#Azores Pride | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

balbigalum · 1 year

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I absolutely loved the modern aemond HC! There are not enough modern stories out there and you totally rocked it!

So could you maybe do a modern one with aemond where his Family is just as fucked up as it is in the show. Aegon is constantly teasing him about him not having a girl and one day he meets this lovely girl he thinks he is not worthy of and he just keeps her to himself until one day his family shows up in front of his apartment because he spends so much time with her that he forgets to stay in contact with his family?

(part one)

You worked on the essay often, and when it was finally done you two kept meeting up at the library to study, share notes and just hang out with each other. You learned that he was the youngest of his siblings and how big his family was, you had to admit his family tree was rather confusing but he’d still explain it to you any time you asked. He didn't talk much about his family beyond that point and you didn’t want to intrude on his personal matters, so for his own sake you let your curiosity settle down.

The first time he had come into your apartment it was a mere accident, it had been raining the whole day and the sky was shaded grey, it was honestly a depressing sight. You two had arranged to meet up in the library to go over your notes, he had missed a couple of classes because of his royal duty and you were more than happy to help him out where you could. But then, on your way from the main building to the library you had been caught under the heavy rain, you cursed yourself for not taking an umbrella with you,you were soaked and almost shivering by the time you made it to the library. You wanted to just go to the bathroom, get yourself sorted out and hope for the best but Aemond had insisted on driving you home.

“Just… send me the notes when you can, it’s not a big deal.” He assured you, he sounded a little distressed, and you chewed the inside of your cheek, you didn’t want to bother him but you truly couldn’t bear the idea of walking the few blocks it took to get home under the rain, so you agreed. You could tell his car was expensive, you had no idea what the brand was but its interior seemed to be made out of leather, you weren’t sure if you could sit in it while your clothes were still damp. Aemond brushed your worries off and told you it didn’t matter, you wanted to believe him but still felt uncomfortable the whole ride, thankfully it was a short one.

“This is your place?” He asked cautiously, pointing at the flower shop under where your flat resided, you weren’t sure if he was making a joke. Aemond's humor was particular, the kind of humor that’s actually funny once you get it, but it takes time to learn how to read it. He gave you a small shy smile, the one where his lips curled the way that made your heart flutter. You let the silence grow between you for a second, yes, it was your place, but you didn’t want to part just yet.

“Do you– You wanna come upstairs?” You asked, shifting your eyes to your rings and playing with them to ease your nerves. “Just five minutes, I get dry and give you the notes.” You bargained.

“Of course,” He said. “I’d love to.”

He had stayed for more than just five minutes, you changed your clothes into something warmer and offered him some coffee, at the end you two had read the notes and ended up on the couch, mindlessly watching tv. You caught him observing your flat a couple of times, your book collection and the painting that hung behind the television.

“It’s an interpretation of the myth of Azor Ahai,” You explained softly. “I got it at a thrift store, I’m not sure who the artist is but something about Nissa Nissa’s expression made me buy it.” It was true, in most depictions of the story of Azor Ahai, Nissa Nissa always looked… eager to be sacrificed, to be killed by her love, not in this one, here she had melancholy written all over her face and so did Azor Ahai. He wasn’t shown as a sacred hero, filled with duty and pride in killing the woman he loved for the greater good, instead, he looked dreadful and afraid. It was a dark painting, but you liked it as it was. Aemond hummed at your explanation, a sign he was listening.

“I think it’s beautiful.” He had commented.

After that you had moved your meetings from the library to your house. You two spent a lot of time together there, slowly he had moved some of his clothes into your house, finding his jackets and shoes all over the place– His car almost permanently parked at your door. He’d often leave the room to answer his calls, and when he came back his whole demeanor would be changed, darker, more serious. You never asked what it was about, but you could easily guess it was about his family. Maybe some duty he had to attend, maybe some arrangement he didn’t like.

It was one of those evenings when Aemond was over at your flat, you two were sitting across from each other preparing for the upcoming final. Your eyes were tired and your head was aching at this point.

“Oktion hen naenie” He said, you had been reading a text that made a deliberate use of valyrian terms, none which were translated, the author would simply write them in italics and use them as concepts without making the smallest effort on explaining them. “It means ‘city of many’, he uses it to refer to a society with democracy… But this is old times democracy, the common people didn’t get to vote.” He said, his eyes focused on his book.

“So ‘city of many’ but only few voted.” You said.

“Exactly.” He replied. “But they truly thought that was what democracy was supposed to be like, there wasn’t any malicious intent behind it… They thought, since they were chosen by R’hollor, they knew better than the rest.” He shrugged his shoulders, you wondered how talks of democracy and ruling made him feel as a royal, you didn’t ask.

“Oktion hen nanny.” You tried to repeat, trying to get it right. He uttered a small hum, clarifying that your pronunciation wasn’t all the way there.

“Oktion hen naenie.” He said again, the words rolling out his tongue perfectly.

“Oktion– Ugh…” You threw your head back. “I’m not gonna get it.” You said giving up.

“Here,” He said, moving his chair closer to yours so he could be at a touch’s distance. He dragged two long fingers along your jaw, starting right under your ear and finishing on your chin. “Imagine the sound is coming all the way from up here,” He repeated the motion from your ear to your chin. “To here.” You expected him to be cold but he wasn’t, there was heat emanating from his fingertips.

“Oktion hen nanny.” You said again, this time lower, he was so close to you you didn’t need to raise your voice. His fingers stayed on your jaw the whole time, he shook his head disapproving. “Again.” He said. It felt like he was closer now, he was staring at your mouth, trying to catch the mistake.

“Oktion hen naennie.” You muttered, the air felt tense around you both, he was so close you could see every little detail on his face, every little blue fleck in his lilac eye. “That's it.” He said, his hand finding its way from your jaw to the back of your head, guiding you to press your lips together.

It felt suffocating how much you were surrounded by him, just him, you found his shoulders to support yourself better, you could feel him, broad and muscular, under his clothes. That heat that you first felt coming from his fingers was emanating from all of him, you suddenly felt cold, craving his warmth, you did not want to let go.

He kept kissing you, a hand on your waist, pulling you closer from the awkward position you both were sitting on the chairs in the living room of your flat. Your mind was rushing, a hundred thoughts, of him, of the forgotten notes on the table, of everything. And then his phone began ringing again, you tried pulling back but he kept you in your place, mumbling against your lips.

“Let it ring.” He said, not bothering to open his eyes. He stood up, draggin you up with him, the sudden move made you giggle in his mouth, you could feel him smiling too. “Come here.” He said, dropping you both on the couch, you couldn’t help but to laugh a little more. You finally pulled apart, staring at each other, he brushed the hair out of your face, his other hand lazily drawing little circles and patterns on your leg. “I promise we can finish revising later, okay?” He said, referring to the forgotten books on the table. You nodded, you found his interest on the exam a little endearing.

You stayed comfortably like that, laying together on the couch, kissing every once in a while, he was petting your hair and coaxing you to get comfortable half on top of him. His phone rang a few more times, he didn’t pay attention to any of it. You found yourself feeling soothed by his chest rising up and down, sleep slowly creeping onto you.

You were awoken by Aemond shifting gently under you, he was trying to not wake you up, your mind still in that comfortable limbo between reality and dream. You heard the front door slammed shut and you fully woke up. You could see the sky dark on the big balcony window, you wondered how late it was. Aemond was gone, he was the one shutting the door, you could hear some voices coming from the window. Brushing the sleep off of your eyes you got closer to it.

From the window you could see a black SUV parked on your street, it looked expensive and important. Standing in front of it there was a guy, probably around your age, he was wearing a hoodie too big for himself and even from your spot in the window you could tell he had heavy dark circles around his eyes, next to him a bigger man, he was dressed all in black, he reminded you of a military man. Aemond stood in front of them, from this angle you could appreciate his height and how he towered in front of the smaller guy in the hoodie.

Curiosity got to you and you opened the window letting yourself peer from the balcony, you tried to not be seen.

“How did you know where I was?” Aemond demanded, he didn’t sound happy about it.

“It wasn’t that hard, you know?” The shorter guy replied mockingly, under his hood you could see some light hair peeking out, was him a Targaryen? “Cole, tell him that Mother is worried sick for him and all that.” He told the man in the black suit, so they were brothers, it had to be Aegon. Aemond had told you about his older brother, the only comment that he provided you was that he had a tendency to end up on the tabloids for all the wrong reasons.

“I’ve called Mother enough times, she knows where I am and what I’m doing.” Aemond replied coldly.

“Well, she doesn’t buy it anymore. Maybe the first couple of weeks but you haven’t been home for four days according to the guards.” Aegon replied as a matter of fact.

“What do you know?” Aemond said, his tone was shifting into anger even though he kept his demeanor calm. “You’re barely at the house, do I have to remind you how you disappeared for a week just two months ago?” You could see Aegon rolling his eyes and ignoring his brother’s accusations.

“Oh so that’s it.” Aegon said, he was looking in your direction now, he must have catched a glimpse of you while trying to avoid Aemond’s demanding eye. “That’s why you’re not coming home? Telling Mother you have an important project you’re working on? Is that your project?” All three men were looking at you now, you felt the color drain from your face. Shit. You felt petrified. Aegon shoved Cole with his elbow, trying to get his attention.

“Look at that Cole, Aemond finally got a whore for himself.” Your heart dropped, you felt sick. Aemond grabbed Aegon by the arm harshly.

“Don’t fucking speak.” He told him, shoving him against the car.

“Tell me, Aemond, is she addicted to Poppy Milk? Is that how you got her? You got her hooked?” He was laughing, Aegon thought this was funny, you finally snapped out of it and got inside on shaky legs. You shutted the balcony door closed and drew the curtains together, Gods you wanted to disappear. What were you supposed to do? Was Aemond angry at you? Should you have stayed inside?

You were in the kitchen clinging to a glass of water, you were sure you had to be shaking at this point, when you heard a knock on the front door. You didn’t move, you wanted to pretend you didn’t hear it, you stood there suspended in silence. And then another knock. You approached the door, your legs felt weak, to your own relief it was only Aemond, for a second you feared that maybe all three men were on the other side of the door, but it was just him.

“I’m sorry.” He said before you could say or ask anything. “I’m really sorry, I– I didn’t expect them to show up here… The university is one thing but your house…” He let the words hang in the air. You weren’t sure what to say. “He called me a whore.” You whispered. Was that how Aemond saw you? A random girl he could kill time with? “No, no– I know, I’m sorry… Aegon is–” He couldn’t meet your eye. “He is an idiot, you’re not a whore, I would never… dare to say that.” You grabbed his hand, you wanted him to look at you, to be honest.

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked.

“No, never… I was a fool, thinking I could deceive my Mother. I told her I was staying overtime at school, working on something, when truly I was here.” You felt something in his words, was it shame?

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Was he embarrassed of you? Of being seen near you? Even as a friend? Classmates?

“I didn’t want any of them to know, I didn’t want them running a background check on you or having you followed… Sorry, I think I made it worse, I just– I’ve never,” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “Will you forgive me?” He asked, his eye was full of sorrow, it felt like a kick to your stomach, he suddenly looked so small. You pulled him closer this time, giving him a hug, he hugged you back pouring himself in it.

You weren’t sure what this meant for you. Were you allowed to keep meeting with Aemond? To have him in your house? To kiss him? You both stayed there, holding each other unable to calm each other down but unable to let go.

(part three)

#aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #anon #blurb

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balladofthewhitehorse · 2 months

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❝ hey, quick question. how petty am i allowed to be? ❞ for engport!!

Set during: 1592, when the English stole a large Portugese galleon off the coast of the Azores.

Portugal’s nose wrinkled with derision, a surge of envy that overwhelmed him (it cast itself as a wave, sickly green as it swept through him - the taste of salt and iron on his tongue) as he stormed down the corridor, hands balled into fists. Rage quivered through Portugal’s body, a tension that coiled as tight as a spring - fit to snap, to loosen and let whatever rotten, heavy emotion that sat square in rib-cage fly. It wasn’t entirely alien to Portugal, that sense of possession as familiar as the hilt of his own sword. And yet, Portugal knew he was being ridiculous (sense hadn’t completely escaped him, for that he was thankful).

Rows upon rows of portraits drifted past him, landscapes hung up on the walls in dreamy watercolours as he moved at a clipped pace - eyes staring ever forward. ‘’Fucking-’’ He felt the word fumble on his tongue, a crumb lodged in the back of his throat as Portugal choked on his frustration, cheeks ruddy with temper as he shouldered past an unwitting servant, storming into his office for solace.

‘’-Fucking Netherlands.’’ It was stupid. It was stupid. Portugal had seen it happen before, knew the cut-throatness that governed them all Portugal perhaps was only wounded that he had not seen this coming before). ‘’Of all the people in the World-!’’ A beautiful galleon had been taken - cracked open like an egg, and the English were hungry for its contents, hungry for more as they had always been (the dog that England was, he was prowling for scraps at the dinner table again - and Portugal perhaps once would have been content to share, but now he only felt a cracking, crackling anger in his intestines).

‘’-I can’t believe it-’’ Fingers combed through his hair, untugged by irritation - wounded pride tugging at the seams of his being, only stoking Portugal’s that low-burning hearth that was Portugal’s vindictiveness.

When the door clicked open, Portugal snapped to his full height (and only came up to England’s chest all the same - but the vicious look in his eyes warned England to take a step back, and step back the man did). ‘’What have you got to say for yourself?’’ Hissed Portugal, lips curled with derision as he skirted around the edge of his desk, finger trailing along the edges of an unfolded map - before quickly, quietly folding it. England did not deserve the luxury of his plans, and Portugal certainly did not want to share those treasured trails with the man that stood before him like some sort of dumb animal. ‘’Netherlands. Really, I would expect better from you.’’ He snorted harshly, his voice a tumble of sea-spray and froth that hissed between the jagged rocks of his coastline.

I would expect better of myself, really.

‘’You think that you’ll….what, achieve greatness without me?’’ A bluff, a sailor swept by the sea whose wrath he had forgotten - Icarusian hubris, Portugal had allowed himself to climb high, up, up and up towards the Sun, that halo of Doradian gold that he’d been searching for. Portugal had allowed himself to forget. Dogs were scavengers, he reminded himself - and there was no greater dog than the man that stood before him, broad and bulky frame filling out the doorway. Anger flared in England’s eyes, and Portugal rose with a sneer. ‘’What is it?’’ ‘’You’re being unreasonable.’’ Snarled England, lips curled. ‘’It’s just-’’

Just. Portugal grabbed England’s jerkin, yanking the man forwards to growl in his face. His eyes flashed like a red sky in the morning (a sailor’s warning - painting the seas in carmine) and Portugal twisted the fine fabric beneath his clenched fingers. ‘’You thought you’d stab me in the back and what-?’’ He rambled, scoffing. ‘’-Twist the knife a little further, England?’’

The Dutch prowled the oceans ( His oceans, Portugal thought bitterly) and now his old friend was grappling for a foothold, stepping on his back, his shoulders to reach for the stars that charted his course. ‘’You stole from me. You stole my Gods-damned ship, and you think you can come crawling back with-’’ Portugal scoffed, rolling his eyes. ‘’-platitudes? Kiss my ass!’’

‘’Don’t be a child.’’ Grumbled England, hands balling into fists. His heart pounded in his chest, as a migraine crept on (as stealthy as a sea fog, creeping over the horizon - snaking through the rigging, until all England could see was the hazy shape of Portugal before him). ‘’It was…business. Simple as that.’’ His lips pulled into a taut line, as England found himself run aground on the taste of his own hypocrisy, a logical fallacy that sent his thoughts into a tailspin. ‘’You’d do the same. In my shoes.’’ England insisted, the words fumbling on his tongue like fishing boats on tempestuous waves - this conversation was becoming stormier than England could handle. ‘’Don’t be petty, Portugal. Please.’’ He hissed, as he slowly shuffled back towards the door frame, his heart a war drum in his ears as Portugal stared.

Portugal stared with an icy-cold heat. He didn’t speak for a long time, eyes narrowed in a heart-achingly familiar (almost comforting, in some respects) way to England. Countless battles raged before Portugal, and as the battlefield reached its fever-pitch, so too did Portugal cast his mind to endless games of cards, of stupid arguments that England got to when drunk and roaming the labrinyth of his cities. ‘’Hey, quick question-’’ He scoffed, teeth bared as England’s gaze dared flash hope (hope - it was quickly scuttled, and Portugal found himself resenting that dull ache in his heart; He had hope in England once). ‘’-How petty am I allowed to be?’’ Oh God, Portugal wanted to do something fucked up to this man, something cutting, something sharp. ‘’Because I swear to God, I’ll fucking find something to do to you.’’

England blinked, but remained unmoved - save for the anxious flitter in his eyes. ‘’W-what?’’ ‘’Get the fuck out of my office. Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out of my Seas.’’

He opened his mouth as if to argue, England’s mouth agape as he hovered with a simmering tension. The room felt fit to explode in a plume of flame, England’s heart thudding long and heavy in his chest as he stared Portugal down. ‘’...Fine.’’ He grunted, clearing his throat. ‘’Only because it’s you.’’ England sniffed, slowly turning on his heels and skulking down the hallway. Portugal stood, trembling in a brand of sunlight. Caught betwixt the sea and the sun, the man watched as England slunk slowly below the horizon - and was lost to him forever. He wouldn’t let himself be taken in again. Portugal swallowed a lump in his throat, and returned to his maps.

#hws england #hws portugal #engport #porteng

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chromiumagellanic06 · 28 days

Text

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 13: Brilliant

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera has a vision. Unrealistic erotica. An uncomfortable family breakfast.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, incest, dom/sub dynamics (very minor?), cunnilingus, creampie,

Long, flowing golden hair, tossing in the wind, in the darkness, in the light. Twin braids, that crept from a brow and behind. A face most carefully made, with the right shades, and the correct lights, with a long nose and a beauty all in all, with the most splendid expressions ever seen. Curls and spins and winds rolled down her shoulders, below a crested necklace of pure gold.

Her chin was held high, her eyes narrowed gracefully, her lips curved in a smirk only described as superior, stained with wine.

Pride.

Then, lower, and lower, and she wore satins and silks of the finest merchants. There was red, and gold, and a southern-styled gown, with sinking sleeves and bared shoulders, and flurries of curves and height to it all. There was gold, jewels, and intricacy in her.

Wealth.

A crown, of iron and gold, crested with blood, adorned with ash and rubies, winding through the hair of dark suns. The woman was dressed in red, with a crown of gold. Banners hung behind her—banners of velvet, with an adorned lion roaring through.

Regal.

“Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?” A Dornish accent, aged and experienced, mocking and untethered. A Martell's voice.

Lannister.

House Lannister.

Golden lions.

The Queen?

No.

House Lannister. Golden Lions. The Usurper Queen.

Usurper. A Usurper King?

A running stag, running through fires and despairs, and blood and grime and fallen worlds. Ours is the fury.

Baratheon. Lord of Storm’s End. Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The Usurper King. The Sack of King’s Landing. A Targaryen Bastard.

A child’s cries, screeches, a woman’s wails, a towering mountain, and the ringing of steel blades being drawn, and silence.

The Fall of the Dragon. The End of their reign, destroyed by their own blood.

No.

The Dragon does not answer the Lion. The Dragon does not answer the Stag.

The Dragon burns them all alike.

Fire. The screech of a Dragon, the flapping of wings, great, dark, horrendous wings. One, two, three—obsidian and red, green and bronze, gold and cream. There shall be flames. There shall be blood. There shall be the age of dragons, returned, with a great, wakening light.

Dracarys.

Red stone, red foundations, and flags of red and gold and lions, all burned, and all fell.

There.

The Conqueror—silver hair, braids, and braids, and braids, and the neighing of a thousand horses, and the singular stepping of ten thousand marching soldiers, and on, and on.

There.

The Age of the Dragon.

Flags the colour of ash, with luminescent crests of blood-red dragons, being drawn over the ruins of the palace that once was. A throne made of swords, melted and moulded to never grant any sort of comfort, any sort of support. A King must never sit easy. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Dragon Queen sat atop it with a grace unseen, and a state of completion unknown. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Targaryen Conqueror sat atop the Iron Throne as though she was borne to do it. Indeed, she was. She was the blood of the dragon, and all knelt before her—wolves, eagles, stags, and lions, and even the very sun, the rose, and all that mattered. Even darkness, even death, ever devastation knelt before the conqueror.

Darkness knelt before the Conqueror.

No.

Darkness knelt before Azor Ahai, the forsaken warrior who tempered his own will in the blood and death of his lover. The warrior who ended the long night, the darkest winter, the coldest eternity.

The Conqueror was Azor Ahai.

Naera opened her eyes with a start.

She saw light, white and yellow and green, and a sky the colour of the sea. It was boundless, rolling on, and on, and on, forever, and then some more, behind the edges of the grassy hills. Grass, green and fresh and fragrant, rolled for miles, and acres in every direction, beneath the boundless skies.

Naera sat in a dress the colour of clouds, one that was loose and light. She was staring up at the skies, blue, blue, and blue, and her eyes made funny images of small translucent circles running through and past the skies. A hand reached forth, curled a strand of her silver hair and brushed it away.

Daemon sat behind her, holding her, kissing her, breathing her. His hands were wrapped solidly around her waist, his head carefully placed on her shoulder, and every breath of his taking send shivers down her spine.

“Are you awake yet?” He seemed to ask, hands drawling up, and down her front, her stomach, her breasts. Naera felt lethargic, as though someone had sedated her, tired her, and lazed her away.

"Hmm?” And she let him venture lower with his hands, crawling down to the hem of her dress and slowly, tantalizingly slow, dragging it up to her knees. His hands settled on her thighs, running small circles on her skin that made her throw back her head and sigh. One of his heavy palms crept back up, catching hold of her breast.

“You haven’t answered my question, Naera,” and through his dulcet voice, she felt heat, burning and boiling and toiling, build up from her core. Daemon pressed a kiss to her neck, and his hands found her cunt. Naera moaned, whimpered, really, and he drank it away as though it was his elixir. He set a single finger within her, revelling at how wet she was already, and breathed against her neck, again, in a way that made her wish to jump out of her skin and devour him all the same.

“What question?” And the sun burned warm along her face, her skin, her bones, but Daemon’s touch felt warmer, hotter and more refined than the sun. She heard him chuckle, a low, rumbling sound that travelled down her chest in waves.

“Are you awake?” She felt warm, warmer, and warmest, and Daemon kept on his actions. He curled one, or two fingers within her, circling her clit with his thumb, arduously slow, but it had all the same impact. Naera still thundered out a wheeze and a moan, but her eyes felt heavier and heavier. He repeated his words, the tune only adding to her ecstasy. He really did have a brilliant voice.

Wait.

“What d’you mean awake?” Naera felt cold, cold sheets, cold blankets, cold air, all over her, all around her. She sat up, fighting through the pain and heaviness in her limbs, to witness the light and airiness of chambers which were very certainly not hers. The sheets weren’t hers, there weren’t enough papers for these to be her quarters at all, and it was—oh, Daemon sat next to her, gazing at her with impertinence. Oh, and Naera cursed her first thought as having been carnal. His hair glowed in the morning light, and his eyes, and his—He had a brilliant voice, among many other brilliant things.

“There you go,” and his voice made her core warm up all over again, “You’re awake.” Daemon leaned forward, past the mess of silver hair, to press a kiss on her cheek, and her lips. Mistake, for the simple action made her clutch onto his neck, hot, heavy and reflexive, with a soul-crushing kiss. He did not refuse, of course—how could he refuse his dear niece? –and held her shoulders, driving her back onto the mattress. “Awake and eager,” he taunted against her lips, hands running across her bare body with blistering passion.

Naera wanted to taunt back, something along the lines of can’t say I’m the only one eager, or can you blame me? Yet, the words did not come that easily when her mind felt dazed with lust. Lust, for Daemon Targaryen. How in the world had it gotten here?

Daemon held her hands away from her, pinning them above her head, and his eyes spoke to hers his desires, his urges, all boiled down to promises. One day, I will bind your wrists and take you, and Naera cursed the shudder in her breath at his silent oath.

“Stay still for me.” His words had warning, and a deep, gruesome undertone to his words that made her want to obey, just this once. She let her arms go slack, hands grasped tight somewhere above her head, and she blared silent for his actions. She watched him, the mischief leaking out of his eyes, a haunted sort of eagerness in the lines on his forehead, the smile on his lips, the darkness of his eyes. Brilliant, he was, in more ways than she could count.

Daemon leaned close down, kissing her once again, this time soft, slow and temperate, and his hands dragged lower, and lower, and lower, nose dragging past the curve of her neck, and down, and down to the rise and fall of her breasts. He spared a kiss there but did not linger, and the thrill, the waves, the boil of anticipation in her heart did nothing to assuage her of the heat she felt.

Finally, his hands reached her thighs, pulling them apart, and he settled between them as he had the night before, though this time there was more comfort in his stature—the ability to leer, linger and lie in wait. God, she would both hate and love this—she would both hate and love him.

“Ah,” his grin made her cower, for no reasons defined, “Looks as though my Visenya has a lot of urges in her sleep,” and she felt the need to clarify, to defend herself, to tell him that it was the first time—the only time, and it had been after their night. Yet, what was the point? Somewhere in her mind, lingering, crawling and festering was the knowledge that it would not be the last time she dreamt that way of him.

Daemon ran a finger down her folds, through the slick wetness of hers, and she moaned breathily. He brought his finger up, and her legs twitched and shook, something of a spasm overtaking them.

“Careful, now,” and his warning resonated in her mind. Ah.

He repeated his actions, up, down, and up again, and she held her breath to keep herself from moving. Stay still, and he won’t deny you your pleasure. Daemon let his tongue run up her soaked cunt, muttering another comment about its taste which she could hardly register over the urge to drag his head in. Every careful breath of his collided with her clit in a way not at all unpleasurable, and she strained at the control.

“Good girl,” he praised her, cloyingly sweet, sickening, sugaring and brilliant. Daemon crept his tongue into her cunt, and a finger, and another, and Naera couldn’t help the shake of her hips to meet him in his way. He did not stop, however, as she had dreaded for so long, and only held her thighs with a stronger grace, and it went, his tongue, curling, winding and drinking her in. Naera broke away a hand, brushing it through his hair, revelling in its feel, and she tugged him closer, and closer to where she needed him.

Then, as a match stick does go out, as do a thousand candles in the wind, blowing, cooling, while darkness settled over it all, Daemon retreated, his eyes finding her pleading gaze, and Naera knew that she was at fault. Oh, but is it fault, if it felt as grand?

Daemon left her thighs, her aches and her needs, and he crept higher, taking her hands and holding them with a crushing grasp above her head. He stopped at her face, littering kisses everywhere but her lips, and she knew him—she knew his urges, his wants, his needs, to humiliate, to dominate, to make her give in—and she did not hate it at all.

“I am sorry,” Naera whispered, laying slack for his measure, for his leisure, for his pleasure, and he did not miss the glint of acceptance in her eyes.

“Are you, now?” He held her up, dragging, lingering and smirking, “Good girls don’t make such mistakes, dearest Naera,” and she shivered at his words. Daemon flipped her onto her stomach, running her hands down the smooth expanses of her back, acres and acres of ivory, scarred and healed and faded, and his. He heard her gasping breaths beneath, saw the pooling of slick by her cunt, and oh, she was perfection.

Daemon pulled up her knees, kneeling behind her leaking cunt, and watched, and watched, as she combated the urge to touch herself. He’d made her do it, one day, but not today. Or, not now, at least. He freed his cock, fully aching from the sight, and spread a hand around her ass. One day, but not today. There would be time—there would be endless time for their endeavours. Not today.

“Well,” he ran his hands up her back, through the smooth, saturnine texture of her skin, above the scars and wounds long healed and done, to her locks of dry, wispy silver hair that lay scattered around her neck. He caught hold of a bunch, wound his fingers around the locks slowly, carefully, lovingly, and tugged at it, harsh, painful and stiff.

Naera cursed the sensations, the hastening fairy-like tingles which ran through her back, down her body, through her cunt, at the endowment of pain and ache. She felt him lean close to her neck, whispering words she couldn’t decipher, though she trusted them to be nothing short of salacious.

He leaned back up, playing with her folds, slow, quiet and torturous, but oh, it was brilliant. He was brilliant. With no warnings, no indication and certainly no mercy, Daemon thrust in his cock, in, in, until he had fit himself into her heat by no means other than brute force.

Naera buried her face in the sheets, eyes closed, grunting at the stretch, at the pain, at the delight. She must’ve heard him sing a praise or two or three, about how tight she was, or how well she took him in, but they went unheard, his words went unconceived, but the rumble and thrum of his voice along her body send her reeling for more.

Daemon held her hips with bruising force, as though she did not already have bruises all over, and pulled out nearly all the way, before slamming into her with a grasping panic. Naera clustered as much of the sheets as she could, body writhing in pain, in pleasure, and some cursed approximation of their sum and Daemon went on, again, and again, and again, and Naera cried out a moan.

“Now, was that so hard?” Daemon mocked with hurried breaths, “Was is hard to just stay still for your lord husband?” But oh, she liked this more, he knew. He knew her, and her needs, and her attitude—she wanted roughness out of him, power, brutality, even, though not always—he’d figure her out eventually.

Naera whined out a cry, a moan, a whimper, at the feeling of his cock stretching her walls farther than before, grazing her womb, leaving her weak, wanting and wary for the next thrust. Daemon tugged at her hair again, harsher this time, and his movements lost rhythm as he groaned, leaning on her back. Naera whined when he tugged at her again, and there was a thrust particularly powerful, one that made her see stars.

He felt her tighten around him, close to her end, and he told her, “There you go, come for me, my—” and she took his words to heed, clenching around him in ways unfelt, gasping, wheezing, whining and moaning, mind blurred, but his name made it through. Daemon.

Hearing her chant his name in ecstasy, he followed suit, "My lovely princess," and he resisted the urge to call her his whore, "take my seed, yes? Take your kepa's seed, and we can begin our brood," and Naera did not know why she hissed out a heavy moan at the thought of being round, and full of child—full of him. Giving her a few powerful thrusts, Daemon held her hips tight against him, burying himself as far within her as he could. He filled her with himself, thick, hot, heavy seed filling her womb, holding her warmth, and Naera breathed in the sensation with a shadowing glee.

Naera’s knees collapsed, and she was thankful that he retained enough sense to collapse beside her, and not over her. Her lungs felt deflated, and she flipped onto her back, heart hammering in her chest, searching for a clean breath. She felt his seed ooze out of her in drips and streams, and her cunt clenched around the remnants without her will. She stuttered out a moan, and a gasp, at the tip-tip-trickling of it out of her.

Oh.

Daemon pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, warm and sweaty. He looked over her rising and falling chest, her full and rounded breasts, and her neck, red and purple with marks of his giving, but he’d do it all over again. He'd fill her with himself a thousand times if need be, until she was rounded with his kin, oh, until she was indisputably his.

“Morning, your grace,” Naera greeted her father, as she took a seat beside him. He looked weaker than the previous night, heavier, and less humane. His maesters had certainly failed again. She wondered if she should offer help.

“Ah, daughter,” but he smiled all the same when he saw her, and nothing mattered past that. He also did not mention anything past that, possibly to avert her from calling her by the name good-brother, or perhaps to avert himself from thinking about whatever surely happened following the feast the previous night. Oh, he did not want to think, but the remnants of red along her neck, behind her silver hair, told him enough.

He also learned far too much about their relations, as Daemon took a seat beside her—Laenor’s seat, by all means, but the Velaryon was too occupied by his children to care much. He leaned close to her, lips moving in near-silent whispers, tongue lashing in ways resembling their mother tongue, and no one could miss the way Naera blushed.

“Morning, good-father,” Daemon greeted also, much to his brother’s dismay. Laenor, on the other hand, gutted out half a laugh before catching himself. Viserys did not spare his good son a glare. Naera pressed her lips into a very thin line, chanting something along the lines of don’t, don’t, don’t, in her mind.

Thankfully, the towers do know very well how all joy can be destroyed. “When shall you be departing for Dragonstone, princess?” Alicent Hightower asked, but the glimmer in her eyes could easily be taken for hope, expectation and aspiration. She wanted them out of her way.

Naera smiled, “I believe we shall remain in King’s Landing for a while longer, yes?” We need to…you know. Daemon knew. The downfall of the Hightowers, but with a better plan. He’d take it more seriously this time. He had what he needed now.

“Yes,” he agreed absently, “We have much to do in the Capital.” Though, his words raised more questions than answers. Aemond looked the most perturbed, but the way his single eye followed Daemon’s words and actions could settle for some semblance of aspiration. The boy wanted to be the mirror image of his uncle—strong, unbothered, unpredictable and dangerous.

Naera sensed his predicament—questions were dangerous things, so she added, “I’ve gathered up far too many papers and correspondence. It shall take quite some time to go through it all.” Her manuscripts, her journals, her letters and Wisestone. It would be a tempestuous time, indeed.

“Shall I allot you a squire, to help you through?” There was no malice in the Green Queen’s words, but Naera couldn’t settle with a squire.

“Not unless you can find me one adept with Valyrian,” and she knew that that’d stump her also. Not many in Westeros were familiar with the language at all.

“And her horrid penmanship,” Daemon added, and though his words were playful, they weren’t wrong. Naera glanced at him, ready to mock something of his, but how could she? Her writing wasn’t the finest in the seven kingdoms, after all.

“Perhaps Grand Maester Mellos, then,” and the thought of the old, wrinkly mediator of the Small Council reading through her writings made Naera frown. She refused.

“I shall see to it myself, your grace,” and that needed to be the end of it. She must have had two score letters piled up, and she needed to send her scripts to the Citadel for storage also. It would be arduous and long, but it was nothing new.

“Nonsense,” her father croaked, drinking a cup full of cold water to revise his voice, “Aemond can do it.” Aemond can do it, and Alicent’s face darkened. Aemond himself looked apprehensive, ready to go prattling on about how he’s a prince, not a common knight’s squire, but the panic in his eyes as all at the table considered the proposal prevented him from speaking. “He’s a smart boy, he’ll learn something from you,” and that was not how anyone saw it at all. He was a boy, a young prince, not a pondering young man about to serve a princess.

“I do not think that would be appropriate,” Naera dismissed it already, not missing the way Aemond’s single eye calmed at her words. She’d be fine on her own—there was much to be done. Though, the memories of how Dornish princes are so often sent by their parents to serve the lower houses as a manner of ageing and learning did flicker past. The world was not Dorne, however, much to her regret.

“I’ll help you,” Daemon decided in the spirit of compromise.

“You will do not such thing, my Prince.” Naera stated with a smile. She’d never get anything done with Daemon breathing down her neck, making her burn with desire. There, another round of far too many questions due to her words, and she clarified, “It’ll drive you insane, kepus, it’s dreary work,” not fit for a soldier such as you.

He seemed to laugh, all in those pale lilac eyes that never seemed to leave her movements, “Is that a challenge?” He wanted to play a duel, not one of the swords, but one of the wills, but he had an advantage—he always had an advantage when it came to her, it seemed.

“Do you want it to be?” Naera did not attempt to stop the smile that overtook her—teasing, fighting, winning, and losing all the same.

“It’s settled, then,” he had grasped an early victory, “I shall be your squire, princess.”

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

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reginarubie · 2 years

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Worldbuilding of «Empress of the World», a guide, part II, the Empire of Old Valyria, part I — history and legend

A short (not so much) guide to the world of Empress of the World my Jonsa fan fiction AU in which Valyria never fell, and Jaehaerys is its emperor and Sansa finds her way to him as his concubine at first and wife/empress later and together they face a new challenges as their relationship mashes together cultures so different from each other; their relationship is inspired by many real life historical couples:

Octavian Augustus and his wife Livia

Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville

Henry VII and Elizabeth of York

Suleyman and Hürrem Sultan

Ahmed and Kösem Sultan

Now, without further ado, let's get into the world building.

[part I —› Westeros]

THE WORLD OF «EMPRESS OF THE WORLD»

People around the world believe the world to be flat — though in Yi’Ti as well as in the Isles of the Jade Sea they believe the world to be round — the story we read is focused on the western and the eastern continent, though the most eastern of countries are often named and part of the plot they are not the focus of this story (until now).

THE EMPIRE OF VALYRIA OF OLD

LEGEND AND HISTORY

The empire of Valyria of Old is the mightiest, most powerful, less isolational empire in the known world (the Golden Empire of Yi'Ti is possibly larger, but less known). Legend wants it that Azor Ahai fled from his old, powerful but falling city now forgotten with few companions and that he voyaged toward west bringing with him his Gods and his stories, but his voyage was long and exhausting and he voyaged in the darkness in the black peninsula of Valyria for years until all of hi companions had fallen and his Gods long forgotten as well, he left what remained of his people behind and begun the exploration. Azor Ahai found a lava river and followed it and its warmth, finding a valley nestled between smoking mountains filled with livestock. Then he started to ascension of the smoking, slumbering mountain alone and barefoot, the soles of his feet burning and the flesh of his hands blistering, praying to the forgotten Gods that they gave him strength.

The blood oozing from his burned body as he laid almost dying he made the last mile strengthening his resolve with words of his lost homeland and his ancient Gods took pity and pride on him and thus he reached the inside of the flaming mountain, a cave warm and filled of starlit gems and stones.

There a woman made of flame nursed him back to health, burning away his illness and thus building his resistance to the flames, after he was back in health he started to explore the cave and found there, laying ready to be hatched the first dragons eggs.

He nurtured them and called forth from them the first dragons, when the dragon was big enough to spout fire he used that fire to create from the iron of a falling star a magnificent blade, but that was not enough and thus he had settled near the fourteen flames and when the time had come and his blade had broken against the shadow he had forged one anew in the fire of his wife’s soul and he had banished the shadow from all lands.

He then had cremated his wife’s corpse and had dispersed the ashes where he founded his city, the tomb lacked tombstone but for one inscription which said enemies of the dragon beware and tremble, this is Valyria as that had been his wife's maiden name.

Most probably the valyrians voyaging from the east found respite in Valyria a peninsula flourishing and inhabited until then and there they settled; in their explorations they might have found the dragons eggs and learned to call the dragons from within, changing from shepherds to dragonriders and their whole culture changed within it.

They founded Valyria and the first few colonies — Oros and Tyria as well as Elyria and Tolos — but soon they clashed with the, then ancient, Empire of Ghis as they moved further into their territory.

Five wars ensued between the then best known military force in the east and the small, apparently unassuming Valyrian Freehold.

FIRST GHISCARI WAR (8000 years ago, immediately after the Long Night)

The first one was fought over the ancient ghiscari colony of Velos.

The city of Ghozai, the portual-detachement of Velos, in the same island facing the Gulf of Grief, had sent for help to free themselves of the commercial taxes the Ghiscari Empire had settled on them and the Valyrians moved their dragons eastward to Ghozai, which they freed in less than a day as the city opened their door to the valyrians and bent the knee becoming the first ever colony annexed to the Freehold, the valyrians then sacrificed the tax collectors sent by the ghiscari to their old God, Syrax.

But the Ghiscari having heard of the betrayal of Ghozai sent their famed troops and legions to Velos convinced to use the city as a military camp to march war against the valyrians. It proved fruitless as the valyrians used scarcely ten dragons — loosing three dragon riders and one dragon — during the battle completely obliterating the ghiscaring legions and thus conquering the whole island under their banner.

SECOND GHISCARI WAR (around 7800 years ago)

The Kingdom of Sarnor was a collection of independent state-cities along the shores of the Shivering Sea, flourishing and independent, but too close to both potencies to be left alone and soon enough they were drawn into their conflict.

Instead of bending to the Ghiscari, the kingdom of Sarnor preferred the valyrians, who held the distinction of accepting and implementing the Sarnori gods and customs into their layered society — whilst instead the Ghiscari defied every God and custom their colonies had before them.

In this war the valyrian used one hundred dragon riders and lost thirty riders and 4 dragons. The ghiscari troops were obliterated though one of the dead was the chief general of the Freehold.

Between the second and the third ghiscari war both empires were spreading around the known world, coming in conflict more often than not.

THIRD GHISCARI WAR (around 7260 years ago)

This time point of contention were the Basilisk Isles in the Summer Sea. Both the valyrians and the ghiscari had interest in the area but the ghiscari founded their colony, Gorgai in one of the biggest of the Basilisk Isles, and the city stood for between three hundred and four hundred years before full war broke.

The Sarnori again fought beside Valyria and its might and against the ghiscari. This time though over a five hundred of dragon riders were used during the campaign, thought this time ninety dragons were lost and another forty wounded as the ghiscari had implemented into their lines the wheeled—scorpions with which they could bring down from the sky a dragon.

Still Gorgai was conquered and its name changed into Gogosso the first valyrian colony so south, facing the northern coast of Sothoryos, the southern continent.

Whilst the valyrian chief general was brought down from the sky, his second in command after the initial defeat, on foot, managed to fight his way to a wounded dragon on the battlefield and staving off the attacks from the foot soldiers of the ghiscari. He managed to slain all the foot soldiers near the dragon, free it of its chains and bond with it after having lost his own. They took flight together and together they brought down the might of Valyria over the ghiscari legions.

He was a Taemor, who later would marry and take the name of his wife, Aella Targaryen and their son, Aegon, is considered the founder of House Targaryen, which thus can trace their lineage back to the now extinct House Taemor which was one of the most ancients families of Valyria.

Between the third and the fourth ghiscari war the Free Hold of Valyria reached the peak of its republican phase, and not much later than a hundred years after the end of the third ghiscari war did the Senate reach the greatest number of senators it ever held, reaching also peak corruption. The centuries between 7030 and 6730 saw three long excruciating civil wars which started the Time of the Hundred lusters of the tyrants, in which tyrant after tyrant ruled over Valyria.

FOURTH GHISCARI WAR (around 5022 years ago)

Fought after the end of Time of the Hundred lusters when Valyria had returned to a semblance of political peace, this saw the Sarnori divided, several kings supported the valyrians while several others supported the ghiscari. This time the point of contention was the city of Zamettar the only ghiscari colony on the northern shores of Sothoryos.

The city was taken and completely destroyed and left in ruin by the valyrians and a good portion of the ghiscari troops fled the battle fight when they saw the new armors of dragon steel that the valyrians had fit over the dragon's most exposed and less defended place, their underbelly, making their wheeled-scorpions almost unusable.

FIFTH GHISCARI WAR (8044 since the funding of Valyria, SFV)

This time the valyrians headed straight to the neck as they attacked Ghis and its fortifications. Four thousands dragons — an improbable number and exaggerated — was used against the city with no intention of sacking. The valyrians were intent only in destroying the city.

The brick walls that had been standing for over four thousand years were razed to the ground, the ghiscari slain, burning the city, the streets, the temples and the townhouses in dragonflame. The fields were sowed in salt, lime and skull so that nothing could ever grow again.

In the aftermath those who were not slain were enslaved and died at the hands of their valyrian captors; the domains of Ghis were annexed to the Free Hold of Valyria and the ghiscari became part of the empire of Valyria without being graced with the citizenship.

Their temples were razed, the statues of their gods stolen and their pyramids brought down from the peak down until only bumps of the founding remained.

After having destroyed the ghiscari empire, the Free Hold of Valyria became the mightiest of the empires in Essos, though older and larger empires stood eastern still — Yi'Ti — northern — in the northern continent — and in the southern continent.

THE AGE OF THE HUNDRED LUSTERS (8080—8592 SFV)

Circa forty years since the end of the ghiscari wars, Valyria found itself unfolding on a series of civil wars and rebellions from the border regions. In time of strife and military need it was custom a tyrant was named to confront the military urgency and bring Valyria back in order. Due the peculiar situation — wars in within and without the borders — the time of charge of the tyrant passed from one year to five years.

This time, in which Valyria faced enemies from within and without its border, was characterized by the Rebellions of the Faith; in fact since learning how to tame the dragons the valyrians had grown scornful and contemptuous about the Gods and had stopped acting to avoid their ire following morals sets only by their bloodlust and ambition and believing themselves to be equal to Gods. And whilst this was a common sentiment between dragonlords, the small folk still practiced sacrifices and chants, hymn and prayers.

The old valyrian gods were laid to the side forgotten by almost anyone but the dragonlords, and a new god coming from the shadowlands of Asshai became the primary source of comfort and faith for the small folk as its priests and priestesses were capable of incredible miracles and could foresee the futures in the flames, enough to predict the coming of a dark Messiah, Azor Ahai reborn to bring back order to the world and save it from the Endless Shadow and Cold One.

Its priest and priestesses viewed with distaste the dragonlords' contempt towards the Gods and led a series of revolts, the biggest one happened during 8324 SFV, when the High Council that had taken the place of the corrupted Senate, banished Aenar Targaryen from Valyria after he tried to led a political coup against the elected tyrant before the end of his mandate as the high priest had predicted that from his line would be born the savior of Valyria.

This revolts led by the fanatics of R'hllor was a type of threat Valyria had never faced before as the threat of dragon flame used against them did nothing to dissuade the rebels, who believed that death by fire was the purest of them all.

By the end of 8339 Aenar Targaryen was invited back to Valyria and was offered a permanent seat in the High Council to appease to the demands of the rebels despite their less than noble birth as the Targaryens were neither ancient, nor the wealthiest of the Houses, thought they could claim descent from a princess that had come with Azor Ahai from the eastern crumbling empire and had become his second wife through marriage.

For five hundred years one tyrant replaced another in the primal seat of the High Council.

THE DOOM OF VALYRIA (8765 — 8779 SFV)

In 8765 the daughter of the Head of House Targaryen, lady Daenys Targaryen dreamed about a terrible fate impending on the greatest Free Hold of the world. She dreamed of clouds of red smoke raining dragonglass and of rivers of lava flooding the valleys, of hills exploding and towers of flames rising to touch the stars. Aegon Targaryen, her father, believed her and led his whole line and family to Dragonstone a smoking island across the Narrow Sea where he ordered the building of a new keep to house his line, and commanded his vassals Houses — Celtigar and Velaryon — to do the same.

He named his pregnant daughter lady of Dragonstone and left her to oversee the building of the keep as he led her brother-husband into a search of a possible way to avoid the Doom she had dreamed of. As they voyaged Aegon managed to gather the allegiance of many more Houses as Daenys governed from Dragonstone and had given birth to an infant son, whom she named as his father and her brother-husband, Gaemon.

In the first months of 8779 SFV several hills exploded in the countryside around Valyria and Oros; Aegon Targaryen had worked tirelessly to mine dragonglass and forge assemble-able dams. Of the Fourteen Flames only four did explode and sent flames into the stars and made dragonglass rain on their heads, destroying the crops; the other ten were mined by the valyrians and thanks to a series of tunnels carved in the side of mountains and the flood of lava was directed thanks to the assemble-able dams of dragonglass into rivers that destroyed what little of the crops the dragonglass rain had spared, but avoiding the worst of it. In his voyages Aegon had also learned that ashes from a smoking mountain could make the land more fertile if they planted their seeds thus he instructed the landowners to have their slaves work the land following those instructions he had learned to have the crop grow again. The rivers of lava that flow in the capitol and other cities of the peninsula are the result of the tireless work to avoid the Doom.

Aegon Targaryen who had been sent by the dragonlords to his Dragonstone as a coward, was welcomed back in Valyria as a savior and in triumph and organized incredible games to celebrate the death of his son in the successful attempt to avoid the Ninth Flame exploded.

THE RISE OF GAEMON TARGARYEN (8885 — 8898 SFV)

In the last month of 8885 since the funding of Valyria prime achor Aegon Targaryen was assassinated by his political enemies. His daughter and lady of Dragonstone — who had claimed for herself the title of princess of Valyria — hastened to reach Valyria leaving her nine and ten years old son in charge of Dragonstone.

As Aegon Targaryen's heir apparent, princess Daenys Targaryen became prime achor pro tempore, as she incarcerated those of the assassins of her father who had not managed to flee the city. After the grieving period she celebrated her father's death with magnificent games at which it's said that all small folk wore the black robes of grieving to honor the savior of Valyria.

After forty days from the death finally Aegon Targaryen's will was opened by princess Daenys and his second in command, Aurion of House Daelyon. But, instead of naming as heir in his various charges his daughter and his commander, he named to them all his nineteen years old grandson, whom he named also prince of Valyria thus making of him Daenys' heir to Dragonstone beyond the word of a woman and thus legally making him the new Head of House Targaryen.

Princess Daenys thus brokered a peace between the spurned Aurion (who had been considered the only possible candidate for heir to Aegon Targaryen since he was pluritriumphant and well known and also in the prime of his career at 34, and her son who had been considered the least probable candidate to the charges of prime achor Aegon Targaryen as he was the young and untested grandson who had spent most of his life away from Valyria; all to dispose of the enemies and assassins who had managed to flee the capitol and the death sentence for their crimes.

Together Gaemon and Aurion managed to close in on the enemies, and the troops that had been Aegon's divided between his grandson and named heir and his commander and right hand, with whom they had already served; though many recognized in young Gaemon his father, who had been Aegon's son and whose sacrifice and bravery as well as skill had saved Valyria.

Gaemon though, was not only an intelligent and clever dragonlord as brave on land as airborne, he was also a master politician — which he had learned from his mother, who had overseen her father's countless acquaintances and political liaisons as her father governed from Valyria — who, after the enemies of his grandfather were disposed of, managed to isolate further Aurion Targaryen whose ambition led him to set aside his lawful wife — his own sister — to marry the wealthiest and noblest of women of Old Valyria, a woman who, it was said, descended directly from Azor Ahai and his first wife, Nissa Nissa, and who had a great deal of influence in the eastern provinces.

Gaemon instead, aged twenty and four, as per custom married his sister, Visenya as soon as she flowered and celebrated the marriage with imposing games for which he paid from his own purse and sired from her a child whom he called Daenys to honor his mother — as the princess of Valyria was beloved by the people of the Free Hold — and later a son he named Aegon for his grandfather betrothing them as per custom.

When, in the eastern provinces, Aurion rose on his dragon and had his wife crown him Emperor of all Valyrians the troops broke off, some followed him as the eastern provinces were the wealthiest and his wife claimed descent from Nissa Nissa; but others disparaged his attempt to destroy the status quo that had made of them as shepherds to the greatest conquerors of the known world and flew to Gaemon's side.

The battle saw opposed thousands of dragonlords and it was fought in the valley that hosted the city of Faros and prince Gaemon Targaryen managed to outsmart Aurion and his thousand dragonlords, he captured the man and demanded he bend the knee and relinquished his ambition to a throne that did not exist, pardoned those who had supported him as long as they bent the knee — killed those who didn't, but pardoned their children, sisters and wives unless they proved treacherous — and that Aurion took back his lawful sister-wife he had set aside.

Aurion refused thus Gaemon executed him with the very same sword that since has been considered the sword of Valyria, and the ancestral sword of the emperor of the world. Gaemon returned triumphant in Valyria, though he showed himself grieving for the great commander and friend he had, had to execute and their brothers as per custom and took hold of the series of political offices his grandfather had left him making of them a singular one he called prince of all Valyria as defender of the true customs and head of the entire empire, an emperor without calling himself so.

He governed for over sixty years with his beloved wife at his side, Visenya, and left his post to his son, Aegon, once he died installing the Targaryen dynasty.

AEGON THE DRAGON, EMPEROR OF VALYRIA AND LORD OF THE WORLD (9033 — 9070 SFV)

A century after the rise of Gaemon Targaryen, in 8996 SFV, from prince Aerion Targaryen and his wife, Valaena Velaryon, was born a babe who'd grow to become the first emperor of Valyria.

Aegon Targaryen was known to ride one of the mightiest dragons of all Valyria, Balerion the Black Dread, who his great-grandfather had rode in life during his conquests in the southern continent.

In 9027 Aegon, aged 31, became the new prince of all of Valyria; he already had two children, two sons, to his name — Aenys born of his favored sister-wife, Rhaenys; and Maegor, born of Visenya his sister-wife — since he had been a young boy, aged 16, and bonded with Balerion he had promised them he'd made them queens of Valyria.

He started by slowly disposing of all the opposition of House Targaryen and making the priests of the Old Valyrian Faith name him High Pope of the old valyrian religion. He, posing as the god Syrax, and his wives as his ancient unnamed goddess-wives celebrated great games and annexed new colonies and provinces in the Sothoryos. His wife, Rhaenys was a benefactor of all artists whilst his other wife, Visenya, was known to be a terrific warrior and to dabble in the dark arts. Together they conquered several new provinces and returned in triumph every time.

In 9033 after having conquered Zabhad and returning with thousands of slaves in triumph Aegon closed himself in prayer for various days and celebrated many a sacrifice as the red priests and priestesses testified the Targaryens were the saviors of Valyria and that from their line would be born Azor Ahai once again to then name himself Emperor of all valyrians and Lord of the World.

Aegon tried and failed to conquer Dorne in the South of the Lands of Sunset, and his wife, Rhaenys died whilst she battled against the dornish, who shot her dragon down from the skies.

Aegon was anguished but instead of moving all of his dragonlords to the continent he chose peace, as the dornish claimed they had Rhaenys still alive whilst on the cusp of death and suffering terribly, they offered to be merciful towards his empress and take her life from her if he left them alone.

Aegon did, Visenya did not. She burned Dorne to the ground but the dornish are nothing if not resilient and after she turned her back to Dorne believing them subjugated they broke free of the valyrians by killing every governor they sent to them without leaving proof.

HOUSE TARGARYEN DURING THE EVENTS OF «EMPRESS OF THE WORLD»

The events of “Empress of the World” starts around 9345 SFV, circa, when emperor Rhaegar Targaryen dies. His only son and named heir, prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, governor of Tyria — the province the emperors granted to the named heir to the throne — accepts the sword of the Lord of the World and flies to Valyria to take his throne.

A short civil war ensues between emperor Jaehaerys III — accepted by the high council — and his uncle, Viserys Targaryen governor of Meereen, during which Jaehaerys atop his dragon, Maelys the Great — the oldest, meanest and mightiest dragon of all Valyria, whom he bonded with as a boy — wins the war and kills his uncle. Before the events of the story, Jaehaerys already sedated a revolt and died, but was reborn in his dragon's flame, since then he's called Master of Death.

The story revolves around his story with Sansa of House Stark, the hidden princess of House Stark who fled Winterfell after House Bolton and Karstark betrayed her father the king, hiding in Bear Island and by chance captured by a valyrian raid; of how they meet, fall in love and move in between political choices, moral choices, conquest and rule as an emperor and his empress and the ascension of Sansa from befallen princess, to captured slave, to concubine, to mother of the prince and favorite, to legal wife and empress.

At the time of the story House Targaryen is composed of:

Rhaegar Targaryen (deceased) — previous emperor, Jaehaerys father

Aegon Targaryen (deceased) — prince of Valyria, Jaehaerys older brother, died young before the birth of Jaehaerys

Elia Martell (deceased) — consort of Rhaegar Targaryen, mother of Aegon and Rhaenys, died shortly after Jaehaerys birth

Lyanna Karstark — the Mother of the Emperor, lady Mother of Valyria of Old, the head of the female court of the Emperor and the previous favorite and concubine of Emperor Rhaegar Targaryen

Jaehaerys III Targaryen — the emperor of Valyria of Old, lord of Valyria and Tyria, the Master of Death, the Noble father and Liberator of Braavos and New Ghis

Rhaenys Targaryen — princess of Valyria, lady of Dragonstone (until the birth of a possible female to Jaehaerys) and lady of Oros and Elyria, prime achor of Valyria

Daenerys Targaryen — princess of Valyria, lady of Meereen and its governor, previous lady of Dragonstone (as an infant) until the birth of Rhaenys Targaryen; sister to the previous emperor

Viserys Targaryen (deceased) — uncle to emperor Jaehaerys; previous husband of Daenerys Targaryen. Tried to steal the throne from Jaehaerys.

Sansa of House Stark — queen claimant to the North, Lady Favorite to Jaehaerys III Targaryen, the Flamekeeper of Valyria of Old, the Noble Mother.

Jacaerys Brandon Targaryen — prince of Valyria of Old, prince to Tyria and Winterfell, heir to Valyria and to the North.

[part III, Worldbuilding, Valyria of Old: society, faiths, laws and customs]

As always, hope you enjoyed, this very long dip in the history and legend of Valyria in my fic! Sending all my love ~G.

#empress of the world #world building part II #empire of valyria world building #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fanfiction worldbuilding #if you ever wonder why my stories takes so much — THIS IS WHY

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little-red-rabbit · 2 years

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I'm quite intrigued by Nivel and Niphorbis! What can you tell us about them?

Nivel is a half orc from my fanplane of Hyverta.

Hyverta is a plane overflowing with natural resources. I'm talking entire mountains of marble, deserts of gem stone dust and forests who leaves are guided gold from the abundance of the mineral in the soil. This natural richness also applies to magic their is so much magic on Hyverta it seeps into the air. And if you vibrate the air just right as threw an instrument anyone can assess this magic.

Nivel was a foundling taking in and razed communally by village of woodcutters. His youth was spent watching the men sing a song to share strength while they worked and grandmothers hum to the fire in the stove to help the pot boil faster. This came to an end when the village was attacked by monster that burst from the ground.

Nivel only surviving because he planes walker away to Kaladesh, and although he was taken in by the elves of Peema he never felt like he fit in. Eventually he received a letter to attended Strixhaven where he joined the Prismari collage and was first chair on the Orchestra of the Arcane.

He shocked everyone when after he graduated he returned and attended the Lorehold collage. Combining everything he learned from this two schools of magic Nivel became a powerful animator, using the music he played to give motion to the world around him.

Having gained self confidence and worked threw his fears Nivel returned home for the first time in years. Only to discover that Hyverta was being ravaged by the same creatures that had attacked his village. He now rallies the survivors into a living city as he seeks aid of other walker to help fight this strange creatures know as slivers.

Niphorbis is actually second walker I ever Marcel, and he is old so very old. He is a nyxborn Sphinx created by the goddess Ephara to reside in her first temple in the newly build city of Meletis. There he would test wits with the greatest thinkers and philosophers of the age. Until the day a old man dressed in rags entered the temple.

This beggar answered everyone of Niphorbis riddles and questions with such ease that it wounded the sphinx's considerable pride. Until in a burst of anger he demanded to know who this stranger who came into HIS temple was, and the strange let him know. He filled Niphorbis mind with visions of things beyond the gods, beyond their power and knowing. The sock of such forbidden knowledge igniting his spark.

Being such a old walker Niphorbis saw much of what happened in the old multiverse. The wars of Urza, the conquests of Ob Nixilis, the meddling of Ugin and Azor, the machinations of Nico Bolas not even the tip of the horrors' old walker enacted upon the old multiverse.

And he saw where it was all heading, the mending the death of the multiverse.

Gathering up all of his power as a old walker Niphorbis cast a spell the shattered the very idea of time upon a plane and cast him millions of years into the past. Using his knowledge of the future Niphorbis prevented great weapons' of war from ever being made, spells that brought worlds to their knee's from ever being cast and planes walkers more foul then any currently menacing the multiverse from ever being born.

But the more Niphorbis changed the less of the multiverse he could recognize. Until it was a unknow to him as any other planes walker who take their first steps of their home world, and still it was careening to the mending.

Nothing Niphorbis did could prevent that was to come, defeated and with a greater understanding of the multiverse Niphorbis returned to Theros. To a temple of a new goddess in a new city, to play a game of wits with a young arrogantly sphinx.

#mtg ocs #oc #mtg #fanwalker #mtg oc #magic the gathering #niphorbis #nivel

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garoupasinn · 7 months

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Embrace the Beauty of the Azores with the Best Hotels in Sao Miguel

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Ocean View Rooms act as a natural stress reliever, offering unmatched relaxation and tranquility. The soothing sounds of the ocean waves, the gentle sway of palm trees, and the scenic beauty foster a calming atmosphere, making it easier for guests to unwind and forget about the worries of everyday life. Many of the best hotels in Sao Miguel Azores also offer spa facilities, infinity pools, and beach access, complementing the experience of tranquility and rejuvenation.

The allure of Ocean View Rooms at the Sao Miguel Azores's top-rated hotels lies in the enchanting blend of scenic beauty, immersive coastal experiences, exclusivity, and unparalleled tranquility they offer. For travelers seeking an unforgettable escape, these rooms provide the perfect vantage point to soak in the breathtaking landscapes of Sao Miguel's coastline. Whether it's for a romantic getaway, a photography expedition, or a peaceful retreat, Ocean View Rooms in Sao Miguel offers an experience that lingers in the hearts of travelers long after their stay.

#sao miguel best hotels #best hotels in sao miguel azores #hotel in sao miguel #travel to sao miguel azores

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survivor-marieta-islands · 9 months

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Cast Reveal #3 - Antigua - Old School

JINX | SHE/THEY/VERS | 28 | ST. LOUIS | MEDICAL MARIJUANA AGENT

First Survivor Season: TS Montenegro (June 2019)

Intro: 28. zilennial. enfj. begrudgingly a morning person and a glass half full person. is happiest cuddling & sleeping in bed or on a roadtrip. writer & poet. humanistic spiritual interpreter. professional ipad baby. the most taylor swift hating taylor swift listener. happiest zero vote finalist. moved cross country recently and is still adjusting to being in CST after a lifetime of PST. cries pretty easily after a lifetime of repressed emotions so don't take it personally. a little pretentious about how much they love music but definitely not in music taste. in a perpetual state of grief & love. misses the beach.

Three Words to Describe You: Effervescent, passionate, creative

Hobbies and Passions: Writing, collaging. Playing online Catan and some video games like Overwatch, Mario Kart, etc. Reading tarot and astrological charts. Pointless debates. Finding humor in everything (genuinely). Going on long drives. Going to the beach. Making playlists for people I love.

What You're Most Proud Of: Myself and how far I've come after all I survive and keep surviving.

Why You'll Win: I think 3rd time may actually be the charm!

MADDISON | SHE/HER | 27 | TEXAS | MARKETING DIRECTOR

First Survivor Season: Stings Tierra del Fuego (July 2020)

Intro: Howdy party people, my name is Maddison and I’m super excited to (potentially) play with all of you! This is about as exciting as my tinder profile, so I’ll notably mention my love for basketball and being a plant mother. I’m a 26 y/o lil bisexual and I work in marketing (thrilling!)

Three Words to Describe You: silly, goofy, cowboy

Hobbies and Passions: listening to live music, watching women’s sports & anything outdoors!

What You're Most Proud Of: Leaving my small, rural hometown and building a life for myself that feels authentic and open to possibility.

Why You'll Win: I can win this game because I am open, adaptive and flexible to others gameplay.

RAFFY | HE/HIM | 23 | NEW JERSEY | ADMIN OPERATIONS SPECIALIST

First Survivor Season: Athena Azores (July 2017)

Intro: I'm Raffy. I wasn't planning on playing a game so soon after, but it is Jay hosting and I love them. So here I am again to make a fool of myself.

Three Words to Describe You: Prideful, Sentimental, Bold

Hobbies and Passions: Reading, writing, and playing video games

What You're Most Proud Of: I am most proud of my senior thesis I wrote in university. It taught me a lot about where my skills as a writer lies and the joy of research. I’m actually working towards creating more analytical essays on some of my favorite TV shows and video games (though I still have to get around to it)!

Why You'll Win: Because I am headstrong and determined to do my best in everything!

STEVEN | HE/HIM |26 | FLORIDA | LINE COOK

First Survivor Season: Supreme Madagascar (February 2016)

Intro: Hey y’all! I’m Steven and I’m a Florida guy without the Florida vibes. I work as a line cook and love Pokémon, board games, and reality tv. It’s also my birthday month so please be nice to me

Three Words to Describe You: Optimistic, competitive, opinionated

Hobbies and Passions: Watching reality tv, Pokémon, and baking

What You're Most Proud Of: That I am able to always push myself to overcome what scares me and grow as a person from it

Why You'll Win: I know what I am successful at and hopefully can balance the things I struggle with to make my way to the end

ZO | SHE/HER | 26 | TORONTO | GRAPHIC DESIGNER

First Survivor Season: TS Kiwayu (March 2015)

Intro: Hi kids it’s everyone’s fave elusive icon back from the grave to play again! Currently using she/her pronouns and am a fresh crispy 26 years of age! Unfortunate facts about me include that I’m a swiftie, I identify as a slytherin in ironically, and i’m mentally stuck in 2004! 🫶🏼 Excited to dust off the ole brain cells and play again with everyone!

Three Words to Describe You: Kooky, Kwazy, and Kunty (can i say that?)

Hobbies and Passions: Spin/the gym in general, reading, and arts and crafts 🫶🏼

What You're Most Proud Of: My fiancé and I recently bought property in the year 2023 and we never thought that would happen so that’s probably my most proud moment 💅🏼

Why You'll Win: Because I’m funny but also snakey and everyone loves the mean one with the good one liners

#cast #cast reveal

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smallcatwoman · 1 year

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Stallion that mounts the world

I’ve been thinking about Daenerys’ last chapter. Very long winded rant under the cut.

I’ve been thinking about her, how much I love her character, how the show butchered her to hell and back. How I’ve never found a fanfic that got her right because they’re all so heavily influenced by the show portraying her as a mass murdering crazy tyrant.

And her last chapter is nuts, absolutely harrowing. The whole storyline with Essos, the battle of fire, Dany and all of her prophecies that all need to come together somehow. It’s not just the meereenese knot but like.. how is she going to free the slaves in every single Essos province where there are slaves? More than half of these places we barely know anything about but Dany is supposed to go there. It’s not like she’s just going to stop caring about ending slavery. George has to come up with enough lore for her to visit all these places, and somehow squeeze the timeline into a small enough smidgen that it’s able to squeeze in with the other 100 povs and somehow she gets to westeros in time to interact with the other characters.

And the prophecies! Dany has so many and George has this whole masterful thematic brilliance with the way he depicts prophecies with other characters. So trying to continue her story is winding together all of the hotu imagery with everything that quaithe is saying. And possibly some other prophecies like the azor ahai, stallion that mounts the world etc. Essentially her storyline is one of the harder twow ones to envision and put together in my opinion, but also one of the most necessary, considering her horrible show ending. I have a post adwd fic I’m drafting/outlining, but I’m not a very good writer and who knows what a mess it will be if I’m even brave enough to publish it.

I do think she is the stallion that mounts the world, and that the crones assumed it was her son because the dothraki are very patriarchal and haven’t had a woman lead a khalasar ever.

If you look at her last Dance chapter, I feel like we can very easily see that happening. Drogon is terrorizing the dothraki sea for months or weeks. It seems like Drogon was there earlier when Dany locked up her other dragons and he disappeared. “Dragonstone” is his home and probably has been for a while. I’m also not clear on how long Dany spent in his nest and then wandering around the grasslands delirious from dysentery. The horses and the Dothraki are terrified out of their minds of him. Dany sees burnt patches of grass everywhere while he hunts down the horse and the Dothraki find her, drenched in blood, excrement and filth, bald again from Drogon singing her hair, practically naked except for a few filthy rags made into bandages, eating a bloody burned horse with a dragon that she is clearly bonded with.

It’s difficult to imagine something more primal and powerful than that image. And the symbolism. Horses are so central to Dothraki culture and it’s what makes them such a powerful military force. And these dragons, big and small, are devouring one in such a bestial and bloody manner.

Keep in mind who Khal Jhaqo is as well. I had to look it up because I didn’t remember. He was one of Khal Drogo’s Kos who declared himself Khal after Drogo died. He and his bloodriders were instrumental in the brutal gang rape and murder of Eroeh who Dany thinks about a lot over the course of her chapters.

Last we heard, his khalasar had twenty thousand riders. And he approaches Dany with “half a hundred.” Now, maybe this is just some scouting party or something and Drogon didn’t actually eat 19,950 Dothraki. But maybe he did. He certainly ate and killed enough Dothraki for them to be terrified out of their mind of him and try to run away. Despite priding themselves on their fearless and ruthless brutality.

The Dothraki’s culture and ideals are so entrenched in violence and the khals and high status Dothraki draw their status from their victories in battle and ability to defeat/intimidate their rivals. “Fire and blood” is really something that would command their respect I feel. Dany’s bloodriders refused to follow a woman until they saw her emerge from the fire with her dragons. I honestly think it would be easy for her to win them over, especially if they end up in Vaes Dothrak and she does some dragonlady shenanigans there.

It’s just a cool storyline and it’ll be so epic to see the khalasar of khalasars storming in to the battle of fire. Especially when there are so many shenanigans and key players there (which you may read about in my fic at some point.)

#asoiaf #daenerys

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esqrever · 10 months

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Podcast - MOP, Liv Hewson & Misc.

E ainda há tempo para falarmos de Afrontosas, Azores Pride e o manual "O Direto a SER nas Escolas" 🦄 #Podcast 🎙️🌈 - Marcha do Orgulho LGBTI+ do Porto vs Câmara Municipal, Liv Hewson vs Binarismo & Misc.

O CENTÉSIMO SEPTAGÉSIMO SEGUNDO episódio do Podcast Dar Voz A esQrever 🎙️🏳️‍🌈 é apresentado por nós, Pedro Carreira e Nuno Miguel Gonçalves. Falamos da polémica contínua da Marcha do Orgulho do Porto e a Câmara Municipal do Porto e também do ativismo não-binário de Liv Hewson de Yellowjackets. Ainda falamos brevemente do Coletivo Afrontosas, Azores Pride e o manual “O Direto a SER nas Escolas“. E…

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#Azores Pride #Coletivo Afrontosas #Escolas #LGBTI #Marcha do Orgulho do Porto #Não-Binário #Podcast #Porto #Portugal #Yellowjackets

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kandsadventuresblog · 5 years

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Moody Azores ❤️🇵🇹 #kandsadventures #azores #portugal #fbf . . #iamtb #addictedtotravel #wanderlust #instagay #loveislove🌈 #pride #lgbt #instapic #instagood #instalike #instagram #instatravel #travelblogger #travel #relax #explore #lifestyle #travelgram #travelbug (at Azores) https://www.instagram.com/kandsadventures/p/Bqg_c7FFz2R/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1hod2evfv9unv

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nostroviadrop · 6 years

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Imagine being oldwalker Ugin and oldwalker Azor and both failing so hard to do anything about Nicol Bolas, then some guy, some creature - human archer, Tetsuo Umizawa not only tricks and traps him but also kills him.

#I'm not insulting tetsuo but Ugin and Azor have more pride than they do feathers #and I did instruct you too imagine being them

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music-of-dragons · 3 years

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ASOS Dany I

● Summary ○ My thoughts

● This chapter opens with Daenerys aboard the Balerion, watching her dragons chase each other and feeling as happy as she could ever remember being. The ship had met a squall six days into the voyage that terrified the Dothraki, but Daenerys was not frightened because her name was Stormborn, given for her birth amidst a storm far greater than the squall. Dany remembers telling her brother how fine she thought being a sailor would be, but he had hurt her and screamed at her for it. She still misses her brother for who he used to be, the brother that let her creep into his bed while he told her stories of the Seven Kingdoms. Dany had won over the captain of the ship since her dragons had consumed the rats and his sailors loved to watch them fly, they took pride in “their” dragons, but not so much as Dany.

○ Daenerys still longs for a simple life, she is happy sailing the ocean and watching her dragons. She had wanted to be a sailor but Viserys quickly crushed that dream so she feels immense happiness on this journey. Dany still mourns for him and finds herself missing him despite everything he had done to her. I hate seeing people say that Dany wanted him dead or that she flat out stopped caring about him, that’s not true. Dany was born on Dragonstone, a volcanic island that SMOKES and smells of sulfur and brimstone, during one of the greatest storms Westeros had ever seen, the SEA raged outside and smashed her father’s fleet. Dany was born amidst smoke and salt (a ham??), just reiterating the Azor Ahai imagery.

● Jorah strikes up a conversation with Dany about dragons. Jorah lets her know that dragons live beyond men but doesn’t know exactly how long since Targaryen dragons were bred for war and that was how they died. It is no easy thing to kill a dragon, but it can be done. Arstan joins in the conversation and says that Balerion lived to be 200 years old and that dragons never stop growing so long as they have food and freedom. Arstan mentions that he had the honor of meeting Aerys and Dany asks if he was good and gentle, to which Arstan replies that he was at times, but harsh to those he thought his enemies. Arstan mentions Viserys as “prince” in passing to which Dany corrects him with “King”. She asks Arstan about Rhaegar being a warrior, he hesitates, and she replies that he may speak freely to her. He tells her that words do not win battles, and that Rhaegar was bookish until he read a passage that pushed him to want to become a warrior, then Arstan excuses himself to assist Belwas.

○ Dany learns important information in the conversation; dragons can live to 200 years, they never stop growing so long as they have food and freedom (no walls or chains), and that her father was not as good and gentle a man as she thought given the look on Arstan’s face (this is the first step to her learning his true character). I love that even after Viserys’s death she refuses to have his name dishonored or titled incorrectly. She never sought to rob Viserys of kingship and although he never ruled, he was her king. I think it says a lot about Dany’s character that she still misses Viserys and respects him even after she is free from his abuses when most im her position would curse him.

● Once Arstan leaves, Jorah advises Dany to take his words well salted. ~“A queen must listen to all," she reminded him. "The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found." She had read that in a book.~ A wind picks up and Dany is thankful to be moving fast again. She ponders her future arrival in Westeros and thinks to herself that it will be a beautiful sight to behold. Later that night Dany is naked in bed, her handmaids are in bed with her because they all sleep together. Jorah knocks on the door and Dany pulls up the covers then invites him in, sending her handmaids away so that they may speak in private. Dany shows him that she is training her dragons by tossing a piece of meat in the air for them and saying “dracarys” to which Drogon sears and consumes it. Jorah suggests to her that Artstan and Belwas may be the betrayers forewarned by the Undying, but Dany brushes this off since Arstan saved her life. He keeps trying to convince her to mistrust them and to be more weary of Illyrio. "It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?" Jorah finally tells her to set course for Slaver’s Bay to purchase Unsullied, that she can return to Illyrio in her own time to test his loyalty.

○ Dany loves to read books and takes the wisdom she learns from them to heart, her quote shows just the kind of Queen she is going to be; one who listens to all and draws her own conclusions with the information presented to her. Dany has a habit of idealizing Westeros, but she can’t be blamed for that since she grew up hearing only glorified tales of it from Viserys. She also has no idea just how ravaged by the War of the Five Kings the country is, it will be heartbreaking for her to see the country she wishes to rule destroyed and the smallfolk suffering. Daenerys, with no solid knowledge on how to train dragons, is very clever to begin associating “dracarys” with searing meat for the dragons, they are already highly responsive to the word. Dany knows that Jorah’s suspicions come from a place of caring, but she finds his obstinacy rightfully troubling. She knows that she cannot mistrust everyone and depend on him and her bloodriders alone, her quote is very wise and very true. Despite not having a formal education, Dany is naturally a leader with good sense and reads to educate herself often, an excellent quality of her character.

● Jorah tells Dany the story of the Three Thousand to convince her that the Unsullied are worth it, she can return to Illyrio but with a thousand swords at her back instead one one. She finds wisdom in his words but asks how she is to purchase them, he tells her that the trade of the ships would be enough. She says that they belong to Illyrio and despite being a friend of House Targaryen she shouldn’t steal from him, but Jorah convinces her that a true ally would lend her his wealth or else he is Xaro with four chins. She questions if her captains would change course, what Arstan and Belwas would do, and Jorah urges her to find out. Dany excitedly agrees to Jorah’s proposal and jumps up, forgetting her nakedness before Jorah and grabbing clothes from her bunk. Dany doesn’t have time to react when Jorah grabs her and kisses her. When it ends she covers herself and says that he should not have done that, she is his Queen, not his woman. He tells her she should take him as a husband, and the chapter ends.

○ Daenerys is unsure of Jorah’s councel, but recognizes that having a small army at her back would give her more protection and more power upon returning to Illyrio. This also gives her the opportunity to test the loyalty of Illyrio, her captains, Arstan, and Belwas which would put Jorah’s suspicions as well as her own to rest. Dany knows that Jorah desires her, but this is the first time that he acted on his desires and he did so without her consent. He crossed her boundaries, and it sets her on edge to be around him afterward. This is the beginning of Dany realizing just how clouded Jorah is by his own desire for her and how it can lead to his judgement being biased. She does care about him, but if he is to be her advisor he must give her helpful councel that will assist in her goals, not his personal motive to win her heart.

Art 1 by Veronica V. Jones 😄

Art 2 by Gary Gianni 🥰

I've been working a lot lately so sadly I lost my streak of a chapter a day for Dany month 😩 Still continuing my reread and analysis though!

#danymonth2021 #daenerys targaryen #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #dany #book!daenerys #book!dany #my meta #arereadofdaenerys #asos #a storm of swords

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agentrouka-blog · 3 years

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You said in another ask that you think the ice threat cannot be solved by violence. I've never seen that opinion before. How do you think it will be solved?

Hi there!

Well, the short answer would be "talking". Magical negotiation, acknowledgement of wrongdoing, sacrifice of wrongfully attained privilege.

It seems fairly logical to me that - mirroring the Valyrians/Targs - the Starks are going to have to acknowledge not the greatness of their forebears but their ancient failures. Both political (and boy, did Robb pay for that) and magical.

If they had solved the ice threat, they would not have needed a Wall or the Watch. Why do the Starks have dormant warg powers? Why are the ancient kings all depicted with the direwolves that made Rob traumatized by their ferocity in battle?

Why are the direwolves connected to sword imagery if the warg powers are not the equivalent of Azor Ahai's evil Lightbringer?

Seems to me, someone in the past dabbled in dark magic. Seems to me, just like Dany waking the dragons to mirror the ancient dirty blood magic that gave the Valyrians dragonblood, the Starklings are revisiting unjustly acquired powers from long ago.

In Bran's visions in the cave we see human sacrifice and a pregnant woman begging for vengeance. Dark images that mirror Dany's dragon-waking. They mirror Catelyn killing Jinglebell and Sansa wishing Arya dead, where both are made to look like Weirwoods - red hair, pale face, red tears.

Anger, grief, despair, wrath at loss and injustice. The inability to process these, to endure the experience of intense pain and emerge on the other side safe, is what birthed both ancient evils, I think.

Look at Catelyn now. Beric used his unnatural life to try and create justice but in Lady Stoneheart's hands the Brotherhood has become a group of vigilante henchmen, serving her thirst for blood. When one brother dies, five more volunteer because the underlying injustice remains. It is only answered in darker and darker terms.

You cannot resolve that by killing an enslaved wight army, or by slaughtering the masters. Just like with the Unsullied in Astapor, they will only regroup and make more.

The Kingswood Brotherhood was defeated making real concessions to the smallfolk.

The feud between wildlings and Watch was bridged by negotiations and deliberate setting aside of pride and grievances.

Peace in Meereen was hard work and painful compromise, but it halted the Sons of the Harpy - notably in strident absence of the dragons.

This will be Bran's job. Negotiate with the ice powers. Give up his powers. Become ordinary. Achieve equilibrium.

Dany is already going to end in violence - whether by self-destruction or assassination. Because she will not let go of the dragons.

The ice threat is going to have to be a contrast. The Starks survive because they take a different route, not because their mass killing is righteous.

#asoiaf speculation #ice threat #fire threat #magical negotiation #house stark #anti dragon #anti daenerys targaryen #warging #bran stark

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ariel-seagull-wings · 3 years

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TOP 12 BEASTS (FROM BEAUTY AND THE BEAST)

@sunlit-music @princesssarisa @superkingofpriderock @mademoiselle-princesse @draculashaxanbride @amalthea9 @theancientvaleofsoulmaking @astrangechoiceoffavourites

The sequel came! A ranking dedicated to my favorite fairy tale prince, to who’s anger, antissocial behaviour, shyness, awkwardness and desire for love and understanding i always related to as a child.

12º The version from Britannica’s Tales Around The World (1990)

In this direct-to-video animated educational series presented by Pat Morita, the gargoyle inspired Beast appears wild, specially because is one of the few versions that doesn’t wear clothes, but overall is the most sad and fragile encarnation, and that frailness is conveyed trough his raspy voice. I just want to comfort this ugly cute puppy so much...

11º Vincent Cassel as the Beast in Christophe Ganz’s La Belle et La Bête (2014)

Once there was a Prince who was happily married to a beautifull woman. One day, she promissed to give him a son to be the heir of his lands, as long as he stoped obsessing in hunting a Golden Deer. He promissed, but his pride, stuborness and vanity was stronger, and he didn’t kept that promisse, ending up killing his beloved wife, who was a forest nymph that tooked the form of the Golden Girl. As punishment, he must live as a Beast to atone for his wifes’s death, and find someone that will help live a cleaned life, happy and free of any guilty.

10º Xavier Rouillon as Azor in Zémire et Azor (2014)

He kind of tries to act wild as a façade, but really, he is still a fragile hearted, sensitive Prince, who just a loving hand to comfort him.

09º George C. Scott as the Beast in Beauty and the Beast (1976)

A performance that was nominated for the Emmy Award of Outstanding Leading Actor in a Special Program - Drama or Comedy, and rightfully so. This is the most explosive encarnation of the character put in front of a camera: Scott’s Beasts has moments of talking calmly, specially when he offers to tell the tragic story of the death of a unicorn to Trish Van Devere’s (his real life wife) Beauty. But most of the time he is awkward and bursts into anger, to later mourn in deep remorse. In real life, George C. Scott fought for most of his life with his alcoholism and his explosive temper that kept people away in fear of him, and i cannot help but see this struggle reflected in his portrayal of the Beast, wich makes me more touched by it.

08º Mikhail Fyodorovich Astangov/Tim Curry in Soyuzmultifilm’s Alenkiy Tsvetochek (1952)

The cutest, most adorkable Beast ever. His sad voice and his big puppy eyes are simply sweet.

07º Aleksandr Abdulov as the Forest Spirit in Irina Povolotskaya’s Alenkiy Tsvetochek (1977)

A Forest Spirit who camouflages his body to take the form of surroundings, be they rocks, leafs or wood, with only his eyes remaning human. At first, his presence feels unsetling, but slowly he becomes a presence that makes us feel confortable and safe.

06º Mark Damon as Duke Eduardo in Edward L. Cahn’s Beauty and the Beast (1962)

Cursed as a child to become a Beast every night in the moment he started to rule his Dukedom/Principality, Don Eduardo searches to reconcile his duties as a ruler with his search to be fully human, all the while his uncle Bruno plots to take the dukedom from him. Interestingly only his appearance become animal like, but his mind keeps being human, what is a very refreshing aproache to the character.

05º Jean Marais as the Beast in Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et La Bête (1946)

The most iconic and influential encarnation. To quote Megan Kearney, Marais’s mysteryous Beast is more of a “cipher for the unconscious than a fully fleshed out character, but that makes sense in the dreamy, surrealist world of this film”. Troughtout the movie he acts like a very controlled aristocrat, but later we see how he tries to repress his beastly instincts, and how broken, tortured and vulnerable he is inside.

04º Gregory Hines as Koro in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales For Every Child (1995)

One of the first encarnations that is not brooding, but instead, while acting stressed at the begginging of the cartoon, is overall a funny awkward dorky, who sings an excited song talking about his desire for Beauty to love him for who he is. I want his plushy.

03º Argus from Megan Kearney’s Beauty and The Beast Webcomic (2012-17)

The outcast bastard son of a nobleman, who learned to use magic in the hopes of becoming powerfull, but in reality created a lonely prison for himself. His only comforts are the studies of botanics and herbology, and Beauty’s friendship. Argus’s arc involves letting go of pride, and learning to open his feelings, and accept the helping hand of others.

02º Raymond Benson as The Beast/Prince Adam in Disney’s Beauty and The Beast (1991)

A hibrid of buffalo, boar, wolf, lion and gorilla with bright human eyes, who hopes to have his humanity seen by others, but must give the first step and see that humanity in himself, because after ten years of being cursed by a sorceress whose old appearance he judged and to who he refused shelter, he sees himself as only a monster. Disney’s Beast is one of the first characters i remember at first fearing as a villain, to later cheer for as my heroe.

And now, the moment everyone is waiting for. My Number One Beast portrayal is...

01º Vlastimil Harapes as The Beast in Panna a Netvor (1978)

With a design that is a mix between vulture and bird of prey, this Beast lives isolated in the middle of old ruins of a once rich palace. He is fusing himself to those ruins, alone for so long that now his mind talks to him, pushing him to become more and more wild, he even hunts humans and animals to drink their blood to survive, making him grow repulsed of himself. When the beautifull and sweet Julie comes to live in his palace, Harapes’s Beast feels divided between loving her, or killing her to drink her blood like he did with many other people before. He has been in the Beast form for so long, that he feels powerfull and safe in it, so he is afrayed that someone will come close to break his enchantment. That version of the story notoriouslly has no external character to be a villain: the antagonistic force is the Beast’s own mind. Villain and hero, scary and simpathetic, powerfull and vulnerable: Harapes’s Beast is all of those things. And that is why he is my Number One portrayal of The Beast.

HONORABLE MENTION: Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

#beauty and the beast #fairy tales #classic cinema #the scarlet flower #fantasy #folklore #mithology #genre fiction #pop culture

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