. That could only truly happen when you finally had the lamp in hand. 
As soon as you turned a corner, you heard laughter. Immediately, you got the wind knocked out of you and went flying. Literally. You went tumbling backwards, some type of fabric draping over your face and the weight of a body crashing into yours as you collapsed on your back in an awkward angle. You were milliseconds away from screaming bloody murder and ready to tear into whoever could be blamed, but you shut your mouth and clenched your teeth shut when you heard the familiar giggling. 
The cloth, whatever it was that had been over your head and obscuring your vision, was removed. However, it wasn’t removed by a person, it moved on its own. That’s when you realized it wasn’t a piece of cloth, it was a piece of fabric, woven wool to be more specific. The wool that composed the magic flying carpet from the story. It moved like a sentient being as you blinked at it in shock, and it extended one of its tasseled yellow ends to dust you off. 
“How in the hell…?” 
“My dove! I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” He was gasping a bit from laughing so much on that magic carpet joy ride he must’ve just been on, the adrenaline still pumping through his system from flying within the palace’s high-ceiling rooms. 
Yes, you simple-minded idiot, you hit me like a train at full speed! Is what you would’ve said if you could, but it wouldn’t do to say that aloud when others might hear and get the wrong impression. It would attract too much attention if someone was blatantly disrespectful to the sultan. “No, I’m fine––” Your backside would be aching for a whole day. God, if only there wasn't a need for formalities, you would–– “And thank you… carpet.” The thanks came out awkwardly, as you were unused to thanking carpets but it seemed like a rather harmless and curious thing. 
“This contraption that the princess has brought is wonderful! You should try it!” 
The sultan gestured to the carpet. For such a priceless magical item that was stuck in a cave for who knew how long, it was in shockingly good condition. It had vibrant blues, and yellow patterns and symbols etched onto its surface. Yeah, you were definitely gonna keep it once you were in charge. 
“You know, I really think that my cousin Jaseer will love her! You have to meet her! And well…” He awkwardly scratched his cheek, looking somewhat sheepish as he mustered up the courage to speak the next words. His cheeks grew warm when he averted his gaze. Yet after a moment, his eyes shifted back to you. Such big innocent eyes, like the rarest of rubies. Usually you would try to admire the shine in such gems, but it was impossible to not take note of the obvious adoration within his gaze. “I was thinking, maybe you would like to join me later? We’ll be holding a banquet tonight, a party to celebrate our guests. But also, I wanted to spend time with you. What do you think? Is that alright?” 
For a moment you thought about it, slightly distracted when the carpet’s tassels were brushing against your arm and it appeared to stand so close. Not that you blamed the thing. If you were trapped in the Cave of Wonders like it was for so long, you would’ve gone insane. Maybe the thing just craved company or attention. Maybe it craved freedom. 
Kalim was providing the perfect excuse. You were the distraction, while Jamil could do whatever nefarious deeds he needed to complete in order for the plot to progress. However, it was already past the tipping point. Last night within those books, there was mention of the magic carpet within the Cave of Wonders. So chances are, the vizier already knows the princess is a fraud. 
“Hm, sure. Why not?” 
“Yes! Yes!” Quickly, he took your hands, clutching them tight. His energy was contagious apparently, because the carpet who had calmed down from the flight, received this burst of energy and was spinning around you too with great speed. “You won’t regret this! We’re going to have so much fun. And don’t worry about being overwhelmed by everyone, I know it can be a lot. So I’ll have an area set up just for us, away from the party guests, okay? That way, when we’re together and want to be alone, we can retreat there. Alright?”
Somehow with that invitation, while Jaseer and the princess whose name you’ve yet to learn, let alone care for, were likely learning about each other during the festivities and going off on their own romantic flight on the magic carpet, you were keeping the sultan distracted as the vizier had other matters to handle. Even when you were certainly not elegant or charming in even the slightest sense, appealing to the bubbly young man was surprisingly easy. Perhaps it was because he already was attracted to whatever he saw within you. 
Forced to entertain his request for a dance when the music began, he pulled you back behind a curtain to avoid people seeing, much to your great relief. He had a great big smile as he spoke about various things from the happenings of his kingdom to his own personal matters. 
“Do you care if I was married?” He asked a bit nervously, looking unsure if he should have even mentioned that to you. As far as you knew, the sultan was previously married, but nothing really came of the union. For whatever reason, he was single now with no children and his wife was no longer in the picture. Some creeping suspicion conjured up the possibility that Jamil had something to do with that. 
“I do not care.” You answered honestly. Why was he even asking that like how a boy would shyly ask a girl he liked if they mind the fact that he dated somebody before? Talk about zero charm. Was the only reason he got married because of his status? Most likely. Even if he was filthy rich and powerful, maybe even elegant looking in a way, he wasn’t exactly marriage material. “Tell me anyway. Details. I want details.” 
Surprised, he blinked at you. “Me? You wanna know about that? Well, it’s not very interesting… I would say it’s a long story, but it’s really not.” He chuckled a bit dryly, absentmindedly fiddling with the ends of the curtains where they had privacy on a balcony with a wonderful view of the port where the city met the waters. “I was young, an eighteen-year-old prince. Accidents happened to most of my siblings that were my age, so I was next in line. There’s a law that states that those next in line for the throne have to be married by a certain age. My father picked her when I couldn't decide. She was a princess from the north where apparently it’s all cold and snowy. A year or so after the wedding, my father and mother passed in an accident. Then, later on, she was gone too.” 
These sort of details were never mentioned in any rendition of the story that you remembered. At least, none that you recalled. However, it had been a while since you read them, so it could just be your memory. And the fact that in those takes, the sultan was an old man. “Do you ever miss her?” 
“Hm… sometimes. I thought I would miss her more, I feel like I should miss her a lot, but… I don’t.” He admitted quietly, lounging on his stomach so his arms were folded in front of him and his cheek was resting on his arm. “Over the years, I feel like I’ve lost track of all the accidents. My brother married into the royal family of a neighboring nation and urged them to wage war on our home, my sister attempted to bribe bodyguards to do her dirty work, aunts and uncles sent assassins.” 
“Drama.” You hummed as you lay across from him, laying flat on your back instead of your stomach. 
At your casual remark he almost laughed. Maybe that was his way of processing trauma, through humor and positivity. All this betrayal and hurt was certainly enough to drive someone mad. Maybe he wasn’t completely right in the head. “Okay, this is getting depressing, so I’ll stop. But you see why I like you? Why I trust you with my life? You’re so… so… real. It doesn’t feel like you sugarcoat things, and you’re so blunt! No one ever talks to me like that. You talk to me as if I’m just a guy, and nothing else.” 
He remembered what you said that time in the market. “You are just a guy.” You repeat. And that’s all he would be. If you couldn’t get the lamp, and Jamil got his greedy hands around it first, well maybe it was worth wishing for the vizier to spare the poor sultan. Besides, he was likable. Annoying, but entertaining. “And you really shouldn’t.” Trust. He shouldn’t trust you.
“But I do!” He pushed himself up, until his head was right above yours. Those ruby red eyes gazing right down at you, his face so close to yours that his nose brushed against yours. Gold around his ears dangled, making small rings like wind chimes. Kalim peered at you so immensely, so focused, but it was a gentle tender gaze as he lowered his face closer to yours. “I trust you, so, so much…” 
It only took a few moments for things to get out of hand. Oh, it was so easy, too easy. You were no tempest, but Kalim made it simple. Like toying with a doll. So after several minutes in, you hear the familiar voice of the vizier calling you, you immediately pull away and sit up. Panic was plastered over your face at the thought of being seen by that envious viper. When Kalim sat up with you, he looked much more dazed, like a lovestruck fool. To which you immediately pushed him down and hissed. “Shit! What’s he going to say if he finds me here with the sultan?” 
Part of his white hair was messy, as the cloth he usually wore around his head fell off sometime ago. His short strands stuck out at some angles, and he didn’t bother recollecting his composure as he was still dizzy. “Lucky sultan?” 
When he gave you a stupid grin, you pushed him aside. Luckily the spot was relatively hidden by curtains, pillows, and plush blankets and carpets. “Shut up…! Just, stay here.” 
Quickly you smoothed down your appearance before exiting the area, entering the halls to search for the vizier that had called you. Apparently, the time to act was here. Mere moments ago, he had instructed his loyalest soldiers under his command to bring in the princess they had cornered. 
So by the time you arrived at the vizier’s tower, there in the open window strapped to a chair atop an elevated surface of a table was the princess. Beautiful, sure. Especially when she wore such flashy garbs of pure white and purple. Cleverly she had wrapped a cloth around her head like a shayla, hiding her hair which could’ve been a key feature used to identify her, besides her face of course which she couldn’t exactly conceal under these circumstances. Her feet and wrists were bound tightly with rope, and if her chair tipped backwards she would meet a cold end in the salty waters of the sea right below. 
There was a distinct hint of nervousness in her tone as she attempted to persuade the two guards that this had been a misunderstanding, that they must’ve had no idea who she was, you watched the pair of soldiers double-check the security of the ropes bounding her. While in walked the vizier. It seemed like he was busy while you were taking a… break. Now, if the princess was here, where was that cursed lamp? Your eyes scanned her figure, searching for pockets she might’ve had. 
“We know who you are, Aliyyah.” The vizier spoke, sounding way too casual at the moment as he walked over to his tome situated on his desk. So that was the thief’s true name.
“Aliyyah…? I don’t know who that is–– I’m Princess Alya!” 
Jamil interrupted her, as she looked increasingly anxious. “A princess from a kingdom which does not exist. And who arrived on a magic carpet told to only be obtainable from the Cave of Wonders.” 
Carpet. That’s right. The carpet and the monkey the thief owned were still somewhere within the palace. There couldn’t be any loose-ends. Not when the lamp’s location was still unknown. It could be anywhere within the palace. 
Silently stepping over to the door where two more guards were situated to look-out, you allowed the vizier and thief to continue their stand-off while you opened the door slightly to whisper to one of the additional guards. “Go to our guest’s quarters. There, you should find our visitor’s pet and that magical carpet. Do not let them leave the quarters. And do not go alone, bring multiple other soldiers if you have to, but this is to remain discreet. I don’t care what you do to the monkey, but I better not see so much as a loose piece of string on that carpet. Capeesh?”
Being the vizier’s vassal had its benefits. As they usually only ever responded to the vizier himself, but since you were known to be the wise young man’s trusted advisor, your words carried weight among the staff wielding weapons and wearing armor. So obediently, the soldier nodded and immediately went off to see that the task was done. Afterwhich, you closed the heavy wooden door shut to prevent any sound from escaping, and returned your attention back to the vizier and the thief. 
“I’m afraid you’ve worn out your welcome.” His tone was no longer so casual. There was an icy coldness to it as he stalked closer, quickly growing tired of her adamant denial. “If I throw you off of that balcony, and you are who you say you are, you will die a watery death.” 
If Jamil pushed one of his own guards into a well for even considering the action of refusing orders, well, pushing a thief turned princess off several floors into deep waters was something he wouldn’t hesitate doing. So you watched carefully as the severity of the situation was settling on the princess, as she struggled in her bonds and her seat. However, there was no lie or tricks that could get her out of this one. 
“And if you survive, it can only be because of the lamp. Now…” 
Waving off the pair of soldiers, they left, leaving only the thief, the vizier, and yourself. As the dark-haired sorcerer did the familiar movement of lifting the end of his spear so it was directly against her collarbone, the princess gulped and an ominous look came over the vizier’s face. When the princess glanced at you, you only grinned and wiggled your fingers like waving goodbye. However, when she turned to face you, that’s when your sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something sparkly in the cloth around her hair, right behind her neck. Slowly you walked closer.
“Where is the lamp?” Jamil demanded. 
“Listen,” The young woman pleaded. She was young, about your age. And surely you knew that she would die a watery death, because now you knew where the lamp was. Whatever name she went by, or whoever she was, Princess Alya of a faraway nation or the thief Aliyyah, it wouldn’t matter. “I swear to you,” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. “I am––” 
You bumped the tip of his staff, with enough pressure to tip her off the end just as you leaned forward to reach the cloth around her skull. Your grip was on the fabric, not her. So she went tumbling down multiple floors, plunging into dark brine. Her scream was cut off by the sound of a splash and the breaking of wood. The chair must’ve broken upon impact, but she went sinking down and down. The only thing preventing you from falling as well, was the curved cobra head Jamil had used like a hook around your back to secure you from falling. And in your hands, wrapped in the silk white cloth, lay what would’ve been her salvation, what was your salvation–– the lamp. 
“This is convenient. Now it’s time for you to answer the same question I asked her.” 
“What? Aren’t you going to pull me to safety?” You stared at him wide-eyed, as he practically dangled you above your doom. Yes, the lamp was in hand, but you couldn’t rub it to summon the genie. Not when your fingers were gripping it tightly so it wouldn’t fall into the waters below and risk hitting the jagged rocks, while your other hand gripped the golden staff to avoid falling, your toes just barely on the edge. Even the slightest wrong move, would send you plummeting to those sharp stones and salty waters so far below. Could you survive that fall? Maybe, if you could avoid the rocks. Which seemed like a slim chance. 
Ignoring your growing fear, he continued calmly, keeping a steady grip on his staff. A small tremble could unbalance you and make you fall. Or, he could be so cruel as to let you drop. But, you had the lamp, which might’ve been the only reason he held on. “I know who you are, criminal.” 
Down below, there was no sign of the thief emerging. The only thing that came up to the surface of the waves was a purple sash from her garbs. Something about his words was enough to tell you that he didn’t mean the role you were playing, he meant you. You who were arrested and sent here as punishment, as your own personal hell, to die for your crimes. And here you were, just as those bastard judges wanted, on the very brink of death. Literally. “You know nothing about me––” 
“I know everything about you. I know your crimes, your anger, your burning hatred for those who have wronged you. I know.” Gray eyes narrowed at you, but his hold was unwavering. You couldn’t save yourself, not in this position. You were at his mercy. Even when your heart felt like it was beating rapidly, and you were thinking a mile a minute of possible ways to get out of this situation only for each idea to end in failure. You heard his words he spoke bitterly, like they had a deeper meaning. But then he added, “I know you hide a knife in your shawl, a second in your pillowcase, and a third under your mattress because you never trusted me completely. It pains me to see you reduced to this.” 
No, he knew nothing about you. The real you, even if he thought he did. He could never imagine what it was like, the things you had done. Even if he somehow discovered the truth, that you were not his trusted vessel but acted like them, you weren't them. “You–– You don’t know me!” 
“A criminal from another world, sent into what was like a story. You thought you could trick me and everyone else. But you underestimate me. As soon as you opened your big mouth, I knew you were a fraud. What did you call me? A two-faced snake? Ironic.” 
You had called him that, while playing a role to trick him this entire time. Just as the protagonist had tried, and look where she ended up because of that. Dead. Drowned by water and salt, with a body that would either become fish food or wash ashore as an unrecognizable corpse. How did he know? There was no possible way to know! You told no one! Trusted no one!
The air was a bitter cold. Moonlight shone on his face, letting you see the royal vizier’s cunning features and how he was grinning. He was grinning at your predicament, as he held your fate in his hands. Your arm was starting to feel numb from holding on for so long, but you couldn’t let go. There was no way you would let go of the lamp or of yourself, after everything and how far you got. When glory and sweet revenge on everyone was literally in the palm of your hand.
“But you leave yourself unguarded when you sleep.” That was the answer, you realized with horror. That was how he knew way more than he should! Jamil invaded your very mind, controlling it with this very cursed staff he held you from. “They wronged you, those above you. Underestimate you. We’re more alike than you would like to verbally admit.” 
“Jamil, you––! Vile liar, son of a––” 
“That’s sorcerer to you.” He corrected you. 
That’s right–– in the story once the vizier gets a brief moment of victory, he uses his wishes to place himself atop the social hierarchy of power. First sultan, then a sorcerer, then a genie. Above a sultan: a sorcerer. But why was he skipping the sultan stage? 
The vizier turned serious, stretching out his hand that did not hold the staff. He held out the palm of his thin hand, offering a twisted grin that made your stomach weave into knots. Speaking firmly, he offered a once in a lifetime deal. And it was either accept his deal, or die for the price of what was committed. “I told you, you are mine. I meant that. I plan to be something great, much greater than that simpleton. So, once I become the most powerful man in the world, you may take the title of sultan if it’s what you wish. All you have to do is hand me the lamp, my Treasured Vassal.”
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asumofwords · 11 months
Text
Smoke, Fire and Ash
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)
Masterlist
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.
Note: HELLO, wow. Thank you for all the love as per usual! It makes me giggle and kick my little feet reading your messages ! I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point but this is a DARK FIC, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. Please do not expect fluff and romance...
Without further adieu, enjoy <3
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51: The Return to Kings Landing
You had walked quickly up to Dragonmont, finding Vermithor before mounting him, brushing his bronze scales as you looked about the island, to commit it to your memory. Footsteps of another had interrupted your gazing, as Aemond rounded a cliff and came to stop, looking at you atop the Bronze Fury. 
You could have sworn you saw your husband smirked, but paid no mind to it, commanding the large bronze dragon into the sky to fly back to what you used to call home. Not too long after, the sound of familiar grumble came from behind and your heart had skipped a beat, looking back to see Vhagar and your uncle seated atop.
This time she was not chasing you.
This time she flew with you.
The flight to Kings Landing was not too long of a journey, and you had allowed yourself to silently cry atop the dragon as Dragonstone became smaller, and smaller behind you. It was something you could do alone on your dragon, despite the burning presence of Aemond, who now flew ahead of you.
As King’s Landing came closer, the sun had begun to set, casting a rusty glow across the vast stone structures. Vermithor landed down near the entrance to the Dragon Pit, where Syndor had once waited for you. Letting you slide from his back, your fingers stroked the ropes Jacaerys had put on him before he took off to the skies again, leaving you at the mouth of the cave. 
You let your feet carry you through the pit, walking into the Keep alone. Not waiting for Aemond, and wherever he was, to escort you inside.
If this was to be your home, then you would act like it.
Although, it was odd to be back in truth.
To be back in a place where you had not long ago escaped from. To be back where so much had happened. To willingly walk yourself right back into the vipers nest. To where so many horrors had been witnessed and committed in the name of the crown. 
In the name of the Targaryen legacy.
And whilst you let yourself walk without purpose, you found your feet had led you somewhere you had always sought solace in times of need. 
The Godswood stood tall, and exactly where it had before. Its dark ruby leaves moved gently in the breeze and night began to fall over the realm. Its bark was still rough to the touch as you let your fingers graze over it.
It was the one thing in the Keep that had remained the same.
The one thing that had stayed true.
As you rested your cut palm against the bark, you watched as a small part of coagulated blood pulled away from the skin, causing new blood to flow. The dark, red liquid dripped gently onto the bark of the tree, starkly standing out against the brown of the bark.
You looked at the face of the tree, staring at it as you dug your palm sharply into its surface, feeling the sharp edges of wood dig into the open cut of your hand.
It was grounding, that pain.
Made you focus on one thing, instead of the racing thoughts inside of your head.
Servants walked through the halls and corridors, and passed through the courtyard where you stood. None stopping to greet you, nor stopping to report you. It seemed that they were all aware of the reasoning to your presence, and to your return.
You closed your eyes, praying to the old Gods to hear you. To save you. To take mercy upon you. To forgive you of your sins. Of your wrongdoings. 
To protect you from what was to come. 
And as you prayed, you felt someones gaze upon you, skin prickling with unease. You ignored it and kept on, lips softly moving as you begged for mercy and forgiveness.
“The God’s won’t hear your prayers.” Came the soft voice of your husband.
You balled your hand by your side into a fist as you were pulled from your prayers, attempting to desperately start again.
Please Gods, let me survive thi-
“Come. I will show you to our chambers.” 
Our chambers.
Our.
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You let your hand slide from the bark of the tree, taking one last glance at the red leaves above you before you turned to face Aemond. He stood not too far way, in his riding leathers, hands held behind his back and posture stiff. His lips were pulled into a soft smile and it made you nervous. 
Why was he smiling at you like that?
What was wrong with him?
You lifted an unsure foot over the roots, and began to walk down the grass towards him, watching as your husbands smile grew wider. The blood on his lips had mostly gone, from flaking away or perhaps the gentle lapping of his own tongue.
Though the blood on his forehead was untouched. It had dried a darker shade, almost a deep brown like the bark of the tree.
His posture was so similar to how he had been at Storm’s End. Leg lazily jutted out with his arms behind his back. That smile you realised, was most likely a smug one. 
The cat who got the cream. 
The man who finally got the wife he wanted.
“I wish to return to my old chambers.” You spoke, and you watched as Aemond’s head tilted to the side, as he lazily looked you up and down.
“No.” Was all he said before he turned, not waiting for you to follow him. 
You stood unmoving as you watched him leave, feet carrying him swiftly across the grass to the cobblestones. You thought of not following him, and returning to your own chambers. But you did not know if it would be locked or guarded, nor did you know of how he would react. 
Now was not the time to be a steadfast fool. 
And so you let your feet carry you towards him, following the man like a dutiful wife, albeit ten to fifteen paces behind him. Watching his legs work, and his hands that were clutched tightly behind his back. Hands that were now permitted to touch you. Hands that would undoubtedly bring you pain and suffering. 
One hand gripped the others wrist, the cut hand on display as dried blood had begun to settle on his palm and finger tips. You watched it flex and tighten, fingers digging into the cut at random as he continued onwards to his wing of the Red Keep.
You wondered if it would be his chambers, or new ones. If you were to return to the chambers you had been in, not so long ago, makeshift dagger in hand as you plunged it into the soft flesh of his shoulder. You wondered if he would disrobe himself before he took you. If you would get to see with your own eyes the damage you had done to him. 
Not unlike how he would see the scars he had given to you upon your body. Almost too many to count during such a short period of time. He had truly put his mark on you in every way possible. 
Your body.
Your heart. 
Your mind.
Every piece of you now belonged to him.
The castle began to darken from the setting sun, and the torches along the corridor served to light the path ahead. Aemond did not pause, nor did he slow down as he approached his chambers. 
The chambers you had been in before. 
So there was no new chambers for you. Just the haunting memory of the old one. You wondered if it kept him awake at night? Or if he stayed there to serve as a reminder of what you had done to him.
As he approached, a knight pulled open the doors for him, nodding his head to you both. You watched as his silver hair disappeared into the chambers and you slowed your step. You could not make a run for it. You know you couldn’t, but your body wanted to. 
Your mind wished for you to run, to escape the inevitable of what was to come. 
You knew what was expected of you the moment you entered those chambers. Now that you were man and wife, it needed to be consummated. But this did not mean that despite knowing, that you would ever be ready for it. 
You had always thought it would be different.
Perhaps loving and gentle, shared with someone you loved. Perhaps if Aemond hadn’t grown into the man he was now, you would have willingly given it to him. The thought made your heart rise into your throat as you palms began to feel cold and clammy. 
Step after step, you slowly moved forward to seal your doom. 
When you reached the knight at the door, he waited for you to enter, not looking at you, instead looking over your head as though you weren’t even there. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back and held your head high, before swiftly walking into the dark green chambers. 
It was as you had remembered, though this time, brighter. The fire place raged with flames, and candles were lit upon every surface to light the room. Your eyes flitted to the side of the bed, and the passage in which you had snuck through to get him.
It was still there, and he had not blocked, nor barricaded it. 
“You wouldn’t be able to leave that way, if that’s what you are thinking of.” His voice called across the room.
Aemond stood to the side, filling two cups full of spiced wine, not even looking at you. He must have sensed or known that your eyes would flit straight there. As his large hands grasped the wine, he made his way towards you, holding a cup out.
It was almost like an offering of peace.
A treaty.
You timidly grasped the wine from him, and he watched you with a hum, before he pulled his goblet up to his lips and sipped deeply, turning to go sit in an armchair by the fire. You stood where you were, in the middle of the room, near a large round table that was surrounded by six chairs. Books sat atop the table, and one in particular caught your eye. 
Atop the table, in a pile, was your book. 
Faded red cover, golden lettering and all.
How?
“Sit.” Your uncle beckonned, eye not having left the fireplace. 
Slowly you walked towards him, before sitting in the chaise opposite, letting your eyes roam over his form. 
Aemond sat lazily, and comfortably in his large green armchair. Hand holding the goblet as he sipped, whilst the other rested upon the arm of the chair. It reminded you of the first night he had snuck into your chambers.
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“Drink.” He commanded, and you obeyed. 
You would not argue with that.
You would surely need wine for what was to come. 
Would it be painful? Would he enjoy hurting you? Would you bleed as you had been told you would?
You pulled the goblet up to your lips and emptied it, resting the cup in your lap as your fingers trailer over the rim, waiting for his next command to strip and lay on the bed for him.
To lay spread for him.
To be ready for his brutality.
But he didn’t.
And instead, your husband continued to sip the wine, not talking, nor moving, until his cup was empty too. Once his goblet was dry, and he had sat for many moments more, he turned his face to look at you.
The light from the fire cast a sharp shadow across his face, causing his already pointed features to look more defined. He was hauntingly beautiful you mused.
A shame.
And a waste.
“The King wishes for us to dine with him this evening. To celebrate our union.” Aemond told you, eye roaming to where your hands had stilled at the lip of the cup.
Aegon.
You were to dine with Aegon this evening. 
Memories of your last meeting in the dungeon flashed through your mind. His hands on your throat, the feeling of his cock brushing roughly against your sex. Nausea began to roll through your body, and your heart ran a marathon within your chest. 
“He will not touch you.” 
Aemond’s voice pulled you from the dark memories of your mind. You blinked at him uncertain. 
Aegon may not touch you, but Aemond surely would.
And you did not know who would be worse.
For all of Aegon’s devious desires, they were laid bare to the world. He did not hide himself nor his actions. Where as Aemond held his close to him. He did not let anyone know of the man he truly was, nor what he truly desired. 
What was worse?
The knowing of such cruelty, or the unknown of what cruelty lies before you.
Aemond watched as you spiralled with your thoughts before he abruptly stood. He stalked towards you, looking down as you clutched harder at the cup in your lap. A large hand came towards you and you could not help but flinch at the movement. 
If he noticed you jump, it did not stop him, as he plucked the goblet from your hand, moving to the side of the room, to place both of your empty cups back where the decanter was. 
“I will have the maids come and dress you for the evening.” 
Aemond swiftly walked across the room, opening the door before exiting, leaving you in the vast emptiness of the space of the chambers that you would now call yours. 
Chambers that you would now live and breathe in for Gods knew how long. Chambers that you would eat, and sleep and bathe in. Chambers in which you would share a bed with your husband, and have him put his seed in you.
Chambers where you may begin to swell with a child. 
It was all so much, that you found you could not even cry at the thought. You do not know how long you spent sitting where you sat, eyes still on the fire, that when the maids came to pull the heavy riding leathers from your body, and replace them with robes for dinner, you did not resist. 
Nor did you resist when the familiar gaze of your now husband watched on as they stripped you. Nor did you resist when he crowded you so suddenly, hand on the small of your back, as he moved to lead you out of your chambers towards the dining room you had all dined in before. 
It was not until you were halfway there did you come back to yourself.
It was not until your feet had begun to feel heavy, and the scarring on your side began to feel tight, did you realise you stood in the corridor, with Aemond standing beside you, eye half lidded as he looked at you. 
It was not until then you realised you had stopped walking, and noticed your surroundings. 
“Zaldristos.” Aemond uttered, as he looked down at you. 
That was what broke the spell.
You swallowed thickly and looked down at yourself.
You wore a deep red dress, almost the colour of your combined blood. It was tight, but not too tight, the sleeves were soft, and upon each wrist were embroidered dragons.
One the left side, a black dragon, embroidered scales shimmering in the light of the torches. 
One the right, a green dragon.
A dress you had not seen before.
As you looked at the gown, Aemond hummed, moving forward again, neither touching you nor waiting for you to follow. You were left to trail behind him towards the familiar wooden doors, with their soft rounded tops.
He waited at the entrance for you, as the two knights held each side, only when you stood beside him did the doors open, and the room was revealed to you. 
It had changed. 
There were no familiar curtains or tapestry on the walls. The table had been replaced and the chairs reupholstered. The room had no sigils of the House Targaryen, and instead were replaced with gaudy green tapestry, and symbols of the Seven Faith.
What was left of the small reminder of home was now gone. 
Alicent had been busy.
“Prince Aemond Targaryen, and his Lady Wife, the Princess Y/n Velaryon.” Came the low timber of Ser Criston Cole. 
Lady Wife. 
His.
It felt so strange.
Your eyes settled to the table. 
Aegon sat where your Grandsire once had.
It was wrong.
Unnatural.
To see the seat where Viserys had sat, and laughed, and smiled with vigour, to now be replaced with someone who sneered, and drank, and whored, was blasphemous.
The conquerors crown sat heavily atop his wavy hair, and deep green robes were upon his person. On his right sat his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, and his left, Ser Otto Hightower. 
Further along the table sat Lord Larys Strong.
And as you looked at him, you could scarcely see any resemblance to his brother, Ser Harwin Strong. You wondered what he thought of Aemond slaying his entire House?
But he was most likely just as vicious, having become the Master of Whispers to the Queen, and now your uncle, the King. His face held an odd look to it. He had sad brown eyes, and was built thinly.
A lean man with no strength of his body, only his mind. 
A dangerous man indeed.
You had heard and only witnessed once yourself that the man had a clubbed foot. Perhaps his family gave him grievances like yours had to Aemond.
Perhaps he was relived to be rid of them.
Lord Jasper Wilde, and a familiar blond head of Lord Tyland Lannister sat at the table, watching you silently as you walked up the few small stairs to the table. 
You were in the presence of the Kings Small Council. 
They had all been invited to witness the proof of your union, and proof of your despair.
“There they are!” Came the sickening boom of Aegon’s voice as he roughly pushed himself up to stand, palms opening out widely as he smiled smugly at you.
“The newly weds! Congratulations on your union brother,” Aegon kept his eyes on you as he spoke, “And welcome back to the Keep, Princess. You left without so much as a goodbye last time you were here.”
He was goading you. 
As you reached the level ground, Aemond stepped forth and pulled a chair back for you, looking at you expectantly to sit in it. You hesitated, before coming forth and sitting in the chair as he pulled out his own and seated himself.
Alicent’s watchful gaze did not leave yours.
Her face was unreadable, but the same sour, downturned lips you had gotten used to as a child was ever present. You felt the gaze of everyone at the table upon you. You held your fingers in your lap, digging your nails into the cut of your palm, which was now bandaged from the maids. 
You had not even felt them do it.
“Apologies that I could not make it to witness such a beautiful union. But now we can celebrate together.” The Usurper King continued, clapping his hands loudly together.
You did not take your eyes from Alicent, keeping your gaze locked on her as he spoke.
This is what you have done.
You started this.
Your only solace was knowing that you had taken one of her sons, the way she had taken Lucerys from you and your mother. 
You heard the giggle of Aegon as his hands clapped together again in excitement.
“I don’t think I’ve heard my niece be so quiet before. Have you broken her already, Aemond?” 
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You grit your teeth, and pushed your finger deeper into your palm, feeling the bandages wet, and still, you kept your eye on the woman who started it all.
Aemond simply hummed, before acknowledging his mother who sat opposite him.
“Don't tell me she has snatched your voice too, brother? One minute in her cunt and already you’ve gone soft.” Aegon snickered.
“Aegon.” Came the warning voice of Otto Hightower. 
The energy at the table was so tense, that even the guards and knights stationed about the room shifted uncomfortably on their feet.
“It is good to have you back in King's Landing,” Otto began, “I am sure that you and Aemond shall settle in together in no time.” He gave you a warm smile, and it made you more uncomfortable than Aegon’s comments. 
Aegon let out a high pitched laugh though his nose, before clicking his fingers out beside his head. The noise and movement made you stiffen.
Alicent witnessed the reaction.
And soon the table was being filled with foods and more wine, your own goblet being filled, which you snatched from the table and emptied rapidly. Aegon watching, smile widening. 
As the Usurper King sat back in his large chair and drank from his cup, he kept his eyes on you as he told you of plans for the treaty and how it would work. Insisting that the North would surely love to have your mother as their Queen, which the both of you knew; they wouldn’t. 
In fact, it seemed that everyone at the table knew.
Just as you had expected.
When your plate was filled with foods, you found that you had no appetite for it, instead turning to your cup, which you drank from heavily, having it refilled by the cup bearers more than thrice. 
And before long, conversation flittered around the table stiffly about the union, and expectation for children, much to Aegon’s delight, and your disgust. And so you let yourself retreat back into your mind, letting their words become a distant hum as you stared at Alicent, drinking from your cup.
The Dowager Queen did not sit still as you stared at her. Her eyes would meet yours and flit away to look at the three Lords at the table and her sons, before she would gaze back at you, finding that you had not moved her from your sights. 
“Tell me brother, have you bed her yet?” Aegon’s voice pulled you from your numb haze.
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No reply came.
“Do you remember how it is done? I’d be happy to show you.” He snickered, and the Lannister let out an uneasy laugh.
Alicent growled Aegon’s name again and Otto began to speak before Aegon interrupted him. 
“We should hold a bedding ceremony, to ensure that the deed is done properly. I can talk you through it.”
You let your gaze leave Alicent for the first time, and turned your head to look at your husband beside you, who sat straight in his chair, hands bunched in balls by his side.
His jaw was tight and tensed, and his brow was furrowed. 
“Come now brother, surely you have not forgotten what I showed you on your thirteenth name day.” Aegon laughed, pulling his goblet up to his lips. 
You watched as Aemond’s mouth pulled into a sneer.
“The King is merely joking with you, My Prince. We are all in good spirits for this union.” Otto tried, and failed to cover for the King.
“You heard the old bat, we are all in good spirits! You are finally wed to the one woman who had given you any attention at all. Sure, she is a bastard-“
“Watch your tongue.” You sneered at the King, resolve disappearing.
“So she speaks!” Aegon declared proudly to the table, looking at the Lords as they all smiled unsurely, “Finally. There is my niece who I know and love. Though I fear if you are able to speak, perhaps my brother did not fuc-“
Aemond shot up from his seat at the table, fists tight on the wood near his plate as he stared down at his hands. You looked up at your husband who breathed deeply, knuckles white as he fisted them.
“Aem, brother.” Aegon mock cooed, “You know I am only teasing. Come,” He looked across the table, picking up his goblet, “Lets raise our cups to this fine union!” 
The Lord’s and the Dowager Queen picked up their cups, holding them towards you both.
You kept your gaze on Aemond, whose head slowly turned to you to meet your eyes, his violet orb half lidded and scowl upon his lips. He looked full of rage, just barely controlled beneath the surface of his bristling posture. 
Your hand came up on its own, to reach out to touch him, to calm him, but as soon as your hand moved, you found that Aemond looked down at in in disgust before he seated himself, no longer looking at you, instead stiffly grabbing his goblet before him. 
You mirrored his action, trying to push down your budding fear and anxiety, now that Aegon and riled him up. 
He had done it on purpose.
“To my brother, may she warm your heart and your cock, and may you make me a grand-uncle soon enough.” He smirked, before turning his gaze on you, “And to my wonderful niece, may you warm his bed, and birth his heirs, and feel the warmth of his love.”
“Hear, Hear!” Came the confident voice of Tyland Lannister, followed by everyone else, seemingly ignoring his crude remarks.
Or perhaps, they had gotten used to it by now.
He was their King, whether they liked it or not.
Neither you nor Aemond spoke, but drank deeply from your cups, before placing them down. 
A beat passed before Aemond spoke.
“Excuse us,” His voice cut across the table, stilling the King in his excitement, “I wish to spend time with my wife.” 
Your husband stood from his seat, moving to stand beside yours waiting. He did not hold out his hand, nor offer to assist you in any way, simply stood and expected you to follow as he bid the table a good night, bowing stiffly to his brother, anger rolling from him in waves. 
Standing you stared once more at Alicent, before turning on your heel to follow Aemond out of the dining hall, and back to your shared chambers. You did not spare a glance to Aegon, nor the other Lord’s, nor did you spare a glance at your husbands face.
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You let Aemond lead you to the chambers, his strides quick and purposeful, until finally you reached the room, and you were inside, and the door behind you was shut softly with a thud by the knights. 
And then you were alone, with your husband Aemond, on the night of your wedding.
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ethereallocs · 8 months
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A Viper and A Dragon
Chapter One-The First Meeting
[Pairing:Daemon Targaryen x OC Fem Character]
[Warning/Content: Masturbating,Sexual Tension,Teasing, Arranged marriage, Lots of lusting after one another.]
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Allyria was a beautiful young woman from Dorne. Her family was of noble blood and highly respected by the Targaryens. Her father grew up with King Viserys. In-fact Viserys treated him like a brother. Even though she was one of the most gorgeous young ladies in Westeros she had managed to evade marriage for quite some time since her name day which was a few years ago. Her mother often threatened she’d be an old maid by the time she intended to marry, but in her mind she wished to be independent after all she could do well without a man they only complicated things after all. Unfortunately she couldn’t evade it any longer and with King Viserys’s invitation Allyria’s father intended on marrying her off to someone in King’s Landing.
Meanwhile in King’s Landing Daemon had been begging his brother once more to let him marry Rhaenyra. And yet again he denied him of it, she was to be married to Laenor Velaryon. “I have someone else in mind for you brother. You won’t be disappointed.” Viserys assured him. “Yes, the same way I was assured about the bronze bitch…” He scoffed rolling his eyes in annoyance he figured in his defeat he’d go off and have a drink or two; maybe three. Who’s counting really? The next day he came in stumbling smelling of wine and ale. One of the King’s guard dragged him into the throne room where he saw a few familiar faces all but one.
Allyria stood tall her dark hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back. Her dressed was orange and gold and was held together by golden chains that laced over her back while the fabric of her dress clinged to her body ever so loosely. The prince was prepared to be scolded by his brother once more, but not in front of such a beautiful creature. His pride would not have it. He stood to his feet quickly fixed his mussed up hair and fixing his clothes. The king finally noted his presence and stood to his feet. “Brother you’ve finally come to join us we were waiting for you.
“You remember Lord Balereon and his Lady wife Anisa. Also their daughter Lady Allyria I invited them for the tourneys coming in a few days. There is a future celebration to be had.” Daemon nodded and bowed respectfully while Allyria watched from the corner of her eye. He was rather handsome she thought. Also he looked like he could bed a woman good. She hummed to herself looking away to get her mind back on track. It had been years since the King asked for her father to come here personally so why now? “Lord Balereon, Lady Anisa come we have something important to discuss. Daemon can show Allyria around and he will be respectful and noble I assure you.” He emphasized noble mainly speaking to Daemon when he did.
Daemon put on his charm and have a dazzling smile before he held out his arm for her. She laced her arm into his and smiled back at her father and mother as she walked away. They were silent as they walked for a while Daemon was in awe of the woman that stood before him. She was even more captivating this close and she didn’t say a word and yet he could feel himself being pulled toward her. “Are you going to say something Prince Daemon or are you just going to gawk at me the entire time?” He was pulled from his trance once she spoke and he chuckled at such a remark.
“A beautiful face with the tongue of a viper you are rather interesting, Lady Allyria.” She smiled watching the lords and ladies watching hungrily or enviously either way she enjoyed the attention. “That was a compliment was it not, my prince?” She looked to him with the rich brown eyes that flowed like pots of honey when the sun hit them. He stammered a bit still mesmerized by her beauty. “Oh…yes of course.” Her lush lips curled into a knowing grin. “So where is it you go to have fun. I’d like a drink.” He raised a brow at her and teased, “A young lady like you could possibly handle a drink.” She looked at him as if he was challenging her. “I’ll have to show you what I’m capable of I see.”
“I know just the place.” He took her hand as they ran off through a narrow path to get to the outskirts of the castle. He took her to one of his favorite taverns and of course every eye turned to look at her once they arrived. She sat upon a table her rich coppered skin glittering like gold. She was given their best ale and she almost gagged at the taste. “I told you m’lady you cannot handle your drink.” She down the cup without a moment to breathe and she laughed. “That shyte is disgusting we have way better ale in Dorne who made that swill anyway.”
He was a bit amazed he had never met a woman like her. Ever… not even Rhaenyra held a candle to her. She was a rare jewel indeed and had to have her. After a few more drinks she ended up carrying him back to the castle it was time for dinner and they were late. Once they arrived Viserys placed a hand over his face and began to apologize for Daemon. “My King there is no need to apologize I’m sure my daughter had something to do with this.” She giggled sitting him down and finding a seat next to him. “Forgive me, My King…I was rather bored of promenading through the castle I asked prince Daemon to take me somewhere for a decent drink and well here we are.”
Viserys laughed and quickly reassured her that there was no harm done. “I’m glad to see that their may be someone in this world that can actually keep up with my brother. The two of you seem to be getting along well with one another. Now that your father and I have gotten the matter settled let us raise our cups to the wonderful union of our two houses.” Allyria’s smiled faded and Daemon was too sloshed to even notice. Her family noted her flat expression and silence for the remainder of dinner.
Finally, being able to dismiss herself she made her way to her chambers but was stopped by a hand grabbing her wrist. It was The Rogue Dragon himself. With a bit of food on his stomach he came back to himself a lot quicker. “I see you are not happy about our betrothal.” She turned to face him with anger fuming. “It is that obvious? I had thought that me being unmarried long enough would make my father stop trying entirely. I thought wrong apparently.” He felt a bit upset from her reaction but tried not to show it. “We seemed like we were enjoying ourselves I thought you and I seemed made for each other.”
“I enjoy your company, but I know as well as the whole entire realm knows that you want The Iron Throne and Rhaenyra. Let us not mention the rumors of you getting rid of Lady Rhea. Just so you could be free to marry the princess. Word travels far, m’lord. How long will it take before I can no longer hold your affections or attentions, my Prince? How long will it take for you to discard me like some used thing? I do not want that for myself. I would rather be free and alone.” She snatched away from him before she quickly found sanctuary in her chambers.
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The next morning she was awakened by a knock on the door. “Come in.” It was her mother coming in to see how she had been fairing since she heard the news. “I know you aren’t happy, Little Lotus. You’re father and I are what we think is best for you.” Allyria laughed it off , “What’s best for me? Or what is best for our house. I’m sure with me marrying The Prince and siring an heir that will forever bind us to the powers that be. I may be a young woman mother, but am not simple.” Anisa sighed and shook her head. “Things are different in Dorne for women and you know that. Why would I want to leave such a liberated country to be sought after by men and envied by women who’ve never had an ounce of freedom since the day they were pushed from their mother’s cunt?”
“Dearest, it is not a punishment. Your father and the King have known each other for quite some time this is an honor for our family, please just try to make the best of it.” Allyria nodded softly and sighed. “It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. Like a nightingale in a cage..” Anisa left her to get ready for the day but didn’t leave without reminding her the wedding was in three days time. “Ysilla, come in please I’d like to get dressed.” Her handmaiden didn’t take much time to come in and quickly started to get her lady ready.
Allyria loved letting her deep brown tresses down in its natural state. Thick and wavy. “Ysilla can you grab that red dress for me.” She smiled at the choice. “The red is an excellent choice, miss.” Grabbing the garment she helped her put it on. When she looked at herself in the mirror she smiled to herself looking at the masterpiece that was her. “Thank you, Ysilla. I’ll be showing myself around the castle for a while.” Ysilla bowed her head and left her. She sighed softly and decided to hide out in the library. But upon arriving she spotted Daemon in the courtyard below and sparring with one of the King’s guards. She leaned on the stone watching him rather closely.
He was arrogant and rather egotistical and unfortunately she loved that in a man. How beautiful was he…attacking his opponent gracefully but with so much power behind each strike. She bit her lip feeling her thighs rubbing together causing friction. She sighed wantonly wishing to find relief, but her thighs were just making things worse. Her soft digits pushed the thin red linen to the side and slowly rubbed over her soft folds parting them to find her bundle of nerves. Circling over it slowly it sent soft shocks through her body as she continued to watch her betrothed.
The way he grunted with each attack. The sweat dripping from his face due to the action itself was primal. She trembled and whimpered softly trying not to be heard. Her eyes rolled as her two fingers began to fill her walls up touching that one spot that were send her over the edge. She thought of him grunting and rutting against her like an animal. Pulling her hair and reaching spots her fingers could not. “Daemon…” she cooed lovingly and to her surprise she felt a hand touch her shoulder. “And why are you calling my name so deliciously, My darling Viper?”
She looked to the courtyard and saw everyone was gone. Hesitant to turn around she held her hands behind her back hoping to hide the evidence of her arousal. “Did I? Forgive me, my Prince I did not mean…” He pulled her hand from behind her and examined the evidence. He smiled smelling her scent and instinctively he took her fingers into his mouth and licked them clean. “So sweet…” He muttered. She nearly fainted from seeing such a thing. He grabbed her waist pulling her in as she tried to make a step back. “I’d take you right here if I didn’t respect your father or my brother. On our wedding night you won’t be able to escape me.”
She winced at the idea of marriage internally, but the idea of their love making made her reconsider it a bit. “I guess we will see what my dragon is capable of then, yes?” She grabbed his chin and kissed his lips tasting a mixture of her sweet nectar and his saliva which made him groan into the kiss before she pulled away and went to go find the library. “Until our wedding night, my Prince. I’ll be waiting for you.” She disappeared down the hall and now his head was filled with nothing but her..was he in love or did he just want to fuck her brain loose..
To be continued…
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
260 notes · View notes
eternalmooncanvas · 2 months
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Eclipse Moon Snake Priestess
From the sun-drenched sands of the Snake Moon Desert, where serpents dance in mirages and ancient ruins whisper forgotten tales, emerges Amara, the Priestess of Shifting Sands. Her sun-kissed skin, etched with swirling henna symbols that mimic the slithering paths of desert dunes, radiates an alluring warmth, a mirage against the harsh backdrop of her domain. A serpent-scaled cloak, shimmering with iridescent hues like a beetle's carapace, drapes across her form, a silent ode to the deity she serves.
Her eyes, like pools of molten gold reflecting the desert sun, hold the secrets of forgotten civilizations and the unwavering gaze of a cobra defending its nest. They have witnessed the fiery dawn paint the dunes crimson, the playful dance of mirages shimmering in the heat, and the silent ballet of nocturnal creatures emerging from the sands. Yet, within their depths, flickers a gentle wisdom, a wellspring of ancient knowledge passed down through generations of desert mystics.
Amara moves with the sinuous grace of a desert viper, her every step leaving ephemeral patterns in the swirling sand. Her voice, when she speaks, is a soft song carried on the desert wind, echoing with the wisdom of dunes and the ancient chants of her ancestors. In her hands, a staff coiled with a bronze serpent pulsates with faint power, whispering secrets of the desert's heart and channeling the blessings of her celestial patron.
But Amara is more than just a conduit for divine power. She is a scholar, her mind a repository of forgotten scripts and the delicate balance of life in the unforgiving desert. She is a diplomat, her soothing words bridging the gap between rival tribes and calming the tempers of sandstorm-frenzied nomads. And above all, she is a protector, her watchful gaze fixed upon the ancient ruins and the secrets they hold, ensuring they remain undisturbed by those who seek to exploit their power.
To stand before Amara is to stand before the living embodiment of the Snake Moon Desert. She is the protector, the scholar, the sun-kissed oracle, her spirit as vast and resilient as the sands themselves. In her presence, one feels the awe of the endless horizon and the comforting embrace of an ancient lineage that whispers wisdom on the desert wind. For Amara, the Priestess of Shifting Sands, is not just a priestess – she is the voice of the desert, the guardian of its secrets, and the shimmering mirage that dances on the edge of reality, alluring and enigmatic as the dunes themselves.
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hallo-anon · 5 months
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141!Monster au Part 2
Banshee!Roach who blew out Simon's eardrums before he died, then took a vow never to speak again
Barguest!Alex who has dog-like features(Ears, tail, legs) and gets commonly mistaken for a werewolf
Shahmaran!Farah who has the bottom half of a Arabian Horned Viper with the horns on her forehead as well
Alebrijes!Alejandro who can shapeshift, but it can only be into a hybrid of 2 or more animals with very wacky and eccentric colors
Comaztoz!Rudy who has horrible vision and amazing hearing, to the point he has to wear sound dampening earplugs half the time
Quetzalcoatl!Valeria who's human form has scales and feathers down her spine, arms, and legs but no wings
Banshee!Roach who has to have bronze dog tags because he can't touch iron
Barguest!Alex who can smell death and knows when a soldier can't be saved
Shahmaran!Farah who keeps it a secret that her blood has healing capabilities
Alebrijes!Alejandro who has to cover up head to toe on stealth ops cause he glows in the dark
Camaztoz!Rudy who has large bat wings and accidently scares the shit out of people at night
Quetzalcoatl!Valeria who huffs out smoke when aggravated due to her ability to breathe fire
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larkspyrr · 5 months
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chapter v — would i run off the world someday? (wc. 4.6k)
prev — masterlist / ao3 — next
reblogs are appreciated!
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Wriothesley ducked, narrowly missing your glove as it brushed across the peak of his shoulder. You withdrew, making a tiny, frustrated noise and narrowing your eyes. You shook out your fist before returning to the stance he’d taught you, poised to strike again, a viper with its fangs bared and glinting.
"Good," Wriothesley barked, flashing you a breathless smile during the momentary lull between swings. "Keep it up!"
A wild grin lit your face, your eyes catching an arc of golden light. You lunged again and Wriothesley sidestepped it with ease, weaving in the opposite direction of the coming impact. "I intend to."
"Get one more good hit on me and we'll call it a day."
You stopped abruptly, arms sagging to your sides. Your face fell, the very picture of disappointment. "Already?"
Wriothesley tilted his head, letting his arms relax a bit, fists lowering from his face. He spared a glance at the massive bronze clock ticking away overhead. "We've been here for over —"
He had barely enough time to register your sorrow morph into savage delight before you struck, gloved fist landing squarely in his gut. He recoiled with an oof.
You straightened up, stretching your arms and neck with a grin. Your training shirt lifted slightly more than was strictly proper with the motion but he was almost too busy trying to process that he'd been duped to enjoy it. Almost. "Never let your guard down, Wrio," you said coyly. You stretched your arms out in a wide arc on either side of your body, bring them — and your shirt — back down where they belong. "My teacher tells me that all the time."
Wriothesley laughed despite his sudden air deficiency, a surprised hand still pressed against the point of impact on his stomach. "I suppose he does, doesn't he? Wise and handsome,” he said, lifting a brow. “But that was a cheap shot."
"Nothing about me is cheap," you shot back with a wicked grin and a wink, knocking the breath out of his lungs once again, more effectively than any punch ever had. You looked at him as you descended the stairs, grabbing a towel off the side of the ring and throwing it over your shoulder. "Tea?"
“Of course."
He forced himself not to watch your departure too closely — he was a gentleman, after all, no matter what the sight of you in your training clothes did to him. He'd thought, that first day when you emerged from the locker room in black trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that covered your skin all the way down to your wrists, that you looked more beautiful than you had dripping gemstones and lace — that you looked radiant, powerful, in your element. That maybe this ruse had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. That you’d be the death of him.
He still thought all of those things, from time to time. He was a perfect gentleman, of course. But no one could fault a man for admiring art. So long as he didn't participate in any heists down the line.
Or attempt to, anyway. Some art seemed quite resistant to being stolen, reinforced glass and thick screws in iron walls and armed gardes and he was absolutely fine with that because Wriothesley was a duke and would never disrespect art's wishes, especially when art had no intentions of ever marrying.
He felt perhaps the metaphor had gotten away from him a little.
In the weeks since you'd come to your arrangement, he had learned quite a bit, about not only the aristocracy and etiquette, but about you as well. Your relationship was unconventional, that much was certain, but nothing about Wriothesley's life could ever be called conventional, so he elected to roll with the punches, and Archons — you certainly kept the punches coming.
You stopped to pick up your dress from the basket near the locker room door, waving your hand at him as you slipped through and out of sight. Wriothesley released a catastrophic exhale as the door swung shut behind you and he was left, mercifully, alone.
He had expected a thousand different things from your attachment — not many of which falling under the umbrella of 'good' or 'easy'. He historically had a penchant for keeping people at arm’s length, not only for their own protection — but his as well. From the time he entered the Fortress for the very first time, young and shivering and wisp-thin, bloodstained and naive, traumatized and defensive, he'd had a knack for attracting trouble, from every corner of every nook, of every name and variety. It found its way to him like sharks to an open wound and all he could do to stop it was try not to flail and make it worse and hope that the shiver would pass him by.
As much as Wriothesley enjoyed companionship, he had to face the reality that he had to be particular with those he allowed into his inner circle.
He would never admit it out loud, but it was terribly lonely.
People relied on him. No one ever asked him to take the role after the previous administrator fled—he chose to fill it, opening the doors to the office and taking up the mantle while he still wore his production overalls. He took it, so it was his duty to take every responsibility that came along with it seriously. He knew that it would mean sacrifices; that it meant never truly belonging to the overworld again. But when he thought about it, had he ever belonged there anyway? Not even since he was first sentenced, but before? Perhaps even from the day he came to be, had he ever truly belonged?
Determination, cowardice, obligation, fury. Righteousness. Loneliness. The cocktail that made Wriothesley who he was and guided his every move left little room for anything else, his own desires be damned. And when his home and his people were threatened, he knew he’d find a way to overcome, as ‘overcome’ was what he had always done, through hell or high water or whatever primordial miasma or sunken cities existed in between.
He'd hoped you would be the key. He'd expected you to be a pawn; a convenience. Perhaps another obligation, another surefire trouble hounding him, hot on his heels. He'd expected you to maybe renege on your word; to call off the ruse or fail to rise to the occasion. He'd expected you to end up being just as cold, critical, and capricious as the rest of the court had led him to expect from one of their own. He'd expected you to confine him to a singular, stifling box lined with the barbed wire of perception, to treat him like dirt — or worse, to treat him like a duke.
He hadn't expected to find a friend. But friendship was easy with you, as everything was. Easy to bare a tiny shard of his soul, easy to laugh, easy to walk by your side and feel like maybe he belonged — somewhere.
Easy to want.
And if he had to remind himself from time to time that you were off-limits — for his sake as well as your own — well, that was no one's business but Wriothesley's.
"Not gonna change?"
He snapped to attention at your voice, seeing you'd returned, as lovely and perfect and put-together as though you'd never been in the ring at all, never left bruises in the shape of your fingers on Wriothesley’s skin. Your hair once again fixed back away from your face, all the little flyaways that made his pulse jump tucked back away where they had originally been. Jewels dangled in front of your exposed collarbone, still flushed from your shower. Your head, tilted in confusion as you looked at him still standing on the platform, covered in sweat, undignified and slack-jawed.
"Ah, sorry, I was, uh. Wrapping up," he said haltingly. "I'll only be a minute."
You smiled at him, unsure but trusting, and nodded, looking for all the world out of place against the backdrop of splintered wood and battered dummies and limescale.
Wriothesley pushed down his want to a place where it couldn’t reach him, and turned away.
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"This is unexpected," Wriothesley said, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes from behind his desk. He hadn’t even gotten to his morning tea yet; you’d entered his office unannounced about as soon as he’d dropped into his chair.
You folded your arms in front of your dress — which, today, was an enchanting sea green with mesmerizing eddies of opalescent pearl. He stared at them blankly, tired eyes following their swirling path as he searched his brain for answers that continued to elude him.
"You were aware there was a ball today, were you not?"
He frowned in sleepy concentration. "I was,” he said slowly, recalling your words the last time you’d been by, a few days previously. You’d mentioned it in passing over tea, while explaining to him the differences between various silverware and what they were used for in polite society. He was pretty sure he knew the differences on a fundamental level, though the reasoning behind so much specificity still evaded him, as much about ‘polite society’ eternally did. “But —"
"There are still be a number of balls we must attend together,” you interrupted. You tapped a heeled foot against the bronze floor of his office.  “To keep up appearances, as you well know."
He sighed. "And I take it one such ball is happening today?"
"Indeed it is." You tugged at the sleeve of your dress absently, angling a slow smile his way.
He rubbed a hand over his face before eyeing you warily. “And what is the occasion this time?”
“It’s a two-parter," you said cheerily, beatifically, an expression which immediately filled him with a sense of dread. You daintily sat on the edge of his desk. He sent up a quick prayer to whatever Archon might be listening to give him strength. You crossed one leg over the other, the action causing the fabric at your thighs to bunch slightly. Wriothesley's fingers twitched. "The ball itself follows a performance happening today at the Opera Epiclese. Some tragedy or other. It would be wonderful if you could accompany me, which —"
"Which is why you are here to bother me at the crack of dawn," he finished.
"Precisely," you confirmed, expression light and impish. "I wanted to make sure you didn't have other plans. Plus, I knew you'd have a harder time turning me down after I made the journey all the way down here."
Wriothesley sighed again. Defeated. You were right.
He’d spent the night dealing with a possible issue among the inmates — some scheme or other George had brought to his attention before it could come to pass, a warning passed along the other day in a surreptitious walk-by, the skittish boy disappearing back into the crowd before Wriothesley had even noticed the letter stuffed into his palm — but after a night of searching alongside a few other trusted staff members, had been unable to find anything amiss anywhere within the facility.
He’d suspected it would be the culmination after months of mutterings about something nefarious at play, rumors and tips promising enough that the absolute radio silence the night before had only increased Wriothesley's worry of what such a conflict would entail. Not to mention who and how many could possibly be involved. The challenge in learning more about such details did not bode well for their origins. Rumors spread like wildfire within a prison — unless there was someone you didn’t want to know you’d been talking.
Wriothesley was, as a result, nowhere near being in a physical or mental state to deal with the aristocracy’s games on that particular day. Frustrated and exhausted, he was fairly sure it had been a miracle of human will that he managed to drag himself to his office at all.
But it had been a while since he’d been inside the Opera Epiclese, and he supposed fewer curious eyes would be on him in the darkness of the audience chamber.
Plus, you would be there.
“Fine,” he grumbled, reluctantly getting back to his feet. He dropped his pen back to the desk where it clattered, a mascot for his own inner turmoil. “Just give me a bit of time to get ready and we can depart.”
You shot off his desk excitedly. "Oh, we have time! It isn't until this evening," you said. Your eyes were eager; an expression he was getting too know a little too well. He already knew the next words that would come out of your mouth. "I figured we could squeeze in a training session beforehand."
He laughed quietly, the sound quickly transforming into a yawn. "Of course you did."
“Also,” you said, holding up a silk-clad hand with an apologetic smile. “Today, I will help you select your attire.”
Wriothesley bristled. “What was wrong with my attire last time?”
“Oh, it was perfectly fine, if you were attending as a prison warden," you said carefully, one eyebrow delicately arched. "This is an opera, Wriothesley, and we are going to be attending arm-in-arm. I need to make sure you look the part.”
Wriothesley’s face fell. He was almost too tired to ask... but he had to know. “Is looking the part going to be uncomfortable?”
Your smile was wide and innocent. He didn’t believe it for a second. “Oh, absolutely. That’s a vital part of the experience.”
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Arriving in the overworld never got any less disorienting, no matter how many times Wriothesley ascended from the depths to the Opera Epiclese, passing by centuries of despair and decay and brine. But finally, at last, the sun made its appearance high overhead, unimpeded by the sea, and he was above ground once more.
He fidgeted, adjusting his sleeve. You were right. The suit you had picked for him was uncomfortable.
He looked good, though.
And when you scanned him head to toe with an appraising eye before declaring he looked ‘very handsome’, well, he decided then and there that maybe he’d have worn anything if it made you think that. He was a simple man.
Wriothesley spared one more longing glance at the entrance to the Fortress before he descended the steps into the Fountain of Lucine courtyard, into an ocean whose waters he still didn’t understand, vibrant bursts of color, diamonds and champagne and violins and titles. You, on his arm, looking as though you had not a worry in the world. He was feeling strangely reminiscent of the night of your meeting. Proud to be the one you chose to stand beside.
It didn’t make the experience any less dizzying, of course. He marveled once more at the sheer force of the glittering, suffocating display and the legions of people who looked so at home in the midst of it, so in contrast to how Wriothesley felt with his stomach on the floor. He felt the same as he had as a boy, when he looked out of the viewing windows at the end of the ferry and into the vast Fontemer, living and breathing just ahead — close enough to touch, but separated by an impenetrable wall, forever separate from the shimmering iridescent fish who swam by with no regard for Wriothesley at all, wide-eyed and so, so young.
He realized too late that he had begun to hold your hold arm a little more tightly to his side. If you had noticed his moment of weakness, you didn’t say a word, smiling and offering a polite greeting to an acquaintance as you passed by.
He hadn’t even noticed he was being guided until you came to a stop by a flowerbed, identical to the one he had first approached you at, weeks ago. This time, the look on your face was kind, understanding, lacking any of the boredom and resentment of that first evening. Looking at him, as opposed to staunchly away.
His heart pounded.
"Wrio," you said, your mouth curving into a gentle smile. You paused, a bare breath of a moment, and then reached out to adjust his tie for him, your knuckles brushing gently against his throat as you fussed over it. He swallowed, wanting yet unable to look away from you, close enough for him to kiss, if he wanted to.
He definitely didn’t.
Archons, was he fucked.
You finished adjusting his tie before patting it down, straightening out his coat, fingers curled around each lapel. You let your hands rest on either side of his chest, apparently content not to move them just yet. He hoped desperately that you couldn’t feel his pulse thundering beneath your palms.
"Ready for the show?" you asked, eyes bright and playful.
A question which Wriothesley knew had two meanings. A question to ground him. He exhaled, willing a wave of tension to drain out of his shoulders. He lifted his free hand to give yours a squeeze, just above his heart. A small number of neighboring attendees watched the gesture raptly, gossiping mouths hidden away behind their hands.
"With you by my side," he said with a lopsided smile, "I'm ready for anything."
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Wriothesley had always liked the opera. He had even when he bore a different name.
As a boy, when he would hang out around the Fountain of Lucine to pluck out stray mora that the other children hadn’t gotten to yet, he would cling onto the soft, warbling notes that radiated from the opera house’s shuttered doors. The boy would relish the sounds of the plays — tragedies, comedies, romances. He’d savor the voices clear as a Fontainian spring. He’d delight in the orchestras, telling a story together in perfect harmony, painting a landscape upon the blank canvas of his adolescent imagination.
He would find a quiet corner behind some flowering bushes to sit and close his eyes and dream. Sometimes, the boy would just appreciate the gift he didn’t have any mora to buy or any right to steal. Sometimes, if he was feeling brave, the boy would let himself imagine the voice of a mother he’d never known, singing to him from somewhere forever out of his reach.
After a while, whenever he went to the Opera Epiclese, the boy would forget to check the fountain at all.
After the boy who went by a different name was taken in by a host family, the faceless voice in his mind was replaced by the voice of a woman who smiled warmly at him and drew smiles in mustard on his sandwiches and gave him friends — brothers and sisters, bright, beautiful spirits — and he didn’t have to imagine anything at all. She and a man, a mother and a father, a bewitching duet, cradling his lonely soul and giving him a song of his own to fill the empty spaces in his heart. And for a while, the boy felt like maybe he wouldn’t have to close his eyes in a dark corner to dream anymore.
Until the man and the woman betrayed the boy and the song in his mind went silent, ceasing beneath the violent whip of a conductor’s cruel hand. The boy hadn’t gone to the Opera Epiclese to hear the singing since. In fact, the first and only time he had been at all was to stand trial for their murder.
He'd barely had any interest in music after that at all; until one day when he had marched into an administrative office to find a rusty old gramophone sitting on the desk, dusty and silent and dead.
He’d pulled out a record he found in a nearby drawer and fiddled with the device until it played an unfamiliar piano tune; crackling in protest but alive. He almost always let it play now while he worked. A new song for a new name.
You shifted at his right side, your arm pressing against his own, and the boy was brought back to the present, sitting in a high-backed, elegant seat in a darkened opera house he hadn’t been back inside since he was convicted, a lifetime and an identity ago.
A young woman stood center stage, head to toe in shimmering sapphire, illuminated from above by a singular spotlight shining unforgivingly at her from somewhere in the dark catwalk. She sang of the Oceanids, a haunting, reverberating melody which ushered the audience through her sorrow and loss, her dark eyes glittering with theatrical tears.
She brought her lament to its conclusion, eyes shut, manufactured tears sliding delicately down her cheeks at last, a finely manicured hand pressed demurely to the swell of her chest. Her voice echoed and waned before coming to its inevitable conclusion; the chamber’s silence reigning supreme for only a moment before an applause far too polite to have properly encompassed the appreciation for the performance spread amongst the audience. The singer curtsied low, the curtain falling and obscuring her from view before she rose once more.
Wriothesley clapped politely alongside them until the throng began to rise and make its way back out of the venue in orderly rows, like hundreds of affluent ants.
“I didn’t realize you were such a fan of the opera, Wriothesley,” you were saying from his side. You hummed thoughtfully. Eyes on him, even in the dark, even as the lights slowly returned to the opera house. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so attentive.”
“I’m a very worldly man,” Wriothesley said smoothly. “But I’m afraid you must have not noticed yet, my lady. I am far more attentive when it comes to you.”
You snorted, a quiet sound—one of his favorites—meant only for Wriothesley’s ears, and he smiled, suddenly feeling rather warm. You tapped your finger on the back of his wrist as you stood. “My father is just ahead. We should stop and say hello.”
Wriothesley nodded in agreement, allowing you to tug him in the direction you had indicated. His eyes finally found your father in the crowd, talking to a squat, older man he didn’t recognize.
“Hello, darling. And hello, Your Grace,” greeted your father as you and Wriothesley approached. The Viscount turned, a flute of champagne in his left hand, half-drained and sloshing with the rotation. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed, his smile friendly and open. He was steadier on his feet here than he had been at the previous ball. He was dressed impeccably. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” said Wriothesley earnestly, dipping his head. He nodded as well to the other man, who returned the gesture in kind.
The Viscount grinned toothily. “I do hope my daughter isn’t giving you too hard a time.”
Wriothesley chuckled, looking at you as you gave your father an unimpressed glare, arm still tucked in the crook of Wriothesley’s elbow. He didn’t have to work too hard to appear fond for the benefit of watching eyes. “Of course not, sir,” he said at last, tearing his eyes away from you to return his gaze to your father. “In fact, your daughter’s company has been the highlight of these past few weeks.”
You made a startled noise. “Oh, stop it,” you said hurriedly, cheeks coloring ever-so-slightly. “You’ll make a lady blush.”
Wriothesley smiled, hopelessly endeared. “It seems I already have.”
“Hush, you.”
Your father beamed, eyes darting between your pout and Wriothesley’s smile, wrinkling even further at the corners. “Nonetheless, you have my gratitude for looking after her,” he said, and gestured to the man still watching patiently at his side. “Your Grace, this is Lord Paquette. He’s an old friend of mine. Paquette, this is Wriothesley, the Duke of Meropide.”
The other man bowed shallowly, form perfect, nearly mechanical in its precision despite his apparent age. “It’s an honor to meet you at last, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley smiled tightly, swallowing down the usual nerves that gripped him when meeting a new person who almost certainly knew his past — and held his precariously positioned future in their hands (and in their vote). “The honor is all mine, Lord Paquette."
The man smiled and turned his attention to you, still watching the exchange with a careful expression. “It’s nice to see you as well.”
Wriothesley could feel you relax a little as you smiled at the older man. “And you as well, my lord. How is Gerard? Still in Sumeru?"
"He's well, thank you," he responded absently. He turned his attention back to Wriothesley. “How did you find the performance, Your Grace? Have you seen Mademoiselle Genevieve perform before?”
Wriothesley felt a twinge of irritation at his dismissal of you; could have sworn he felt you stiffen at his side. He tried to ignore it for now. “This was the first I've heard of her," Wriothesley answered honestly, managing a polite enough expression. "Her performance was very moving. It's been… quite a while since I’ve been to the opera.”
Your father smiled sympathetically. Lord Paquette looked very much the same as he had before.
Wriothesley didn't think he was a fan.
“Say. We’d love to have you join us on our next ride, Your Grace,” said the Viscount.
"Oh, yes." Lord Paquette offered Wriothesley a conspiratorial grin. “It's a nice afternoon for some of us gentlemen to get away from the missus for a bit. You'll understand one day, I'm sure."
The Viscount snorted indignantly, and suddenly Wriothesley knew exactly where you got it from.
"Oh, I very much doubt that. There are scant few places I'd rather be than by her side," Wriothesley said easily, turning his best devoted smile on you. Your returning smile was dry and humorless, a tiny private eye roll just for Wriothesley's benefit. Wriothesley looked at Paquette, then your father. "But I'd be honored to join you all for an afternoon."
"Oh, how wonderful," said the Viscount, clapping Wriothesley on the shoulder. "I will send word once we have a date set.”
“Thank you, sir. I will be looking forward to it.”
"Take care, Your Grace," the Viscount called as he departed, amicably greeting no fewer than three separate people before he was even out of earshot.
Lord Paquette watched him go, turning back to face the two of you once more. He smiled at Wriothesley and then at you, nodding his head. “And I actually would like to speak with you as well at some point in the near future. I have some business I think you’ll be interested in.”
Wriothesley watched you hesitate, glancing at your father’s retreating back before returning to Lord Paquette, who waited patiently for your response. “Me?” you asked incredulously, head cocked. “Not my father?”
“Precisely,” he said ambiguously, already looking detached from the conversation, eyes wandering over the rest of the crowd. “We will speak then, my lady. Enjoy your evening.”
“And you, Lord Paquette,” you said slowly, an uncertain tint to your voice.
With that, Paquette left, disappearing into the crowd. He had left his own champagne flute behind, standing empty and neglected on the stone ledge ringing the courtyard. Wriothesley found that he could breathe a bit easier without the added scrutiny of the older gentleman, exhaling slowly.
“That was odd,” you said, pulling your arm from his and leaning against the ledge. Your eyes were narrowed analytically as you scanned the rest of the attendees. The ball was getting going in earnest, violins making their reappearance, servers darting around with startling agility amidst the crowd, balancing mountains of champagne and hors d'oeuvres on the trays held precariously aloft in their hands.
Wriothesley hummed in agreement, moving to lean against the ledge at your side. “That sort of thing not happen often?”
"Someone having business with me, of all people?" you said dubiously. "No, I can’t say it does. Should be interesting, at least. But he probably just intends to ask me to marry his son, having not even consulted him about it, if I had to wager a guess."
Wriothesley was quiet for a beat, lost in thought.
“So,” he drawled finally, the vowel long and drawn out. You quirked an eyebrow at him curiously. “Riding?” he prompted.
You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “My father would just like for you to come riding with him. You should be honored. It means he likes you," you explained. “It’s something they do often in the warmer months. An age-old tradition for the men of the court to go frolic in the fields for a few hours and talk about fishing or gambling or whatever it is they talk about out there.”
Wriothesley blanched as realization finally dawned on him. “Like on a horse?”
You look at him deliberately, lips curved with amusement. “Yes, Wriothesley. Like on a horse.”
“And you can’t come?”
“Traditionally speaking, no, I can’t come.”
He swallowed thickly, a sharp pang of trepidation seizing his chest. “I’ve never ridden a horse.”
“Well, then,” you said brightly, ruffling his hair as he stared on in horror, seeing nothing in particular. “There’s a first time for everything. I suppose we have our next lesson laid out before us.”
Wriothesley’s eyes snapped to yours. “We’re going riding?”
“Yes,” you said. You flicked a sly look at him out of the corner of your eye as you turned, weaving your arm back through his. ‘Like on a horse’.”
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a/n: wrio: haha it's totally fine to be actually attracted to the person i am pretending to be attracted to. just physical attraction. totally normal. nothing to see here
i have been really looking forward to this chapter. it’s more character study than plot but after this, we get into the real thick of things :) honestly i could spend 200,000 words just ruminating on this guy's character and potential past. i want to put this man under a microscope. hoyo give me more challenge!!
also, to answer a question i got in a comment and a couple DMs - no clorinde/wriothesley will be happening here! i avoid writing/reading love triangles like the plague because they do not spark joy for me, personally. in here, wrio and clorinde are just good friends! clorinde has other prospects &lt;3
i have been bad about naming songs from the titles, this chapter's title is from 'runaway' by AURORA
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alienturnipp · 1 year
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Cw: Grief, mourning, mention of Clan Lavellan being destroyed.
“Lady Josephine,
Thank you for having so warmly received the remaining member of my Clan, and for your help in carrying out the funeral rites of our People, here in Skyhold. You and everyone who helped me organizing this, you all have my sincerest gratitude.
Regarding your question: the bronze drum I commissioned from Master Taniel was a replica of our Clan’s Relic, passed down from the days of Arlathan. It was at the center of our community - we played it in festivals, in rituals to our Gods, to honor the departed… It would have been the Keeper who performed it, but now the burden has been passed down to me. I dare not claim the title of Keeper, now that I no longer have a Clan to lead. Yet it was the least I could do to give my People a warrior’s farewell, for they have so bravely given their life to fight again our aggressors.
If I may be sincere with you, Josephine, this reality terrifies me. I am ashamed of having failed my Clan, of not being able to fight and die by their side. Our keepsakes was lost to the hands of bandits, to be discarded or bartered for shem coins, and now my brother - my only surviving family - would go back to the viper’s nest. To retrieve what was ours - our heirlooms, our knowledge, our revenge.
Would that I could join him in that quest. But I know that my fight goes on here, with the Inquisition.
So please, do not worry for me. Today I wear the white scarf of mourning and strike the drum, to pay my People the honor they deserved and to embrace my duties as a son of clan Lavellan. But tomorrow I will march with our soldiers, to storm the gates of Adamant and cut the demon army from Corypheus. The Inquisition will have the unstoppable leader that it needs. As long as I persist, Clan Lavellan will endure. Our victory will endure.
This letter alone is insufficient to express my gratitude to you, Josephine, but I am not yet in a state to discuss so openly about everything that has happened. May this storm soon pass, so that I can come to thank you in person.
Dareth shiral,
Inquisitor Lavellan.”
-- Edra Lavellan (he/him)
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For this Splash of Color prompt by @thedasincolor! And here to hoping I didn't take the prompt and run to the hills this time laksjdfsdf
Splash of Color Saturday Prompt: How do different cultures remember their dead in Thedas? The Mortalitasi bind spirits to the bones of the dead and visit their tombs. Some dwarves are recorded in the official memories of Orzammar. But what about commonfolk? What about nomadic peoples in Thedas? How do they celebrate the lives of the deceased–and recall their memories as years go by?
The mourning scarf (and this whole scene aesthetic-wise) was inspired by a classical cải lương piece, "Tiếng Trống Mê Linh" (The Drum Sound of Mê Linh) (1977), especially the scene where Trưng Trắc decided to sacrifice her husband Thi Sách - who was held captive by the Han - and prepared a funeral for him before leading the rebellion army into battle. The scarf itself is prooobably not historically accurate to the period it depicts (the 1st century), but it is relevant to the art form and the period during which this play was written!
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bronzefuryfic · 5 months
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Bronze Fury
When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.
Chapter Eleven: The Funeral / Previous Chapter / Directory
The Targaryens arrive in Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon. Aegon proposes a plan to save his relationship. Rhae at last sees her father.
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"You reckon this is what it's like on Dragonstone?"
Aemond shrugged, his eyes transfixed on the sky. He and Rhae stood at the edge of the deck, listening to the dockhands clamor to prepare a ramp for the ship's passengers to exit on. Waiting for them below was Aegon and Helaena, their hair whipped and wild from their flight.
Driftmark's harbor was at the base of the island, the castle looming large on the rocky hills above. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre were roosting about halfway up, their long scaly necks pointed upwards, watching wearily as more dragons circled overhead.
Rhae recognized the sleek yellow frame of Syrax , soaring lazily amongst the clouds, as she was prone to. She kept a lofty distance, her cries faint and sorrowful, almost lost to the winds. Nearby was Seasmoke , sinking lower and lower towards the ocean in a spiraling silent stupor. They seemed to keep their distance from the sky's only other inhabitant—a crimson beast that streaked the ether in agitated fury.
"Meleys," Aemond whispered.
The Dragonkeepers had told Rhae once that the bond between riders and their mounts was unbreakable, so much so that they could feel each other's emotions. She hadn't believed them then, but now...
The Red Queen roared, her call a bitter agony.
Rhae thought of Ser Harwin, and of Laena Velaryon, and wondered whether the dragons were mourning too.
"I don't see Caraxes," she shivered, watching the clouds, fearfully wondering when he might slither into view. Viserys had once told her how Daemon's dragon came to be known as the Blood Wyrm, for his scarlet scales and deformities.
"More of a winged viper than a dragon," The King had chuckled. "Though, pray, don't tell Daemon I've said so, tis' his pride and joy, Caraxes..."
"No Vhagar either," Aemond grumbled—the boy also seemed to scan the horizon in anticipation. "You don't think they've left her in Essos, do you?"
"I doubt any could coax the Queen of All Dragons overseas if she did not wish it," Rhae reasoned. Aemond's brow furrowed, but before they could discuss any further, Ser Criston's voice cut through the commotion.
"Rhae! Aemond!"
The ramp secured, the passengers filed down to the dock. The King went first, aided by his attendants so that he would not topple into the sea.
"See him to his quarters," the Queen called after them. "His Grace should rest before the funeral."
One by one, the rest followed. Rhae scanned the skies once more, wondering where Daemon might be, before hurrying down the ramp after Aemond.
"Gods Rhae," Aegon said, as he and Helaena joined them. He surveyed her closely, his brow knitting together in concern. "You look like shit."
"Aegon!" Aemond glowered.
"What?" Aegon argued. "She does!"
"You do," Helaena whispered, taking Rhae by her right arm as her brothers bickered.
"That obvious, huh?" Rhae offered a half smile despite herself. Her hand curled around Helaena's forearm, soothing her nerves as she gently rubbed the sleeve's fabric beneath her fingers. She allowed her friend to pull her along, following the crowd up the stony steps to High Tide.
As they drew nearer, Rhae's breath caught. The pale stone that made its walls reminded Rhae of those belonging to her liege lady's, Jeyne Arryn of the Eerie. The memories were old, but by Rhae's estimation, the newly constructed High Tide was even bigger, and better yet, much easier to climb. She'd heard how the Sea Snake erected his own castle, abandoning the small, salt-stained Castle Driftmark in its favor. Ser Gerold had scoffed at the news, aghast that any might abandon their ancestral seat. But as Rhae passed the threshold, she couldn't help but think the Lord of the Tides had made the right decision, marvelling at the spoils of his famed nine voyages.
She, Aegon, Aemond and Helaena huddled together as the Queen paced past them to meet with their host, the King already being escorted towards the apartments. Rhae scoured the room for faces that ought to be familiar.
Can you find yourself in family you've never met? Rhae wondered. She didn't need half as much to recognize Lord Corlys Velaryon—still proud in his grief, stern and immovable as a mast, his sea-salted white dreads striking against his dark skin and sable, lavish mourning attire. Nor his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, her features visibly taut with sorrow, even from a distance, even beneath her veil of black.
But where is my father? What has become of my sisters?
As more guests and attendants piled through the doors, their footfall echoing the vaulted ceilings, Alicent's voice became lost in the cacophony.
"Gods, she's relentless," Aegon grumbled, as his mother gestured back towards them. He looked to Rhae's worried face, before straightening his back and taking a high tone. "Sincerest apologies for the death of your daughter. May the Sevens bless her and blah blah blah... Would you like to hear about my son?"
"Aegon..." Aemond began exhaustedly.
But it was as successful as ever, Aegon already blathering on. "No, not the short one there. Behind him. Yes, yes... the handsome one... he's got a cock and all!"
Aemond rolled his eyes, nodding towards an ornate spyglass on display nearby. When he spoke, he mimicked Aegon's sickly sweet impersonation of their mother.
"If you use the telescope, you might even see it."
Rhae snapped from her daze, clapping a hand over her mouth, barely able to suppress a snicker. It didn't matter—Helaena guffawed beside her, drawing scowls from those nearby. Color rose in Aegon's cheeks, but he made no retort. His face flickered between anger and amusement, but beneath it all, Rhae could've sworn he looked proud.
The children sobered instantly as the Queen returned to them, save Helaena, who was still giggling to herself. Alicent surveyed them wearily, turning to Rhae. "Is something funny?"
Do tell me if the children are a bother... I trust you'll be honest with me, she'd once said.
"No, Your Grace."
Alicent nodded, apt to believe her.
"Upstairs." She commanded. "You're to stay in your chambers until you are called for the funeral." She gave Aegon a hard look, adding with a hiss. " And you're to stay on your best behavior!"
"Yes, Your Grace." They all chorused.
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Rhae spent the rest of the morning fussing over her appearance, straightening non-existent creases in her dress, fiddling with her hair, polishing her jewelry. She hated every second, but every time she tore herself from the mirror, she'd lap the room and come right back.
She longed for her bow, so that she might calm her nerves with thoughtless, long-practiced motions. As she paced the length of the room once more, she wished next for a dagger of her own, to flip and toss as she had with Aemond on the boat.
Perhaps if I were to ask Ser Criston... She thought, turning on her heel and stalking back towards the mirror.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAARTCH!
The cry cut through Rhae's heart, her hand instinctively flying to her chest. She glimpsed her own horrified expression in the mirror before rushing towards the window. Her eyes and ears strained—she thought she could sense the beating of wings above, but it was hard to separate from the beating of the waves below. The sky revealed nothing.
Caraxes. It has to be.
Another shrill screech confirmed her theory, sending goose-pimples across all but her left arm.
He's here.
A knock sounded at the door, and a yelp loosed her lips.
"It's just me."
"Come in." Rhae managed weakly, pulling herself away from the window as Aegon entered the room.
"Gods Rhae," He muttered, reaching for her, placing his hand on the small of her back before the door even shut. "You really do look terrible."
"Thanks."
"Stunning," He corrected, placing a second hand on the nape of her neck. We shouldn't do this here, Rhae thought, but the worry dissipated as his thumb brushed along the corner of her jaw. "But also terrible."
Rhae hadn't realized she'd been clenching her teeth. Her mouth slackened, her bottom lip quivering. Her arms wrapped around his mid-section as Aegon pulled her head towards his chest, and for a moment, she felt safe.
"I wanted to talk to you about... us," Aegon said after a while, shifting his hands to her waist. "If you're up for it."
"What is there to discuss?" She lamented. "Nothing has changed."
"It could. We could make it change."
Rhae sighed, pulling her head back to look at him properly. He appeared nervous, as he had last they spoke, ever afraid of her rejection. His fingers gripped her tighter, his hope in his hands, desperate to keep it from slipping away.
"How?"
"If the court... discovered our secret," Aegon began, Rhae's eyes already widening in fear. He pressed onwards desperately. "It would cause a scandal. Mother would have to make new arrangements to counter. We'd be wed instead!" Rhae shook her head. "Please. Please don't do that. She'd have to, Rhae. For our reputations—"
" Your reputation!" Rhae interjected. Her hold on him loosened, but she did not let go. "You're the son of the King, and I'm merely a daughter of the Vale. It's just as likely I'm removed from my station and sent to the Silent Sisters!"
"Mother wouldn't let that happen! She couldn't. You're too important."
"For the dragon I don't have?"
"For the dragon you will have!" Aegon flared, his voice rising. "I thought you also wanted this! I thought... I thought —"
"I do," Rhae hushed. "I do."
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAARTCH!
They stood in despondent silence, Caraxes' call echoing over the sea.
".. . I'm scared, Aegon."
"We can't stop what's coming," He said quietly. "I've feared the throne for as long as mother has sworn it to me. But I..." He gulped. "I love you. I need you. And I think if you were to be there by my side..."
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
Things might be a little less frightening.
Time seemed to hold still. It seemed to Rhae that the only sign it passed at all was the heavy thump of her heart in her chest. Her whole head seemed to hum, savoring his words, their clarity...
Helaena was right.
"When?" she breathed, her cheeks burning. It was so foolish, so crass . Gods, what would Ser Gerold say? What will Alicent? And yet... there was a surge of exhilaration. Had they not risked this very outcome every time they snuck from the prying eyes of the Red Keep? Had they not danced around the possibility for weeks? Months?
He blinked in surprise, taking a moment to process her agreement. But as the realization hit him, his grip tightened, pulling at her hips.
"I'd have you now," Aegon muttered fervently. His head snaked to the side, pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw, just below the ear. "Why wait?"
Rhae put her right hand firmly to his chest, pushing away his advances. Not all her senses had left her. Aegon's brow furrowed in confusion.
"What?"
Rhae let out an involuntary jolt of laughter.
"We're at a funeral!"
"All the better," he insisted. "Less opportunity for them to do anything to stop us."
"You're mad. This is mad."
"So be it."
He leaned in again, slower this time, testing her resolve.
"Aegon," Rhae's hand stayed firmly on his chest. "I want this, I do."
"But?"
"It can't be now. Not here. Not..." She grimaced. "Not with everything else that's going on."
Aegon jerked his head in a stiff nod, the creases of worry returning to his brow.
"Okay," he muttered, dropping his hands to his side. "You're right." He was already moving for the door. "We'll talk about it later. I'll see downstairs for the..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, or if he had, it was spoken so softly that Rhae could not hear it.
He doesn't believe me.
"Aegon?"
Her feet carried her a few hurried steps forward, but her mouth struggling to match their willfulness. Aegon's hand hovered over the door's handle. His head just barely turned in her direction, his distrustful eyes obscured by a sheet of silver hair. Somehow Rhae knew—if she couldn't convince him now, she'd never have the chance again.
"What?"
It was now or never. Rhae swallowed her fear.
"I love you too."
His gaze softened.
"We'll talk later," he said again, gentler this time.
And before doubt could reclaim him, he was gone.
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Everything felt heavy. Rhae's feet were leaden, shuffling across the ground beneath her dress as though her shoes were full of rocks. A mounting pressure built in her head, and her heart seemed to sink through her chest and puddle into her stomach. She feared she might retch again—Aemond did too, by the nervous looks he kept casting in her direction.
Her friends formed a sort of guard around her—Helaena leading from the front, with Aegon and Aemond on her left and right side, respectively. Rhae remembered a time when she was afraid to be so surrounded , but she was grateful now... Even if they made it difficult to search the crowd herself. Mourners lined the rocky terrain nearby, not important enough to join the inner-most circle of family and royals at the bottom. Rhae wondered how many had known Laena personally, and felt guilty as she passed.
They came to a stop beside Laenor Velaryon, though he did not seem to notice. He wept silently, unable to tear his eyes from the stone coffin before them, transfixed on his sister's silent, carved face. Beside him stood Princess Rhaenyra, her arms wrapped around Jace and Luke. Only Jace glanced their way.
They were joined shortly by a man in Hightower garb, who kissed Alicent's cheek before moving to stand just behind the King. Rhae peered—the lapel pin signifying the position of Hand gleamed at her from his chest. Ser Otto, she realized. She inclined her head towards Aemond for an explaination, but he merely shrugged.
"Father called for him when we arrived," Helaena whispered. Aemond and Rhae exchanged a look of surprise.
"How'd you know that?"
"Grandfather came to visit me next," Helaena smiled, reaching into the sleeve of her dress and pulling out a dead silverfish. "He found it on the boat from Oldtown!" She nudged Aegon, adding his head to the fold. "He says Daeron is well."
They'd caused too much commotion, however quiet. Alicent was staring at them pointedly, shushing them with her eyes. The children pulled back from their huddle.
A moment later, they were joined by Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys . Squeezed between them were two young girls. The taller of the two had an arm wrapped protectively around the shorter—or, perhaps, she was leaning on her for support.
My sisters, Rhae realized.
"Where is father?" She could hear the shorter ask, scanning the mourners anxiously. "They'll be starting soon!"
"He'll be here, Rhaena," said the taller— Baela. She seemed sure of her answer, though Rhaena did not look convinced.
Rhaena continued to scan the crowd, her gaze coming to rest on Rhae. Her eyes narrowed, and she rose on her toes to whisper something to Baela.
Rhae's cheeks burned.
So they do know about me.
But she didn't have long with her discomfort before it deepened into distress. Daemon's presence preceded him—dozens of heads were already turning before he reached the bottom step. For all the reactions he garnered, Daemon did not indulge any bids for his attention. Not the King's outstretched hand, nor Ser Otto's smug adjustment of his lapel pin as the Rogue Prince passed. He did not so much as glance in the direction of his daughters. It wasn't until he came to a stop beside the coffin, standing by no one, that he surveyed the sea of stunned faces with a slight smirk, revelling in the unease.
"Shall we begin?"
He turned to the Velaryon man closest to him—Vaemond, Lady Laena's uncle—who in turn nodded to the guards nearby. They unfurled a length of rope, weaving it through iron rungs attached to the coffin, creating a sort of pulley.
When Vaemond Velaryon spoke, he adopted the Valyrian tongue. Rhae strained her ears against the pounding blood rush to her head—struggling to hear or to understand.
"Tubī Velario Lentro Ābrāzme Laene iēdrarta mōrqittot, māzīlarē tubirri Elēdrion ziry umīsilza luo dāriot, hannagon Embrurliot gierūlti."
Today we... we commit Lady Laena to the water.
The ropes snapped as the guards pulled, dragging the coffin a few inches backward along a long stretch of smoothed rock—a conduit with which they would deliver the body to the sea. Rhae supposed her translation must've been close, though she was certain she missed some. Another pull, and another few inches... Rhae gave an involuntary shudder.
She found herself looking to Jacaerys, and was surprised to catch his eye. Rhae offered what she hoped came across as a nod of solidarity, to seeming success. Jace nodded back, before casting a sideways glance towards Vaemond, as if to ask, are you getting any of this? Rhae smiled slightly, promising herself she'd find him later, and returned her attention to Vaemond.
"Solion tolijor zijosy pradarose, Ābrāzma Laena rāeniot hen eglio ilvot lanto taloti hembis. Pōja muña hen zȳho solio āmāzīlus daor, yn ānogrosa gierī ozletaksi humbilza."
Rhae understood very little now. She recognized "taloti", daughters, and "ānogrosa gierī ozletaksi", bound horribly? No... that can't be right... bound forever in blood...
Rhae looked to her sisters. All strength seemed to have left Baela, who was crying into her grandmother's chest. Rhaena's back was straight, her chin high, but she did nothing to clear the tears trailing down her cheeks.
Rhae couldn't remember the funeral of her own mother, having been a babe at the time. Would I have been as brave? She wondered . She longed to join them. She may not have known Laena, nor did she have memories of her own mother to mourn, and yet... watching Rhaena and Baela, Rhae felt a little less lonely.
They don't need me, Rhae reminded herself, her eyes drifting down to see their hands still clenched together. They have each other.
"Velario ānogro rȳ lopor ojāris. Īlvon qumblī iāris. Īlvon drējī iāris."
Vaemond's voice seemed to harden now. He was still speaking of blood, Velaryon blood, thick and true.
Unwittingly, Rhae found her gaze shift back to Jace. From the way Rhaenyra pulled her sons closer, her face poorly guarded, Rhae suspected she was not the only one. Laenor seemed to choke back a sob and Jacaerys' head drooped, hiding his pale face beneath his brown hair. Only Lucerys remained unperturbed. Rhae thought it unlikely he understood much of the speech at all, never mind the implications about his birth.
And there it was. The ever-unwelcome taste of conflict which made Rhae want to gag— Vaemond will not stand for Luke to ascend the Driftwood Throne. How many of the Velaryons feel the same? The boy bears their name, yet none of their blood.
Luke had a greater worry—the boy reached for his supposed father's trembling hand... an attempt at comfort.
But Vaemond did not relent, glaring at the child.
"Se dōrī vajiñagon īlvon bēvilis."
And ours must never thin.
A gale of laughter erupted from the speaker's side. Every head turned towards Daemon, who seemed unable to contain himself. Rhae gaped, bewildered. He didn't so much as have the grace to look embarrassed, snickering still as everyone stared.
Laughter? As the truth of it hit her, all other thoughts were erased from Rhae's mind. Her fists clenched, fury tearing at her stomach, her vision turned red. She was faintly aware of Aegon's hand seizing the back of her dress, and Aemond treading on her toe. Every reckless thought rattling through her head must've shown on her face, but she didn't care. She could not placate the tremor of injustice that iced her veins.
Rhae urged her feet forward, wishing nothing more than to strike her father, to knock him into the sea, to split his skull on stone... Let them mount my head and call me traitor, she thought savagely. It would be worth it.
But she remained where she stood, staring at him, burning him in her mind, hating him.
Won't he at least look at me?
It was as though he heard her. A flicker of the eye, so quick and so subtle, Rhae might've blinked and missed it. But she hadn't, and she was certain—Daemon met her gaze. He smirked.
A chill ran the length of her spine.
Dammit.
Rhae was not as brave as she had hoped—angry, hot tears leaked down her face. But what was there to do? She wiped them hurriedly, ashamed.
I could never hurt him as he hurts me.
Rhae tore her gaze from Daemon, fixating instead on the coffin of his second wife. Another woman dead. More daughters devastated. The father and the husband still unaffected. Where is justice? Ser Gerold was made the fool for asking the same, once. But he'd done it all the same.
I'm sorry, Mother.
"Talus mandus ñuhus," Vaemond continued, unfaltering. "Inkoso kostōbāpis aōhis jelmīs sagon gīso lykāpas aōhas embis se prūmȳsa lēdāpas aōhas manengīs."
Spirit. Heart. Rhae understood little else. The soldiers tugged at the ropes with each word, dragging the coffin closer and closer to the brink.
"Hen embār masti. Va embrot āmāzīli."
And with one final heave, Laena Velaryon was sent to sea. Gone forever.
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Next Chapter: Driftmark
Rhae struggles through encounters with old friends, lost family, and new supposed allies at the funeral reception on Driftmark.
AO3 | Chapter Discussion
Thanks for reading!
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helioselene · 5 months
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GRACES TO THE GRAVE ⤳ aka GANG WIP; a nano '23 reintroduction
Looking at Ruth Granville, Juliette cannot help but be consumed by the desire to be simply human. To be loved for who she is and nothing more.
GENRE; alternative historical fantasy
AUDIENCE; new adult
STATUS; draft 2
COMPS; twelfth night meets the folk of the air
TROPES; enemies to lovers, gang rivalries, trio of best friends and their shenanigans, victorian era!steampunk world building, secret identities, marriage of convenience, "who did this to you?" but subverted
AESTHETIC; pomegranate juice slipping down your chin, blood on a knife, dancing in the moonlight, stolen kisses, hatred that consumes you, love that makes you cannibalistic
WARNINGS; violence, kidnapping, murder, adult content, swearing, gore and blood, cannibalism metaphors
LINKS; main tag (x) | excerpts (x)
SYNOPSIS;
Victorian London is on the precipice of destruction.
As civil war breaks out between the city’s most formidable gangs, Juliette Edevane finds herself with a daring mission: kill the leaders of the Bonellis and secure her position as heir to London’s underworld. But orchestrating the deaths of Ruth and Cassius Granville is not as simple as it may seem.
Juliette is swept into a world of murder, magic, and marriage - where a wedding between her and a long-time rival may signify the line between success and failure in her mission. Armed with such an alliance, she must navigate the dangerous waters of a London built on the blood of gang rivalries, where betrayal and death hides around every corner. And yet, with her own heart on the line, she must confront where her true allegiances lie: with her gang, with her husband, or with those she once thought to be her greatest enemies.
CHARACTERS;
juliette edevane. she/her. the jinx. a half-fae born into the night.
misty lygon. she/her. the jinx. a banshee made of death.
lun qi. he/him. the jinx. a warrior built from blood.
isaac farley. he/him. the bronze vipers. a criminal founded in sanguinity.
ruth granville. she/her. the bonellis. an assassin bathed in poison.
cassius granville. he/him. the bonellis. a wolf in sheep's clothing.
taglist under cut!
gang wip taglist: @worldsfromhoney @seasteading @lasbrumas @ikilledmyocs @redbloodprose @serpentarii @atelierwriting @moariin @socialmediasocrates @sourrcandy @anarchyandroses @halleyuhm @nightlylaments @cheshawrites @akiwitch @veneritia @n1ghtcrwler
reblog or send an ask to be added/removed!
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asnowfern · 9 months
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Weightless
A/N: A little drabble for @elucienweekofficial, day seven prompt AU!
Inspiration: Weightless by Layla
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"You're expected at the reception in thirty minutes, Lady Nolan," the unassuming housekeeper informed Elain.
Elain bit her tongue to resist the urge to lash out. Don't call me that, I'm not Lady Nolan. The words beckoned to her, mewled at her cloyingly.
No, she would not be Elain Nolan for another hour. So no matter how trivial or childish it seemed, she was still Elain Archeron.
Glancing back at her reflection, the stone in her stomach already weighing her down sank to the bottom of the ocean. Dressed in this stuffy white gown here, waiting to walk down the aisle with anyone but him was wrong. It was all wrong.
Not that it mattered to Mrs Archeron who was so pleased with the match that all protests from Elain fell to deaf ears. Afterall, her daughter was marrying a Lord. Everything was going according to plan.
In a spurt of rebellion and frustration, Elain yanked on the chain of diamond circling her neck and broke the cache. She watched with petty satisfaction as the Archeron jewels clanked uselessly against the ground.
"Pity, we could have pawned that."
The words traversed through the space and headed straight for the organ in her chest, popping it like a balloon.
Elain whipped her head around, a lump forming in her throat. He hung from the tree branch right outside her window with casual confidence. Still wearing his military uniform, his auburn hair was pulled back neatly into a tight bun which further accentuated his sharp jawline. His bronze skin had darkened under the hot sun of Central Asia while his left eye was covered under white wrappings edged with deep lacerations.
"Lucien," she whispered, still hardly believing her eyes. She snapped out of the shock when he swung from the tree branch, launching herself into his arms the instant his feet landed on the hardwood floors'. Breathing in the familiar woodsy scent of cinnamon and honey, Elain felt the weight that had been dragging her down the moment Greysen proposed lifted.
"You made it," she sobbed into his chest, fisting the rough and stiff material of his military dress shirt, "Y-you were almost too late."
Lucien's arms tightened around her. Despite the two years separation, her soft form still melted into every muscular plane. They still fit like puzzle pieces.
"I'm sorry, my last tour got… delayed." The apology rumbled through the air.
Elain looked up, her warm brown eyes round with worry and concern. She raised a hand, hovering over his eye, "Your eye…"
Warmth enveloped her hand and lightly pressed it against the chiselled face she missed so dearly. "Got caught by a stray shrapnel. Do you like the one-eyed pirate look?"
Nerves tinged the playful words. Staring deep into russet eyes, she heard his true question - do you still want me broken and incomplete?
Elain stood on tiptoes, her feet strained to bring her lips to the injury, brushing them across the white bandages.
"You came back to me, that's all that matters."
Lucien lets out a shuddering breath as his lips curved into a devastating smile.
"I have the car ready. If we're truly doing this," his eyes dotted down to her dress. A laced vintage piece, passed down through generations by the Nolan's. An objectively beautiful dress that ensnared her like a viper with its cutting corset and heavy history.
"Get me out of here, Lucien." She pleaded.
They made quick work of the dress, unlaced and tossed aside on the bed. She shrugged on her simple yellow gingham dress and scribbled a note to her family.
Lucien deftly climbed back out to stand on the thick tree branch and held one arm out to her. With a lightened heart, she took it and stepped out into her freedom.
They sped down the highway, hair blown back messily by the wind which whistled in their ears. Elain turned to look at her true fiance, her true love match, her heart pounding appreciatively at how the golden sunlight illuminated his skin and cast gentle shadows on the sculpted contours. A quirk of the edge of his mouth told her that he'd spotted her staring.
Unable to resist, she twisted over and kissed the edge of his mouth. A large calloused hand covered hers, his thumb running sensual circles in promise for more to come.
"We will have the rest of our lives for this," he promised.
Her hand closed around his, squeezing it in response.
"Together," she swore.
"Together," he agreed.
Because together, they're weightless. Together, they're invincible.
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names-for-alters · 1 month
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Hello one and all, alters and headmates! I am Charlie! I like to make lists! I also hoard names! Are you looking for a name? GREAT! You can send an ask and request a specific aesthetic or origin of name, or you can look at my list!
With that said…
…Cracks knuckles…
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Findo Tach Tails Flicker Tracer Kat Iris Blu Brick Arlo Sammy Artie Finn Stein Aleksandr Vora Olive Luna Nyx Cyrus Qrow Orian Cello Onyx Skye Grim Opal Dawn Azure Fish Bones Poppy Bronze Eggs Sparky Specs Snickers Trout Navi Bingo Chili Bandit Stripe Busker Socks Brandy Frisky Winston Lucky Chucky Bently Judo Rusty Max Honey Indie Calypso Striker Merle Moxxie Vex Ant Bugger Bee Spider Tails Hook Indigo Amber Coco Coral Scarlet Ivory Jade Ruby Emerald Chuck Loden Copper Hamelin Neo Shepard Cinnamon Visor Macalister Soul Hack Hiccup Flynn Rider Astrid Jay Raven Robyn Bolt Dagger Viper Tracer Cornwall Flock Sapphire Crystal Ghost Mochi Trick Catra Rose Raven Flip Chani Racket Red Crimson Dragon Runt Scotch Tellie Gator Croc Crow Goat Duck Creeper Kuma Jet Jeep Draco Poppy Sombra Raine Squish Spike Blaze Ender Drake Sandy MK PJ DJ CJ MJ King Creak Shadow Clay Dusty Miles Dart Willow Antonius Husk Moth Cypher Jin Yin Yang Daisy Gray / Grey Alistair Halo Angel Cake Fennec Fox Null Lull Bastion Lucky Sun Star Cosmo Tweety Vox Nerys Sonic Bark Birch Oak Cherry Blossom Peaches Velvet Shell Coffee Valley Fang Moot Redpath Pudding X V Jr Ether Fig Trunk Joy Frogger Snowflake Snowball Snow Jumper Racket Flare Vendetta Loonie Coin Six Eleven Tropica Stelina Mojave Ink Sud Fender Zero Pollen Wysteria Page Ozias Rex Tortch Buck Nickel Stripe Lynch Tramp Wolf Pup Tank Jhariah Kharma Zenith Sparrow Prism Lemon Mune Lamb Pyke Diamond Parker Graves Fizz Nugget Melody Tink Blight Fangless Ambress Vulture Eclipse Luka Bangle Constance Constantine Sommar Babble Clank Bobble Chipper Aidan Slate Tin Twire Zephyr Silver Misty Faunus Atlas Birdie Brook Cedar Chip Coal Daisy Ember Faye Fate Fern Flint Harmony Helios Ivy Junx Kit Lyria Phoebe Piper Lady Beacon Elos Rumble Ida Cross Zed Scootie Smidge Clauger Happy Sonny Hath Soldier River Song Clawtor Videl Legen Onen Chunk Reid Pop Cobra Cash Clover Saris Volante Donna Belladonna Gale Chopper Morphias Vidia Loft Kape Levi Licker Howl Dustin Newt Creek Breezy Polaris Blight Archer Sirius Warren Dream Goon Cookie Ranger Amity Jericho Viggo Besko Asra Alice Olaf Mossfeld Issic Missy Rascal Creasy Nonya Hex Pita Miguel Manuel Rayburn Daisy Dash Lucky Becky Steele Cylo Featherstone Kingston Netherfield Reacher Saltburn Quick Rubble Dust Brimstone Humble Ado Grover Norvanos Leshy Blade Cooper Calcium
Leo
Leonardo
Lebony
Silver
Linzier
Pearl
blackberry
Tatin
Bud
Raphael
Pebble
Mina
Linda
Oolong
Daeo/Dayo/Dao
Inco
Ketlyn
Risa
Ines
Lora
Flock
Lux
Rix
Reah
Destinty
Bet
Ange
Krixa
Lalien
Gloom
Bug
Rozy
Mars
Screech
Jenny
Robert
Patrick
Pierre Rosemary
Henderson
Mayfield
Sinclair
Sullivan
Hart
Solace
Daughtler
Stoll
Gatlin
Yearwood
Amos
Graves
Rothschild
Halley
Spektor
Presley
Redd
Blackwood
Notvletti
Valerie
Milo
Marian
Lychee
Aiden
Nova
Vel
Bel
Yuri
Puro
Pluto
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Angel
Nada
Shen
Mog
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Udge
Kinetic
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Jimor
Teddy
coc
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River
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Emily
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Ichigo
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Sonic
MoonL
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cabaran
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mellytheteddy · 1 year
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imagine getting jamil viper flustered....
the two of you would be studying together in the scarabia lounge. it was one of the rare moments when kalim was away, in a housewarden meeting or something to that effect. you didn't pay much attention to the details- when jamil called, you answered. he was in the midst of explaining the history of the scalding sands, and looked so happy to speak of his home. it was almost as if his eyes lit up with a light that you rarely got to see. the golden sun that shone in the dorms made the bronze of jamil's skin look ethereal, and in that moment you were more in love with him than ever before.
"me and najma used to play in these old ruins when-" you had moved before you knew what you were thinking, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. the boy spluttered, eyes widening and mouth agape in complete shock. amused, you only stared back at him, a small grin on your face.
he clearly didn't expect you to do such a thing, pulling his hood over the side of his face and slightly averting his gaze. all you could do was laugh at the cute gesture, never thinking you could make the jamil viper speechless.
things being born from discord conversations part 19283929,,,, this is very half baked i was in the midst of my business class but enjoy!!
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thefirstempress · 2 months
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First Empress Foreword
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So I've been meaning to also offer a big thanks to suspense novelist Matthew Keville (@matthewkeville) for his excellent feedback and support over the years that I've worked on The First Empress, and more recently for agreeing to write the foreword for the novel. Matt first discovered my novel through excerpts I posted to my old blog and took interest in the story, world, and characters, reading several of my drafts and giving great feedback and advice. When I learned that I'm not supposed to be the one who writes the novel's foreword, Matt was cool enough to agree to write it for me. I've posted Matt's foreword below the cut. Huge thanks to Matthew once again and to my Tumblr readers for their support!
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It’s no secret that the modern fantasy genre stands on the shoulders of Tolkien. There are the Children of Tolkien in their thousands, with their elves and dwarves and orcs, their magic swords and castles and general Northwestern-Europe-in-the-Middle-Ages milieu, writing novels and movies and tabletop roleplaying games. And then there are those whose work is a reaction to Tolkien, most famously George R.R. Martin with his deconstruction of Tolkien’s morally-aligned universe. This is all well and good; we all stand on the shoulders of giants—Tolkien himself stood on the shoulders of Beowulf and The Kalevala—and no one would do it if people didn’t love it. But it does sometimes seem that people aren’t making the fullest use of the literally infinite possibilities of the fantasy genre.
Jack Newbill takes his inspiration from somewhere else. He goes all the way back to the ancient city-states of the Mediterranean, where the warriors wear linen and bronze instead of steel, and the mysterious marauders from the edge of the world are the red-haired barbarians with the bizarre custom of wearing pants. It’s something I’ve never seen in my forty years of reading fantasy.
Newbill’s Vestic Sea may seem familiar at first, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s at least as foreign to our modern world and values as Wonderland. It is a place where slavery is a simple fact of life, where a wooden warship with an extra rowing-deck is the cutting edge of military technology, where the gods may or may not be real (but if they’re not real, where does all this very real magic come from?), and where our world’s ideas of gender and sexuality just don’t apply.
It’s also an Iron-Age viper’s nest of violence and intrigue, and to survive it—let alone triumph—will require a different kind of hero.
(Granted, Tolkien’s heroes were also a different kind of hero than the standard fantasy hero, in the sense that they were Everyman Heroes who stayed Everyman Heroes instead of revealing some hidden talent or bloodline. But Newbill’s hero is precisely the opposite.)
Queen Viarraluca is a hero in the classical sense—which is to say, the Ancient Greek sense. She is an extraordinary human being who accomplishes truly great and glorious things against astounding odds… but those things aren’t always things that we of the 21st Century would consider “good”. If she were anything less, she wouldn’t survive the first chapter. No time for rookie heroes to learn the ropes on the Vestic.
Viarra is a political savant, a superlative warrior, a military genius, and a visionary as to what the fractured and bickering city-states of the Vestic could become. She is iron-willed enough to do terrible things for the greater good, and kind-hearted enough to weep in her girlfriend’s arms after. And as many characters comment, she is friggin’ huge.
She also likes porn (in the form of racy sculpture and erotic poetry), kittens (even though her girlfriend’s allergic), and as much as she loves her chief handmaiden/concubine, she enjoys collecting a harem as much as any other horny teenager might.
And she’s hearing voices. Voices that point toward a glorious destiny. And even Viarra’s not sure if she’s hearing the voices of the gods or if she’s going mad.
As magnificent as she is, Queen Viarraluca is a beautifully human character who is simultaneously as alien as any elf and as familiar as the captain of the high school girls’ basketball team. I envy you as you read her story for the first time.
Welcome to her world.
—Matthew Keville, author of Hometown
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viper-motorsports · 16 days
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Attacking the cambered corners at the 2014 Supercar Challenge Super GT, Team RaceArt’s N°117 Dodge SRT Viper GT3-R concludes the sprint cup weekend with a bronze podium at Britain’s Brands Hatch Circuit.
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woodaba · 8 months
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I Still Like Tyranny
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i replayed tyranny after getting a bit tired of seeing that Other Big RPG recently, and to my delight, i thought it was still good, for the most part. it represents the kind of breadth and scale i value most in these kinds of games: less an enormous field of markers and possibility, more a dark forest of snares and traps, always one foot away from stepping into a nest of vipers.
for those unfamiliar, tyranny is a game about playing a middle-ranked officer in a conquering army in a bronze-age fantasy society, managing a civil war between two factions within the army. you work for the villains, carry the authority of villains and most of your conversation options will have you speaking just like a villain.
tyranny is smart. despite this being the selling point of the game, it's acutely aware that most players will take this as a challenge - as statistics and statements from multiple developers, including obsidian themselves suggest, almost everyone who plays these kinds of games plays a Good character - and try to defy the stated premise try to claw out some form of heroism in this awful world. knowing this, tyranny carefully and methodically pushes back against attempts to be an honorable and noble person within the role of the fatebinder. it dangles the carrot of self-preservation and gratification to lure you away from the path of righteousness, to ask you to make one compromise - just one, just now - in the hopes that will lead to a better future that has already been closed off from you. it never lets hope die completely - not till the very end - even though you can have completely ruined any chance of defiance with the sixth click of the mouse button after character creation.
each playthrough, i have tried to rebel against kyros, to join the indigenous population and beat back the obviously evil invaders, and until now, i have failed, tripping and falling down a slippery slope that begins with attempted nobility, drops further into compromises and justifications stacked one after another, and ends on a world little different than how it began, save the markings of my boot-print upon it. this time, however, i succeeded: i negotiated an alliance with the rebels of the tiers and forged a true resistance against Kyros the Overlord, and ultimately, i think i found the experience a little wanting.
it's not that it's disappointing, but rather that it's the opposite: i think it lets me rebel too much. tyranny is fun when you play it as a cackling supervillain, but what it excels at is making you a spineless coward, abusing legal loopholes to make meager gains without damaging your power and authority, to be a lickspittle for as many factions as you can to curry favor among them, to do one thing and say the other, to act as a CRPG protagonist so often does, in ways utterly tinged and made sharp by the nature of the premise. at its core, tyranny is a game about how the state and the law will twist and morph whatever actions you take to be in its benefit, to incorporate criticisms and spit them back out, to take rebellion and absorb it into its mass, to take hope and erode it's convictions until the flames only burn for what the state wants them to burn for.
there's little of that to be found in the rebel path, sadly. bereft of the central power of the premise, you're mostly playing a normal CRPG about uniting the tribes against a greater threat, only with your character being a bit more of an asshole about it. this would be fine if the game maintained its fantastic ending - often mischaracterized as empty and unfinished, the slow zoom out of the map to show that all that you have done has been anticipated and accounted for within the system, that whatever gains you have made, whatever you have done, all of it will amount to naught in the end, to be swept away in the tide of history by a force that is Bigger than even the almighty CRPG Protagonist can survive. but it doesn't, not quite - you can hurt Kyros in this ending, not entirely, not completely - and still in a way that makes clear that this is within the scope of Their design, but I think that is too far, too supplicant to the player's need for power and gratification.
when i first finished it, i wondered if the rebel path was simply fully subtractive from the experience, but with further thought, i don't think that's the case. as much as i think it is strictly weaker than the scarlet chorus and disfavored paths, i do think there is value in it's existence - not to play, but to know it exists, to strive for it, and ultimately fail. i don't play tyranny to win - as much as i think the gameplay is better than many give it credit for, i don't think it's strong in the ways that the more traditionally driven games in this genre are strong. i don't play to escape the forest of traps: i play to try, and fail, to be caught in my own compromises and contradictions, to fall into that nest of vipers, and lose myself in them.
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