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rachaelswriteblr · 11 months

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REBIRTH OF THE DRAGON QUEEN

Summary Dragons are fire-made flesh.

Rhaenyra knew her claim to the Iron Throne would be challenged, but not that it would lead to war. Nor did she expect the land to be ravaged and lose everyone she loved. When her half-brother feeds her to his dragon, she is ready to die; the pain in her heart is gone. But the Gods of Valyria offer Rhaenyra a choice: the heavenly realm with her loved ones or return to Westeros and begin anew.

Rhaenyra can choose between living in eternal happiness or returning to the mortal realm for a second chance. The former means leaving the world at tyrants' mercy and allowing the icy evil from the North to sweep over the land. The latter means preventing dragons' extinction and restoring House Targaryen. Rhaenyra knows her duty and chooses the second option but her mind is full of doubt. Can she do it? Can she stop the horrible civil war almost destroying her House and the Kingdom? Or is her death written in the pages of fate?

Chapter I. Only Death can Pay for Life

Rhaenyra just wanted to die.

The once bright and joyful Realm’s Delight could not recognize herself as she looked at the water’s surface below. For a cold moment, she didn't recognize herself. Her face was a great scar to the world. She seemed to be just like every other person spitting in the water. And then she realized that from that point of view, she was as ugly as them.

Everyone that she knew, that she loved, that raised her… they were all dead.

Except for one.

Rhaenyra pulled her hood lower over her head as she clutched little Aegon closer, her young son trembling.

“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered to him. “We just need to get a couple of things from Dragonstone, and then, we will join Cregan Stark in the North.”

Aegon buried his face into her stomach, her fabric growing wet from his tears of fight.

Rhaenyra knew she had to be brave. She had to protect her son. He, too, had lost everyone he knew due to this terrible war. They were all each other had left.

The thick clouds of mist upon Blackwater Bay made visibility difficult, the moon above casting long shadows upon the dark waters below. Rhaenyra tried not to shudder as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She looked to the heavens above, and her eyes widened at what she saw.

A dragon.

At least… that’s what it looked like.

Its great wings spread wide as it soured through the dark skies,; it’sback to the moon. But, just as soon as it had appeared, it was gone.

Rhaenyra rubbed her eyes, the violet orbs searching again for the creature.

‘It had to be a trick of the light,’ Rhaenyra thought. ‘It had to be. The dragons… they are all dead.’

The large form of Dragonstone, darkened by the low angle of the sun, loomed over them as the ship drew near. No sign of life could be found on the docks, nothing more than a single lonely flag waving in the night breeze. Once again, the hairs on Rhaenyr’s neck stood on end.

Something was wrong…

Everything was too quiet. Too calm. Save for the waves breaking on the wooden beams of the pier, Rhaenyra did not hear a thing.

“Stop this…” a voice hissed in her ear, sharp and firm. “Turn around! Leave!”

Rhaenyra looked around for the source of the voice yet saw nothing. It had to be in her head. Disembodied voices were not possible.

Save for the voice of the gods.

‘The gods…’

Rhaenyra wanted to scoff.

She had stopped believing in them a long time ago, after losing her mother. The New Gods – the Faith of the Seven – didn’t exist. The Gods of Valyria were liars, and did not listen to her prayers. There was only one way to get what you wanted: to do it yourself.

“Muña?” little Aegon whispered.

“It’s okay, Gon,” Rhaenyra said, giving him a small smile of comfort. “We’re home.”

“I want Kepa,” Aegon sniffed.

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched. “Your father is gone, Sweetling,” she said, her lip quivering as she fought against tears. “He… he’s gone.”

“Your Grace,” a deep, gruff voice said behind the two. “We are ready to disembark.”

Rhaenyra nodded to one of her guards and secured Aegon’s cloak and hood, before doing the same for herself. They would be quick.

Retrieve the dragon’s eggs that lay within.

Retrieve Baela.

Go to the North.

It was an easy, simple plan. Which meant it was easy for it to all go wrong.

No sooner had Rhaenyra and her guard crossed the threshold of the ancient castle did dark forms emerge from the shadows. Leaping like cats and with the speed of demons t,hey cut down the loyal men who had come with Rhaenyra and Aegon. Before Rhaenyra could even scream, they were on her, binding her wrists and dragging both she and her son to meet ga host.

Aegon, the Elder.

Rhaenyra could not believe her eyes.

Her brother, once a pillar of pride in his own good looks, was now unrecognizable. Every inch of his body had been scorched by the molten metal that clung to his skin, dripping with blistered wounds and gashes still seeping thick scarlet blood. His legs were bent into grotesque angles, broken beyond repair.

But his eyes…

Those dark-purple eyes that once only sparkled at the sight of a pretty girl or fresh cup of wine now burned with hatred.

Rhaenyra glanced behind her to Aegon, her sweet boy, and knew this was it. Aegon had them in his clutches; there was no reason for him not to keep them alive. Unless… unless she placed his attention on him.

“I had hoped you to be dead, Brother,” Rhaenyra sneered, putting as much venom as she could in her voice.

“You first, Sweet Sister,” Aegon the Elder sneered right back. “For you are the elder.”

His men shoved Rhaenyra to the middle of the space, and she felt the ground shake. Slowly, Rhaenyra turned her head to see, in the shadows, lay the once beautiful Sunfyre.

Known as The Golden, Rhaenyra remembered when it was claimed Sunfyre was the most beautiful dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms. Now, Rhaenyra didn’t even recognize it. His wings were torn from his body. One of his eyes was missing. His once golden scales were now red from the boiling blood that didn’t stop flowing from his open wounds.

“What happened to him…?” Rhaenyra gasped before she could stop herself.

“Your cunt of a Ward is to thank,” Aegon the Elder spat.

“Baela did this?” Rhaenyra gasped; she turned around, searching with her eyes. “Where is she? What have you done to her?!”

“She’s unharmed in the dungeons, for now,” Aegon the Elder replied, settling himself more comfortably in his seat. “I of course need her to keep the Sea Snake in line. As for you, Sweet Sister, the same can not be same.” He looked to Sunfyre. “Zālagon zirȳla!” Burn her!

Rhaenyra’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked at Sunfyre. The dragon lifted his head from the ground only a foot, his only good eye locking with Rhaenyra. She felt some emotional tether flow through him, a sensation she knew from her soul connection with Syrax.

He bowed his head and stood stock still as if the world’s weighthad settled on his shoulders. Rhaenyra couldn't understand what Sunfyre was trying to tell her, yet he could feel a deep sadness. The majestic beast raised his eyes to meet Aegon the Elder's gaze, then closed them slowly with a long sigh.

“I said to burn her!” Aegon the Elder shrieked at the top of his lungs. “Obey me, Sunfyre!”

‘A dragon is not a slave,’ Rhaenyra remembered Daemon telling her once when they lay in bed together. ‘They will obey your will, but you cannot force them to do what they do not wish.’

For a moment, Rhgaenyra’s heart lifted. She was going to escape, she could escape. Perhaps she still stood a chance if she begged Aegon to spare her son and take them both to King’s Landing.

Suddenly, without being commanded, one of Aegon’s men stepped forward. Drawing his dagger, Rhaenyra’s mouth opened to scream, fearing he would plunge it into her heart. Instead, without a sense of honor or decency, the Man tore Rhaenyra’s dress, baring her breasts for all to see.

For the briefest of seconds, Rhaenyra saw what looked like lust flash within her brother’s eyes.

‘In that form there is no way his scepter can even rise,’ Rhaenyra thought. ‘It must be torture, no longer to use his favorite toy. The toy he used to terrorize so many women…’

She tried to cover her chest, but the Man raised his dagger and cut her across her right breast. Rhaenyra cried out in pain, the blood dripping down her body and through her fingers.

Sunfyre suddenly groaned and lifted his head, much higher this time. His eye no longer held sadness within. Now, it burned with hunger and Rhaenyra knew her fate was sealed.

“Yes!” Aegon the Elder laughed, watching with glee as Sunfyre lifted himself up. “Zālagon zirȳla, Sunfyre!”

The ground shook as Sunfyre crawled to her, but Rhaenyra did not bow her head. She could not bow her head, or even beg for her life.

She had made so many mistakes in this life, had so many regrets. Was this be how she would end? The Crown Jewel of Westeros? The Realm’s Delight.

‘If I had a second chance, I would do everything over,” she thought, Sunfyre looming over her. ‘I would change everything!’

Rhaenyra stared into Sunfyre’s mouth, the flames rising within his throat. She could hear her son screaming, begging for his uncle to change his command, but there nothing Aegon the Elder could do to stop Sunfyre now.

Rhaenyra felt the searing heat of the flames licking her body, consuming her in an embrace of agonizing pain. She saw visions of those she'd lost, those she'd loved, haunting her from beyond the grave as her skin split and blistered. With every passing moment she felt her life energy draining away until she was nothing more than a charred corpse consumed by the inferno.

✵✵✵

White light bathed Rhaenyra in its heavenly glow, and when she opened her eyes, the Targaryen Queen found herself standing in the center of a circle of thrones. Although similar in form, each of the thrones were painted different colors and had Valyrian runes carved into their headrests.

Rhaenyra knew the runes well.

Arrax.

Aerydor.

Balerion.

Caraxes.

Gaelarys.

Meleys.

Meraxes.

Shrykos.

Syrax.

Tessarion.

Tyraxes.

Vermax.

Vermithor.

Vhagar.

The Fourteen Flames.

The Gods of Old Valyria.

“I… what…?” Rhaenyra gasped, looking around, then down to herself.

She was no longer wearing her black cloak and dress, but was bathed in a simple white dress.

‘Is this the afterlife?’ Rhaenyra wondered.

GONG!

Rhaenyra jumped at the loud clatter, her body trembling as shadows appeared upon the thrones. Slowly, they gained tangibility until they were solid.

They were of every body size, slender and muscular, plump and petite. Their skin colors were the rainbow, mimicking those that possessed the pale skins of those from the North, to the lightly tanned of Dorne, to the medium brown of Essos, to the rich ebony of the Summer Islands.

Rhaenyra also saw that they weren’t exactly strictly male or female, but some seemed to have features one would associate with to the opposite gender. Some of the women were muscular, an some of the men possessed what looked to be small breasts.

‘The gods come to those who believe in them,’ Daemon once told her. ‘They take the form of whatever they wish.’

The god upon the throne directly in front of Rhaenyra was clothed in white and gold, his headrest reading ‘Arrax’, the ruler of Gods, law, order, justice, governance, and strength. To his right sat Aerydor in robes in a green and brown pattern, the God of all creatures that walk, run, swim, or fly).

The sight of the god in robes of all black and grey made Rhaenyra lower her eyes, from the power that radiated from him. It was Balerion, the god of death and the Underworld. Next to Balerion, in robes of red and orange was Caraxes, the God of fire and the sun. The god that her beloved Daemon’s dragon was named for.

A woman wearing a flowing dress of blues, greens, and yellows was Gaelarys, the Goddess of the sea. To her right sat Meleys, the Goddess of the sky; and Meraxes, the Goddess of music, arts, knowledge, healing, and poetry. There was Shrykos, the God of wine, fruitfulness, parties, and – to some – madness; followed by Tessarion, the Goddess of the Moon and Stars.

Rhaenyra’s throat seized at the next woman, as she knew who she was the second Rhaenyra saw her low-cut golden dress and bangles. It was Syrax, the Goddess of love and fertility. The namesake of her very own dear mount.

The last four gods were Tyraxes, the God of smiths, crafts, and artisans; Vermax, God of travel and trade. Vermithor, the God of language and writing; and lastly ,the greatest of the goddesses, Vhagar, the Goddess of reason, wisdom, intelligence, peace, and war.

It really was them… the gods of Old Valyria.

Rhaenyra instantly dropped to her knees, bowing her head in respect. She was speechless, and bit her lip, preventing herself from sobbing before these all mighty deities.

“She is quite pitiful, is she not?” one of the Gods asked.

“Why must you be so rude, Tyraxes?” a Goddess asked. “She has just died.”

“And should stay that way,” the god—Tyraxes—retorted.

“But that is not only your decision, is it?” the Goddess shot right back.

“Enough, you two,” a female voice snapped. Her tone was harsh and firm, brooking no argument. “We have gathered here not to fight among ourselves but to judge her.”

‘Judge me?’ Rhaenyra thought.

“Yes, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, we are here to judge your sins and accomplishments,” that same voice said. “Raise your eyes to me.”

Rhaenyra knew better than to disobey a goddess and slowly, lifted her eyes in the direction of the woman who talked to her. It was Vhagar, she realized.

Her form was that of a middle-aged woman, her skin lightly tanned, yet her hair was white as snow. She was dressed in a dress of light brown, yet over this, Vhagar wore armor and carried a spear in one hand, and a sword rested in her lap.

“She is clearly of the Blood of Old Valyria,” the one called Vermithor commented, Rhaenyra recognized his voice as the one who called her ‘pitiful’ moments ago.

“The Blood after our words had become twisted to fit the purpose of those fools,” Tyraxes scoffed. “If they had kept our true words, then the sea would not have swallowed them into the lair of Balerion.”

Balerion did not reply and instead rested his head on his hand, his eyes upon Rhaenyra.

“Why…” Rhaenyra took a deep breath for courage. “Why… why I am here?”

“To be judged and see the truth,” Vhagar replied. “You had a duty to Westeros, to the world, and you did not fulfill it. You allowed yourself to be killed by your enemy.”

“That’s not true!” Rhaenyra protested.

Vhagar arched an eyebrow, and Rhaenyra quickly shut her mouth, bowing her head. She waited two heartbearts before she tried to speak again.

“Forgive me, I meant no disrespect,” Rhaenyra said. “But I… I was captured. It was not of my will. I was usurped and betrayed by almost all that I placed my trust in. I lost everyone that I loved. This war, it is not my fault.”

“But it is,” Meraxes retorted. “You had a duty to fulfill in Westeros, to your House, and did not do it. You did not have to listen to the advice of those around you, but you did. You allowed fire and blood to come to the innocent smallfolk of your lands. How many men were killed? How many women and girls were raped? How many acers of land won’t bring forth crops because you did not follow your own conscience.”

‘That’s not fair!’ Rhaenyra wanted to scream. ‘I was inexperienced! I believed those at my side had my best beliefs in mind!’

“She still tried to do what was right,” Gaelarys commented. “I have watched from the seas and saw how she gave alms to the poor and did not want this war to happen. She gave her enemies many chances to lay down their arms, but they didn’t.”

“I would not bless someone with so many children if she did not have a good heart within,” Syrax spoke out.

Her words lifted Rhaenyra’s heart, and she bowed to the goddess who smiles warmly at her.

“Do not forget, it is through her blood that House Targaryen continues,” Syrax continued.

“But they are at only a fraction of their former power,” Aerydor pointed out. “Without the dragons, they are just like the people they govern. Weak and spineless.”

“They became the fodder of those idiots of the Faith,” Vermithor scoffed. “Turning their backs on the gods of their ancestors and their practices.”

“That is what happens when the bloodline passes through you men,” Vhagar snorted. “All you care about is your own personal power, using women as pots to carry your seed. Not caring should they pass to bring your brood into this world.”

‘Just like my mother,’ Rhaenyra thought. ‘Is that not what my father did? Allow my mother to die out of the belief she carried a son? In the end they both ended up dying.’

“Can we turn back to the topic of our original conversation?” Arrax asked, the king of the gods speaking for the first time.

The other gods and goddess nodded and turned back to a kneeling Rhaenyra, waiting for their leader to speak.

“You have been summoned to be judged for both your successes and failures,” Arrax said. “However, it’s clear that you are a… controversial figure, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen. I will allow you to speak before I render judgment.”

✵✵✵

Rhaenyra bit her lip.

What could she say? They didn’t tell her what the prince would be if they were unsatisfied with her answers.

‘I have to just tell the truth, to tell them how I feel,’ Rhaenyra decided.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head again.

“No,” Rhaenyra spat with a ferocity that shook the room. “I will never beg you for my life! All I ever begged for was to keep my mother alive, but death still came for her. The war that ripped across Westeros wasn't what I intended, but they shoved my beloved half-brother onto the throne and wanted nothing less than my own head on a stake. I had no choice but to fight for what was mine. You want to know if I regret starting this war? With all of my being - yes! But were I given a second chance, I would make certain that these mistakes never happened again.”

“Do you really mean that?” Arrax asked.

“Look in my heart and see that I do not lie,” Rhaenyra said firmly.

The Gods exchanged glances; some nodded, and some shook their heads. Other than that, Rhaenyra could not read their faces.

“We know the greed of men, both in general and of the sex,” Tyraxes finally said. “How many would step over women and the innocent just to get what they want.”

“We see you had good intentions but were prevented from becoming the Queen you were destined to be,” Vhagar said. “And because of this, we offer you a choice. You can enter the heavenly realm to be with your family for eternity and be happy.”

The air in front of Rhaenyra rippled, and an archway appeared to her left. She could hear laughing and feel and taste a salty sea breeze. Standing in the waters were three people: two men and one woman. The first man had dark brown hair, and Rhaenyra knew his broad frame anywhere.

Harwin.

He was holding a young boy on his shoulders, whose dark hair marched his own. The two laughed together, Harwin tossing the boy in the air before catching him, then doing it again.

Luke…

Her sweet, sweet boy!

The silver hair of the woman next to Harwin gave away her identity. It was Laena. Her beloved Goodsister held her skirts up to prevent them from getting wet as she picked up handfuls of water and tossed them in the air, watching as the droplets sparkled in the low evening sun.

Lastly, Rhaenyra saw him, her most excellent ally against the world that turned its back on her.

“D-Daemon?” Rhaenyra choked.

As Daemon swung around, Rhaenyra was overjoyed and heartbroken at seeing their daughter Visenya in his arms. She had been taken from them so cruelly, and yet here she stood, alive and safe. Hope swelled within her as she looked upon her child's sweet face, but a deep sadness threatened to overwhelm her too.

“Rhaenyra?” Daemon said, his voice echoing and distant.

“Muña?” Luke gasped, his eyes going wide.

“Mother! Jace exclaimed, appearing from nowhere. “Mother, you are here!”

Hot tears poured down Rhaenyra’s face as she reached out for them, only to stop at the voice of Balerion.

“If you enter, you can not return, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen,” the God of Death said. “You enter into the afterlife and find your peace.”

“You said I had a choice,” Rhaenyra said, turning to them. “What, what is the other option.”

“We grant you the ability to return to Westeros and begin anew,” Vermax replied. “You will remember everything, of course, but shall wake up on the morning before your mother dies.”

“I choose my family!” Rhaenyra said. “I want to be with them!”

Vhagar tilted her head. “And here I thought you were a rational woman, a queen, who put the needs of her people above her own?”

“My brother is king; he will rule Westeros after he kills my son,” Rhaenyra said. “What is there for me back there?”

“Your brother only lives for another six months, Rhaenyra,” Vhagar replied. “He dies and is replaced by your son. But the realm falls into the hands of tyrants after his death, and in less than two centuries, your House will be all but extinct.”

“No! That cannot be! House Targaryen is the greatest House to ever rule in Westeros!” Rhaenyra protests.

“Without your dragons, you are nothing more than common men,” Aerydor replied. “And that is your undoing.”

“The future of your House falls upon the shoulders of a lone girl, a princess born in exile,” Arrax reveals. “She brings forth dragons from stone. Yet she, like you, is murdered by those who had sought to use her for their own gains. House Targaryen is no more, and icy darkness washes over the land.”

“No….” Rhaenyra gasped. “I can’t… that can’t happen!”

The prophecy.

The words of Aegon the Conqueror, his dragon dreams, the future of her House… With her death, all of that is lost, the dragons they rode and tamed are no more, and this evil takes over everything.

Rhaenyra stood before the three people that she loved most: Daemon, Laena, and Harwin. As she looked upon them and their children, she wanted nothing more than to be with them all and never leave. But even as her heart yearned for freedom from responsibility, another part of her knew that caution was required. She was caught between two worlds; one where she could finally feel joy without worry, and another where she needed to keep her doubts hidden away.

But she can not.

Rhaenyra's voice trembles with agony as she chokes out her words, “I want to join you. I ache to hold you, long for your embrace and crave our union. But my duty to Westeros cannot be forsaken. I'm sorry - so desperately sorry.” Tears stream down her cheeks like a river of grief, her heart frozen in sorrow.

Daemon, Laena, and Harwin all nod one by one, understanding.

“We will be together, my Dragon Queen,” Harwin said, patting Luke’s head.

“In this world or the next,” Laena said, smiling at her.

Rhaenyra looked to Daemon and Visenya at their beautiful daughter stolen from them before she could breathe.

“She will be our firstborn,” she said, looking at the babe. “A great queen to follow after me.”

Daemon smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He reached forward and took her face in his hand, moving slowly so that she could draw away if she wished. Rhaenyra closed her eyes, leaned into his touch ever so slightly before forcing herself to pull away to avoid being tempted. Turning back to the Fourteen Flames, she lifted her chin.

“I choose to return to Westeros,” she said firmly, wiping her cheeks. “I will take a second chance at life.”

The gods roared, the thunder of their voices shaking the ground beneath them. They clapped their hands together with a sound that thundered across the sky and linked together in a circle. Their chants were like lightning in the air, the language of High Valyiran vibrating through every corner of the universe. Rhaenyra felt as if she was being pulled into an alternate realm as a euphoric warmth enveloped her body and left her glowing. Her hair danced wildly in the invisible winds, singing to the power of the gods.

“I will need someone to assist me in this!” Rhaenyra shouted, struggling against the tempestuous gusts. “But who can I trust? Who can I rely on?” She had no idea of who might help her, and yet there was no other way—she needed allies.

“Just two can know the truth!” Vhagar's voice thundered, reverberating through space and time. “More than that would be a dangerous risk; it will unravel the universe beyond recognition.” Her words hung in the air like a warning, an omen of things to come should his warning go unheeded.

“Choose them well, Rhaenyra,” Syrax said, smiling at her. “I know you will make a wonderful Queen.”

The wind tunnel became constricting, and Rhaenyra clawed at her throat as she felt it cut off her air supply. Light erupted from the gods, enveloping Rhaenyra and silencing her screams from the ears of the gods. The skies darkened as she was crushed and twisted before becoming reforged and crashing back down to earth.

Rhaenyra fell out of her bed with a gasp, falling face-first onto the soft padded rug by her bed. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breath came ragged and small. The doors to her chambers burst open, and two of her Lady’s-in-Waiting came running in, guards close behind them, their swords drawn.

“Who dares to threaten a Princess of Westeros?!” one of the Guards bellowed, his hands clenched tight around his sword pommel.

“Your Highness?” one of her Lady’s-in-Waiting gasped. “Your Highness, are you all right?”

“I… what…?” Rhaenyra gasped.

“Oh, Your Highness, you’ve fallen out of bed again,” the young woman sighed.

The guards relaxed their stance, relieved there was no danger.

‘Where am I?’ Rhaenyra wondered.

Her eyes swept the room, taking in the luxurious furnishings, her dragon-riding leathers tossed so casually over a chair, her desk covered in paper and quills, her dresses peaking out from their closet. She looked down at her hands and saw them small and slender, now swollen from her weight gain from all her pregnancies and love of rich foods.

“What year is it?” Rhaenyra whispered.

“Come again, Your Highness?” the Lady asked.

“What year is it?!” Rhaenyra demanded, louder this time.

“1-105 AC, Your Highness,” the Lady-in-Waiting stammered.

Rhaenyra could not believe it. This was the year her mother died. The year her life changed forever.

#original writing #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #hotd #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen #+18 or +adult only #Love #death #Bisexual Female Character #Characters of Color #Dragons #Dragon Riders #Westeros #ASOIAF

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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THE SUNGLASSES ARE SENDING ME

Just papa Namor taking the kids out to Wakanda’s market place, so Shuri could get some research done in peace.

Also I read all the adorable ideas for namuri daughter and I’m can’t wait to start on them! Thank you to all that suggested ideas! 🥹💖💕

Extra thanks to @luthientinu for suggesting the idea of Namor using a rebozo with his kids!

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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The Panther Queen and the Serpent God

Chapter 21 - Wedding of a God and Queen (Part !)

She wasn’t led to the main altar, where the wedding ceremony would take place. First, Shuri and Namor had to take what was called temazcal—a Mayan steam bath—to purify themselves.

So, Shuri was led to the gardens outside, where a large, circular Talokanil hut was constructed. Well, in truth, calling it a simple hut was insulting. It was made of volcanic rock, forged by Namor’s own hand. He made sure to carve Mayan scripts into it, making it a sacred and holy place. Shuri saw smoke rising from the opening at the top and knew Namor was awaiting her. Talokanil priests wearing their traditional paint were lightly banging drums, chanting in their tongues as Shuri neared, and the Priestess parted the curtains for her to enter.

Shuri ducked her head as she halfway crawled carefully and slowly inside.

Namor was waiting for her, sitting next to a Talokanil Priestess arranging several large rocks with her bare hands. He was wearing a simple white loincloth, and his face lit up when he saw her. Immediately, he crawled over on his knees, taking Shuri’s hand in his and leading her to kneel at his side.

There were thirteen large rocks arranged in a circle, and Namor had explained to her that thirteen was a lucky number in Mayan culture and mythology. The complete opposite in the Western world. Each stone had a Mayan script carved into it, and the Talokanil Priestess reached out to a large bowl at her side and lifted a ladle. She poured the contents of the ladle onto the stones, making them crackle and hiss, thick columns of smoke rising from them.

Perspiration beaded on Shuri’s brow as she glanced at Namor, her husband-to-be staring straight ahead. He was tense, Shuri could tell, and she gripped his hand in hers for comfort. The Priestesses both picked up different bushels of sweet-smelling herbs and plants. They pressed the ends into the flames, lighting the herbs on fire, and began to wave them over Shuri and Namor.

“Who comes before the gods of Talokan and Wakanda?” the Talokanil Priestess asked when finished.

“I do,” Namor said. “Ch'ah Toh Almehen, the Son of Lady Fen.”

Shuri noted how he humbled himself, not using royal or god titles. All he did was speak his birth name and blood ties, her True and Noble Waterdrop.

“And you, my Child?” the Priestess of Bast said to Shuri.

Shuri took a deep breath. “I do,” she said, her voice clear. “Shuri, daughter of King T’Chaka, and Queen Ramonda, a descendant of Bashenga.”

The Priestess nodded, pleased with their answers.

“Marriage is full of trials, both good and bad,” the Talokanil Priestess said. “You are forming one family, one unit, one bond that will last you until the end of your days.”

“One of my fears is that I will not live as long as he will,” Shuri confessed, knowing this place was safe to voice her worries. “That he and our child will outlive me.”

“Death is a part of life, my Queen,” the Wakandian Priestess said. “The Heart-shaped Herb already doubles your natural life span, but you want more time?”

Shuri nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Such is the will of the gods,” she said. “We do not know what they want or have in store for us.”

“But a life without Shuri is not a life worth living,” Namor said, surprising Shuri. “If she is not by my side, I do not want to live anymore.”

The Priestess nodded again, turning to look at each other as a silent conversation passed between them.

“Allow us to now start the Blessing,” the Talokanil Priestess said. “I want you both to close your eyes and think. Think of your desires, love for each other, and plans for the future. Then, when I call your name, I want you to open your eyes and look into the smoke. What you see is up to your own interpretation, but know that whatever it is, it is from the will of the gods.”

Namor and Shuri nodded their heads, closing their eyes when told to.

Outside, both priests began to chant and pound on their drums. The temperature in the space grew significantly after Shuri heard them toss more strange liquid onto the hot stones. Shuri closed her eyes tight and tried to think about what she wanted and needed.

She loved Namor.

She wanted a promising future for both Wakanda and Talokan.

She wanted to see her child grow up.

She wanted to make her ancestors proud.

“Ch’ah Toh Almehen of Talokan,” the first Priestess called. “Open your eyes and receive a vision from the smoke.”

Shuri felt Namor stiffen at her side but then relax. Several minutes passed before he moved away from her, and she fought against the urge to peek to see where he went too.

“Shuri of Wakanda,” the Priestess of Bast said. “Open your eyes and receive a vision from the smoke.”

Slowly, Shuri opened her eyes. No sooner had she done so, Priestess of Bast blew a thick cloud of smoke into her face. It went up her nose, making her vision double and her sneeze. The smoke took on shapes, changing from thick blobs into figures.

Shuri’s eyes widened as she saw a woman and man walking together, a child in between them. The woman rested her hand upon a clearly swollen belly, the man lifting their child upon his shoulders. They were laughing together, more small figures—several boys and little girls—rushing over to them.

The man laughed, taking to the skies with his children and leading them in a chase in the clouds above. Some leaped in the air, the wings upon their ankles flapping as they flew around their parents. The woman watched them with tears of joy in her eyes, and when she turned to look at Shuri… it was her own face.

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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“It Could Have Been Different - Part 3″

(a.k.a - “Two young people fell in love and we all showed up”) ;-)

It’s the post-wedding “Buckingham Palace balcony” wave - Wakandan style! As you (and the thousands of assembled adoring subjects) can plainly see, the new royal bride and groom are very, very happy!

Despite the fact that camera crews were not allowed to film the actual wedding ceremony itself, I hear that there was fierce competition amongst CNN’s foreign correspondents when it came time to decide who would be allowed to go to Wakanda for this momentous event (just kidding - it was always going to be Christiane Amanpour).

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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“it could have been different” pt.2

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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SOCIAL MEDIA DUMP!

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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The Panther Queen and the Serpent God

Chapter 17. The Panther Goddess

Shuri waited for three heartbeats before poking her head out to look around. Seeing no one, she swam in the opposite direction she believed they had gone. The undersea tunnel led her to the vast, empty ocean, well, devoid of people.

Various schools of fish and sea turtles swam around her, rainbow-colored jellyfish fluttering like fireflies. Shuri giggled as they swam around her, several fish coming to bop her nose or swish through her hair. The undersea world was breathtakingly beautiful, but Shuri couldn’t stop and look around.

Although she didn’t see any Talokanil, Shuri wasn’t safe. Kicking her feet, she swam to the surface, her muscles aching but she pushed through it. She broke through and looked around franticly—the ocean was vast and endless… except for a blob in the distance.

Shuri squinted her eyes, unable to stop herself from exclaiming in excitement when she saw that it was trees! There was land nearby! She had made it out, but now, she had to send a distress signal for Nakia, Okoye, someone to find her.

‘Oh, the translator bead!’

Taking out the translator bead, Shuri began to tinker and reprogram it. It took her a moment, but she eventually was able to change the signal.

“Praise Bast!” she exclaimed when it beeped and flashed green. “I did it!”

She went to work, connecting it to Okoye’s line, holding her breath. At first, there was nothing but static, but then, broken up, Shuri heard Okoye’s voice.

“Hello?” Okoye said. “Who is this?”

“Thank Bast!” Shuri cried. “Okoye, it’s me!”

“Shuri?!” Okoye exclaimed. “Oh, my Bast, where are you?!”

#original writing #black history #namor and shuri #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fan fic author #namor of talokan #shuri fic #namor #namuri #namor x shuri #wakanda forever #nashuri #tenoch huerta #shuri #shuri x namor #Attuma #Okoye #attuma of talokan

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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rachaelswriteblr · 1 year

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Of Amethysts and Emeralds

Summary

From the moment Aenessa opens her eyes, the world views her as a player of The Game.

While her mother, Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, should be secure in her position, many seek to dethrone her. Their reason is simple: Rhaenyra is a woman. What's even worse, many - led by the Green Queen - seek to place one who is significantly inferior, the drunk and lecherous Prince Aegon, upon the throne.

At first a pawn but later turned active player in the Game, Aenessa's loyalty to her mother and the legacy of their House is her strength. But her weakness comes from the son of the Green Queen, a man who should be her greatest enemy, yet a soul tie beyond their control draws them together.

When the Dance begins, battle lines are drawn, and shattering betrayals and murders are had. Aenessa must declare her loyalty; is it to her House or heart?

I. A Girl is Born

Plop!

“It’s here, Your Highness!”

“Princess, it’s here! The babe is here!”

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen looked anything but a member of how a member of the royal Targaryen Dynasty should be. Her labors had begun the night before, with her water breaking after she shared dinner with her Ladies.

All of the Red Keep held its breath as the heiress of the Realm went into confinement to bear this child.

Rhaenyra knew that the moment this child drew breath it would both be celebrated, and despised.

‘I must protect it,’ Rhaenyra thought as her body strained and throbbed. ‘I must make it feel loved and safe.’

When the Midwives told her that it was time for the final push and helped her into the birthing chair, Rhaenyra was afraid. Her mother had died in this maternal battle, and she was not sure if the same fate would belong to her.

‘No. I will not die. I am the Blood of the Dragon. Death will cower before me if we ever must meet.’

The labor and pain were great, but after 18 hours her child was finally here.

“Give it to me,” Rhaenyra demanded. “Give me my baby.”

A deafening, lusty cry suddenly filled the room, and through her sweat-soaked hair, Rhaenyra saw the Midwives carrying a small, wiggling bundle.

“I said, give me, my baby!” Rhaenyra commanded, louder this time. “I want… I want my baby!”

“Just a moment, Your Highness,” the Midwife behind her said, rubbing her back gently. “They just cut the cord, let the Maester check it.

Rhaenyra whimpered softly as another pain squeezed her stomach. “Fuck,” she exclaimed, not caring that the word was something a lady shouldn’t utter. “What’s going on?”

“The afterbirth is coming,” a Midwife said. “Come, we must help her.”

It felt as if she was delivering another child, only this time, Rhaenyra was grateful that it passed quickly and easily. The Midwives held open her legs and carefully packed her womb with linen soaked in medical herbs, that would help ease the pain.

“Can I have it now?” Rhaenyra asked, pushing back her hair.

A Midwife smiled and nodded, turning to the Maester who had finished his examination. “The Gods be praised,” she said. “You are blessed with a beautiful girl, Your Highness.”

Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat as the small bundle was placed in her arms. A pair of vivid violet eyes stared into her own, unblinking yet brimming with curiosity that Rhaenyra knew all too well. Resting within a heart-shaped face, the baby’s skin was of a rich, deep brown, much like her grandsire and great grandmother on her paternal side.

“Rytsas, byka mēre. Iksā finally kesīr,” she said, smiling down at the bundle in her arms. Hello, little one. You are finally here.

Her daughter did not reply but instead tilted her head to the side as if to question who was speaking to her.

“Ser Laenor will be quite happy, My Princess,” one of her Ladies said, smiling all around. “She has his nose.”

“And his chin!” another Lady giggled.

“But my eyes look out at me,” Rhaenyra said, stroking her daughter’s cheek.

Short, but thick silver hair graced the top of the little one’s head. Combined with her violet eyes it shouted from the rooftops of the legacy she now shared: the legacy of Old Valyria.

‘The blood of the Dragon runs through your veins,’ Rhaenyra thought. ‘You are one of us, my sweet girl.’

The doors to the birthing room opened, and out of her eye, Rhaenyra saw a flash of blue and green.

Laenor.

“Ser, this is no place for a man!” a Midwife protested.

Laenor ignored her and searched the room with his eyes, the dark-blue orbs sweeping across everything before falling upon Rhaenyra.

“Wife,” he said, rushing to her side.

Rhaenyra looked up and smiled at him as Laenor stopped behind her, his eyes growing wide. “It’s a girl.”

“A girl,” Laenor repeated as if to speak the words for him to understand. “A girl.”

For a moment, the chambers grew still as the Ladies and Midwives held their breaths. It was well known that girls were not as favored as boys in Westeros, and some fathers would react rather violently in learning of the birth of one. Girls had no place in their world other than to be sold off to the highest bidder in the marriage market or stuffed into the bed of a King to become a Royal Mistress.

“Might I hold her?” Laenor asked.

Rhaenyra nodded and looked to one of the Midwives for help. One of the Elderly women stepped forward and carefully took the babe from Rhaenyra’s arms, and turned to the father.

“Hold her, close to your chest,” she instructed. “There you go, M’lord. Now, support her head, and ahh, perfect.”

Laenor looked into the twin amethysts pools that stared back at him, regarding her sire coolly and still without noise or complaint.

“My daughter!” Laenor exclaimed, holding the babe up high, his face beaming with pride. “My Princess!”

He could not believe that he had become a father and now had the honor of such a title. His father had doubted him, and yet he had done it… he had given Rhaenyra what she needed most: an heir for his house.

Rhaenyra, who was being helped up by her ladies to change, tilted her head at him. “You are not disappointed, Laenor? That she is not a boy?”

“Why would I be disappointed?” Laenor asked, blowing bubbles into the face of his daughter. “She’s perfect.”

Except for Rhaenyra, all exhaled the breath they held and could relax.

Rhaenyra turned to one of her Ladies and nodded to her. “Announce that my daughter has been born,” she said. “Tell my father that I wish to see him, once I have been bathed and refreshed. Tonight, at dinner.”

The Lady-in-waiting bowed. “At once, Your Highness.”

Hurrying from the room, the Lady had to fight to get around the Nobles who all fought to be the first to catch a glimpse of the new royal baby.

“What is it?” a Man wearing the heraldry of House Bracken asked.

“Yes, what is the baby?” a Woman wearing the black and white of House Swann demanded.

“It’s a lovely, princess!” the Lady-in-Waiting announced. “Her Highness, Princess Rhaenyra, and her husband, Ser Laenor, are spending time with their daughter and will receive well-wishers tomorrow. Right now, I must inform the King.”

She pushed her way through the swelling crowds, most of which began to clap and cheer for the new addition to the dynasty. The Lady-in-waiting did not stop until she reached the chambers of the King, and after smoothing out her dress and fluffing her hair, nodded to be announced.

King Viserys Targaryen stood before his window, watching the goings and doings of all that went on below. For the past eighteen hours, he had waited, neither eating nor drinking out of nervousness as he waited for news.

‘Gods above, Mother and Maiden, I beg that you protect my daughter during her labors,’ he thought. ‘Protect her, and bring her through. I have already lost her mother, I can not lose Rhaenyra too.’

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Viserys turned to see a simple Manservant bowing low.

“Rise,” he commanded. “What do you want?”

“A Lady-in-waiting is here,” the Man replied. “Sent from the Princess herself.”

Viserys’s heart skipped a beat. “Let her in, immediately.” He commanded.

The Manservant hurried to do as instructed, had the guards open the doors, and led the woman in. She curtsied low, her skirts fanning out around her as she awaited the command to rise.

“Up, up,” Viserys said. “Where is Rhaenyra? How is she? Is she alive?”

“The Princess is perfectly fine, Your Grace,” the Lady-in-waiting answered. “The labor was long, and she is tired, but the baby came without much fuss when it came to pushing.”

Viserys nodded, his hands clenched. “And… the babe? What… what is it?”

“A princess, Your Grace. You have a granddaughter.”

Viserys collapsed into the chair behind him and covered his face with his hands. Tears began to slide down his cheeks but they were not tears of sadness, but tears of joy. His daughter had lived, and she had borne a healthy girl for House Targaryen.

‘Aemma, our little girl… is no longer a little girl anymore.’

“When can I see them?” Viserys asked. “I need to see my daughter and my grandchild.”

“Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor invite you to come to her chambers later tonight, Your Grace. What will your reply be?”

“I’m coming of course!” Viserys exclaimed. “Tonight, can not come soon enough. I must get them a gift, some treasure, some trinkets. Some…”

He began to ramble about all the items that he could bring the babe and then stopped. The Lady-in-waiting realized that he would stay like this and so decided it was best she’d leave. With a bow, she backed out of the room, the doors closing behind her.

As she turned to return to the Princess, the lady-in-waiting did not notice the pair of light-blue eyes that watched in the darkness.

The figure hurried to the Chambers of the Queen and knocked twice, before being let inside.

“She’s given birth, Your Grace,” the man said.

Queen Alicent Hightower looked up from her sewing, her hazel eyes were cold and unwavering. “And? What is it?”

“A girl, Your Grace.”

A smile as sharp as a knife split across Alicent’s lips. Reaching her side, she took out a small bag of gold and silver coins, which she handed to her lady-in-waiting to give to her spy.

“Job well done, thank you, Aaron, you may leave.”

The man took the bag and backed out of the room with a bow, Alicent rising to her feet as she clasped her hands together.

‘So, she’s had a girl,’ she thought. ‘All that fuss, all that wait was for nothing.’

“Will you go and see the Princess?” one of her Ladies asked.

“I would be seen as poor queen if I did not…” Alicent said, tapping her chin. “But I can’t stand the whore, so why should I give her any of my attention?”

Truthfully, it would have been easier for Alicent if the Whore had died in childbirth. The Mother and Maiden were not supposed to favor immoral women like her, yet Rhaenyra lived.

‘I’m honestly surprised that she even managed to get pregnant,’ Alicent thought. ‘Her husband is a Sword Swallower, an abomination in the eyes of the Gods.’

“It must not be his,” she said aloud, forgetting herself.

Her Ladies all turned to look at her.

“What did you say, Your Grace?” one of them asked.

“Her husband is an apostate, disgusting and immoral in the eyes of the gods,” Alicent replied, unable to bring herself to say the true words aloud, she had that much control at least. “The Whore must have seduced someone else and is attempting to pass on his bastard seed as royal.”

“Such an immoral woman would not be worthy of her high position, Your Grace,” the Lady said, her nose wrinkling. “Am I wrong?”

The Ladies in the room all nodded and murmured their agreeance, confirming Alicent’s internal biases.

“I will take my true blood children,” she decided. “And show off the true legacy of the House.”

“I don’t want to go and see her baby,” a voice grumbled from the other side of the room.

Alicent sighed and turned to her eldest son, Aegon who had just turned seven namedays several moons ago, her crown and joy. By the laws of Gods and men, he should be the heir to this Great House, not that Whore. Yet, his foolish father had deemed it otherwise… for now.

“We must go Aegon,” Alicent ruled.

“I said that I don’t want to go,” Aegon repeated.

Alicent glared at him. She swiftly strode across the room and slapped him across the cheek. It wasn’t hard enough to leave a bruise, but it would sting, both physically and his pride.

“I said that we are going,” Alicent said through gritted teeth. “You will obey me, Aegon.”

His dark-blue eyes glared at her for but a moment, but he slowly lowered them. “Fine.”

“Good,” Alicent said. “Go get your sister and brothers. We must be ready by night.”

Aegon slid from his seat and trudged off, stomping his feet even though it was unseemly for a prince.

“Do not be upset, Your Grace,” one of her Ladies said. “The Prince is but a child and will grow to be more obedient.”

“He needs to take his role more seriously,” Alicent snapped. “Prepare one of my favorite dresses, I must look perfect tonight.”

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