#Middle Eastern fairy tales

[alifeoffairytales]

Léon Georges Jean-Baptiste Carré (1878 ~ 1942) 1926 illustration for 'The Book of One Thousand and One Nights'

[illustratus]

The Sultan orders to cut off Aladdin's head by Albert Robida

[scentedsstuff]

The Wrath & The Dawn

By Renée Ahdieh

Rating: 2/5 ⭐️

Coming off from the excitement of having finished The Sands of Arawiya duology I wanted to keep within the Middle Eastern based fantasy books and that's how I ended up reading 'The Wrath & The Dawn.'

Quick Plot Summary:

It's a retelling of the One Thousand and One Nights tale, where Khalid, the young Caliph of Khorasan, claims a bride every night and by dawn she dies.

This is where our main character Shahrzad is introduced. Having lost her best friend to the Caliph, she devises a plan of revenge that would see the end of his murderous reign once and for all. But ofcourse, not everything goes to plan as Shahrzad comes to discover that there is more to the Caliph than what meets the eye.

Thoughts:

This book was an interesting read, that's for sure. It had its moments but ultimately lacked direction (this is mostly applicable to the 2nd book and the series as a whole but these problems do find their footing in the 1st book).

To start off on the positive, I liked the very beginning of the book. The mystery, the allure of the tales that Shahrzad would tell, these drew me in immediately as a lover of fantasy and folklore.

Unfortunately, as the book continued I found that there was less that I liked and there are a number of reasons why.

1. The main character

I'd say it's a no brainer that if the main character isn't that likeable, the book becomes less tolerable the more you read it.

Our main protagonist Shahrzad is presented to the reader as the epitome of a YA protagonist. She's said to be cunning, fearless, and a skilled archer, to name a few, but through out the book she comes across as this careless, and short tempered girl who couldn't keep anything to herself if she tried.

She talks about getting revenge on the Caliph, but does very little in actually carrying out these plans. Her so called 'revenge plan' only lasts a few days before she starts catching feelings for the Caliph. This leads into yet another rant of mine regarding this book;

2. The Romance.

In my opinion it is both fortunate and unfortunate that I consider the romance to be the most entertaining part of both this first book and the second.

On one hand the chemistry was there, despite complications and obstacles faced I eventually ended up liking the idea of these 2 main characters together.

Did it develop much quicker than I would have liked? YES, but eventually, due to the writing (which I did enjoy for the most part), I grew to like them as a couple.

On the other hand, I couldn't bring myself to care about much else, and that is most definitely a problem because I found myself skimming through parts of the book that weren't related to this.

3. The Magic System

Again, this is a fantasy book that has its own magic system and yet, we see so little of it. It is touched upon maybe once or twice with the main character but after that not much is mentioned until the second book, which in my opinion is a little too late to be introducing your readers to a whole new magic system, especially in a duology. If it is supposed to be a component that exists within a world you've already set up, it's not something you just throw in later but should be established more thoroughly as a foundation in the world building.

And these were just the points I wanted to expand upon the most. Pair this with characters that were mediocre at best, and a tendency to drag out descriptions and there's only so much I can like in the book.

All in all it was another 2 star read for me. Here's hoping the next book I post about reaches above 2 stars.

[spacelazarwolf]

Jews are not from the Middle East, no matter how many of us wish we were. It doesn’t matter how desperately you cling to a 2000 year old fairy tale that mentions the Middle East, it doesn’t change the fact that my great grandparents are from Germany and yours probably were too. Yiddish culture is beautiful and it breaks my heart to see other Jews shrug it off in favor of claiming cultures they have no connection to

regardless of whether or not you think ashkenazim have middle eastern roots, the jews in that video are from syria, and my great grandparents were from sicily and north africa. we have no connection to yiddish culture and most of us have never set foot in germany. we’re not “shrugging it off” it just literally has no relevance to us bc it’s not our culture.

there’s just. so much to unpack here.

[artificial-transmutations]

I'm the ugliest nerd in the world and I have nobody. I wish I was a man with dark brown eyes, nice muscles and everything that makes a himbo... and every nerd I kiss becomes a man like only an Arabian fairy tale could tell. He would only want me. Only I could keep his muscular body up with kisses and fucks.

Can you grant me this one Wish?

An Arabian fairy tale

Once upon a time, there was a nerd called Gregor. He lived his life in a big city and every day, he was miserable. Not only was he gay and lonely, no, the little nerd was also ugly. He wasn't just ugly, no, he was the ugliest nerd there was in the whole country.

Every day he wished he could find a lover and live happily ever after, but every day, he was reminded of his status as a lonely nerd. He tried online-dating, but due to his exterior, nobody seemed to want him.

Gregor was a shy, awkward guy who didn't get many chances to talk to strangers. In his free time, he enjoyed writing fantasy stories, a hobby that didn't bring him too many friends, either. It was frustrating, too. In his stories, the hero always managed to find a true love. He wasn't alone, no, he had someone at his side.

In his real life, however, Gregor didn't have such luck. The best thing that happened to him in a while was meeting another nerd online. There wasn't going to be anything romantic between them. As fate would have it, the other nerd, called Evan was also gay and lived not too far away, but Evan had made it pretty clear early on that Gregor just wasn't his type. Instead, he rooted for manly men, with a different ethnic background. Evan and Gregor spent a long lonely night in voice chat together, discussing their preferences. Evan apparently longed for the firm touch of a strong man with Arabic background.

Meanwhile, Gregor didn't dare say what he wished for. What was the use, anyway? There was no way it was going to happen. No one wanted to be with a weak, ugly nerd like him. To be honest, he didn't actually really know himself. In his thoughts, a partner was something so abstract, so far away that he hadn't even thought about how such a person would look like.

Evan's fantasy wasn't bad, though. After their talk, Gregor lay awake in his bed and imagined strong, middle-eastern men, along with Evan. Perhaps he had developed a slight crush on the other nerd. Finally, he drifted off to sleep, wishing that he and Evan could be together.

When Gregor awoke the next morning, he felt strangely energetic and in a pretty good mood. Thinking nothing of it, he quickly got dressed and thought about what to do today. He didn't have any work to do and would usually have spent the day indoors, writing one of his stories. However, after the refreshing talk yesterday, that didn't feel all too appealing. Instead, he had an idea: He knew where Evan lived and worked. Perhaps he should walk over to that other part of the city, and they could have a coffee. Not as a date, of course - but more as a continuation of last night's talk.

Gregor didn't have time to waste and left the house. As he stepped into the sun, the first thing he noticed was how bright the world suddenly appeared. He didn't think much of it, but a few moments later, the second strange thing happened: People were looking at him!

Now, Gregor was of course used to people looking after him - he was really ugly, after all! But today, it was different. The gazes that lingered on him didn't seem to be hostile or disgusted. They seemed curious.

Perhaps his shirt had a hole in it, Gregor thought. He checked himself, but no, the shirt was fine.

As he walked, the attention he drew increased steadily. Was there something on his face perhaps? Or his arms?

As he checked his arms, Gregor was amazed by what he saw: His milky-white skin that usually had a sickly tone to it was entirely different today: instead of the pale and blotchy skin, he now had a healthy and firm complexion. The muscles in his arms, which he usually thought of as scrawny and flabby were now clearly visible.

He checked the other arm, and it was the same. What was going on? Also, his vision was getting blurry. When he took off his glasses to clean them, however, his vision cleared up instantly. It was as if his short-sightedness was just gone!

As Gregor kept walking, the changes became more apparent: His legs, which had always been thin and small, were now visibly muscular. His stomach, which had always been a little fat, was now a firm six-pack. His clothes, which had been a bit baggy before, were getting tighter and tighter as both his height and his shoulder width increased more and more.

His hair, which had always been a dark brown, was getting even darker, and a strong stubble covered his chin. His skin, which had been the same milky white tone, was getting a darker, more exotic tan.

Gregor had no idea what was going on, and he was a little scared. But the more his body changed, the better he felt about it. He wasn't an ugly nerd anymore. He was not yet sure what he was going to become, but it was surely better than what he had been.

Meanwhile, his clothes were getting increasingly tight, and he felt like taking them off. That was not something he would ever do in public, but his urges were stronger than his shyness. With a quick movement, he took off his shirt and ripped his pants open. To his surprise, below the tight jeans, a pair of silk shorts in a shiny royal blue had formed instead of his slip, which covered his privates. However, even though he wasn't naked, the ample bulge that stretched the silky fabric left little to imagination: a large and thick manhood had formed between his legs, which left a clearly visible dick print, along with the thinly veiled big orbs of balls he now had.

By now, Gregor's appearance was attracting a lot of attention, as his body kept growing more and more, becoming larger and more impressive by the second. He wasn't even "lean" or "fit" anymore. The way his body expanded, he definitely qualified as "muscular" by now, perhaps even "bulky". His shoulders were wide and strong, and his back had filled out so much that his neck had almost disappeared entirely. His biceps and triceps were both at least the size of his head and were covered in a fine, dark fuzz. The rest of his body had also become much hairier: His chest was covered in a generous carpet of dark hairs and a thick bush of pubes was pushing out against the silky shorts.

People had stopped and stared, and even a few had started to snap pictures or take videos with their phones. Gregor was enjoying the attention. His facial structure reformed into something much more manly. His new Arabic heritage became clearly visible on his face. His nose, his eyes, and his jawline changed and became broader, more prominent. His eyes became deep and dark, and his bushy eyebrows made him appear quite serious and manly.

A superior grin appeared on his face that wouldn't go away anymore. Gregor knew he had become a walking wet dream of Arabic hunkness - especially for Evan. He couldn't wait to surprise him like that.

Even though his identity hadn't changed much, Gregor didn't feel like calling himself Gregor anymore. Ghalib. That was a far more fitting name for his impressive Arabic stature. It meant 'victor' or 'conqueror' - and Ghalib felt exactly like that.

Ghalib wasn't even sweating when he arrived at Evans place a short jog later. He rang the bell, and when the little nerd in front of him opened, he didn't waste any time: Ghalib pulled Evan into a tight and sensual kiss, invading the other man's mouth with determined force. Evan moaned in his mouth and his legs gave in.

Ghalib held the small nerd up and carried him inside the flat, kicking the door shut behind him. The rest of their clothes soon littered the floor as the two men kissed passionately. However, as they were making out, Evan, too, began to change. It was almost like watching his own changes in fast forward: The hair on his head receded into a shorter style and was replaced by a thick fuzz that grew on his chest and the rest of his body. Evan's face morphed into a masculine and rugged appearance. His skinny, pale arms and legs grew more and more muscles, until they looked like they were sculpted out of marble. His skin darkened and an Arabic ethnicity appeared by it.

Finally, the smaller man's cock expanded and swelled up. Within a few seconds, it reached almost the size of Ghalib's.

As they continued kissing, the two men, now equally hung and ripped, felt up each other's bodies. Ghalib had no idea why this was happening, or what had brought on these changes, but he didn't care. All he knew - or was pretty sure about - was that it didn't have to stop with Evan.

As the other hunk went down on him, Ghalib made a decision. Evan and he would share their gift, turning more and more nerds into a true harem of sexy Arabs!

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 2 - A Caring Man

Monster!König x she/her afab reader

CN: patriarchy & sexism, arranged marriage, speaking animals, dead fish, mentions of cannibalism, harassment, ableist speech, woohoo another drowning reference, toxic masculinity village edition

eventuell smut.

Beta-read by the wonderful @queenquazar

Cultural context notes:

I’m basing a lot on central and eastern european fairy tales.

The heron is a figure from an old fairy tale called the heron & the fox.

Masterlist

“What’s it like being married?” the king asked.

“Lot’s of work if you are doing it right.” The old man leaned back and fixed his pipe. 

The wooden ceiling above your bed was familiar and simple. Since you were a child, you had woken up to this sight since you could remember. Now, it was the most fascinating thing to stare at.

Cracks, textures, knotholes in the old planks– all of it was better to look at than to face the world outside of your little room.

You closed your eyes. Maybe you could summon back the night, the past days, the… quite a lot of time actually since you last been happy.

A sunray danced over your face.

Saichiki – as your mother had called them, little sun rabbits jumping around and reminding you that it was indeed day no matter how much you tried to pretend otherwise.

You took a deep breath, opened your eyes and got up.

Swinging your legs over the edge of your bed before-

Wet.

You jolted back and peaked over the edge onto the floor.

A puddle of water covered the ground before your sleeping space. A trail of little puddles leading away from the water at your bed and out of the room. Careful not to step into the water again, you got up and traced the trail out of the room, into the empty kitchen and finally out of the door.

Confused, you looked into the garden.

In the middle of the path was a pile of freshly caught, still wriggling fish.

Quickly, you slammed the door.

König, you thought to yourself while sliding down the wood door, plopping on the floor.

You heard yourself choke as the memories as they returned: Your family was gone, your grandfather had promised your hand in marriage to a strange inhuman being from the swamps, you nearly drowned yesterday, and the people from the village you had grown up with, wanted you gone because bad things happened around you. Maybe they were right and you were cursed.

Maybe you were cursed not like in the old tales but as simple as an unlucky charm, drawing the worst lot out for everyone including yourself.

You buried your face in your hands, allowing yourself an honest moment to cry.

A knock on the door made you jolt back up again, jumping away from the door and staring at the tarnished knob

You listened.

Another knock.

“Go away!” you cried, hoping that König or whoever from the village had come to your house, would just leave.

Another knock.

Groaning, you got up and ripped open the door while reaching for the broom next to the door.

“I said go away!” you cried again, ready to swing the broom at whoever harassed you, before stopping in your tracks, the door bouncing slightly against the wall.

A heron stood before your door, next to the pile of fish.

“Huh?”

The bird looked at you before looking back at the pile of fish.

Confused, you raised the broom to shoo away the bird.

“Shoo! Shoo! Go away!”

It danced a few steps back before returning to its spot and looking from you to the fish and back again.

You grimaced, shivering in only your chemise in the early morning breeze.

“Listen, heron, if you want a fish, just take some. They are not mine!” you tried, feeling out of your debts. Why were you even trying to talk to an animal?

Naturally, the bird said nothing.

“Of course,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to the bird, as you turned to close the door.

The bird rattled, as if laughing.

“Girl,” it cackled, and you froze in horror at the sound of the speaking bird, “I’m not eating the fish the king caught you. He tasked me to make sure you eat them. ‘My bride is so light to carry,’ he said. ‘Make her eat some fish,’ he said.”

Horrified, you kept staring at the bird.

“Take the fish!” it cried, “Don’t make me wait on you, girl.”

You blinked in surprise at the slightly annoyed heron.

“R-right. Sorry,” you mumbled before remembering your grandfather’s tales and warning about speaking animals. Bowing slightly to the bird, “Can I get you something in return for looking out for me, master heron?”

Another rattle from the bird.

“You can leave me a chalice out in the garden with some of the fish you are going to cut. It would be much appreciated.”

“Will do.” You bowed again before putting down the broom and quickly grabbing a big bowl to collect the fish.

As you returned to get the fish, you were alone. The heron was gone. Alone in the garden, you picked up the fresh trout and one big carp from the ground, feeling the heavy weight of watching eyes on you.

You kept inside the house as much as you could for the rest of the morning, only leaving to get firewood and water to wash and cook the fish. The thought of having more eyes watching you made your stomach turn. And having to face one of the same villagers who thought you cursed? The thought alone sealed your convictions to keep to yourself. You traced the wooden chopping board before sliding your fingers over the used counter. Home, it was all home, even the slightest dent felt like it belonged there just like you belonged with this house.

You let yourself fall onto one of the chairs, taking a break.

Why did I take the fish?

You could not help but wonder why you had allowed a bird to intimidate you so much before getting up and filling a chalice with a bit of fish for the heron as promised.

Because it spoke and birds don’t speak.

You grimaced to yourself as you placed the chalice onto the windowsill. Better not test your luck with speaking animals.

The fish König got you was fatty, fresh, and delicious.

You could not help feeling slightly grateful for the food. Maybe König was not as bad as you had assumed, and he did not want you any harm.

Maybe-

You froze at the thought of König feeding and fattening you up only to eat you once it fit him. The memory of one of many of your grandfather's tales rose up in your mind, like the pieces of fish rose up in the cooking broth.

“Open up, Wench!”

You flinched under the harsh words as someone knocked against the wooden door.

“Open up!”It was Ivar. Back in the days, he had been a friend to your father. Now, he was the first to terrorize you as the cursed girl.

“What do you want, Ivar?” you called through the closed door while stepping closer, clutching the broom again. It was better to ask before letting the mob leader in. And it was better to be armed with a broom than regretting not to.

“What do you want, wench?” he shouted, “I told you to leave yesterday. Yet, here you are! Nobody wants you here, bitch!”

Bile rose in your throat. It was bitter to discover the people you had grown up with turned against you so easily.

“This is my home, Ivar!”

He snorted dismissively, “This was your grandfather’s home - an honorable man. And you cursed and killed him, just like you killed all the others! I am not waiting for you to kill the rest of the village!”

“I have not killed anyone!” you cried. Fear, sadness, and anger – a lot of anger – tinting your voice.

“Don’t lie to me, witch!” Ivar spat, “You killed them! You killed them all. And now all that is left is you in this once honorable house. Leave or I’ll make you!”

You flinched.

“This is my home,”you whispered before raising your voice, “This is my home, Ivar! I’ll never leave!”

Cold and hot shivers washed over you as you felt tears well up in your eyes.

“Ha! You are a woman!” Ivar retorted with spite, “Only men can own land. You are so vile that no one even wanted to marry you for your family’s land. You are cursed! Leave before you kill us all!”

Hot tears spilled over your face.

Anger boiled in your stomach. But sadness kept you from shouting back at Ivar, sadness, and betrayal. It was as if Ivar did not need to drag you from your own home to punch all fight out of your body. With shaky hands you gripped the broom, trying to calm your agitated breath.

“Why would anyone marry for land?” a different voice asked.

Your eyes widened in recognition.

König.

“Now, marrying for water that I would understand,” König mused, “but land?”

A confused pause transfused through the wood door to you.

“Are you an idiot?” Ivar finally asked angrily, “Who are you, stranger?”

“König. The question is rather who are you to shout at my fiancé, little man?”

Another powerful pause before Ivar broke with a loud and dismissing, “What? You are lying!”

This was it, you realized, this was your chance of getting rid of Ivar and the villagers.

With a swing, you opened the door, wiping away your tears.

Ivar nearly filled out the door frame, but König easily loomed over Ivar, standing a couple of steps away in the garden. He stared down with an amused smile, cold blue eyes transfixed on the smaller man.

“No, he is not,” you declared while pushing your way past Ivar and stepped close to König, “This is König, my fiancé. Leave us alone, Ivar.”

“As if anyone would marry the cursed girl,” Ivar remarked despairingly.

“A curse?” König peeped curiously while slightly leaning into the space between you and Ivar.

You shifted around uncomfortably. “They say I am cursed because my family died, König.”

He turned his head and eyed you for a moment. You returned his curious gaze, he looked different now – human.

 “Intriguing. I’m a truly lucky man.”

“Are you insane?” Ivar gasped.

A quick smile flashed over König’s face.

“Insane?” he asked with a friendly tone that indicated entirely not friendly intentions, while stalking closer to Ivar, “Tell me – Ivar, right? Tell me Ivar, is it smart to harass the girl that you say is so cursed, she brings death to anyone close? Yet, you can’t get enough of yelling at her from as close as possible?”

Another step closer.

“Or, tell me, is it smart to anger the stranger who is willing to marry this cursed girl? Am I not the dead-man-walking then who has nothing to lose according to you?”

He straightened up, towering massively and glaring down at Ivar. You couldn’t pry your eyes from König, large and imposing, silent as a whisper as he unfolded the foolishness of Ivar’s so-called reasoning. 

“Or is my fiancé not cursed and you have no reason to be here, making you nothing but a petty man preying on those he can target easily? Uh, Ivar, tell me? What will it be?”

Another quick smile danced over König’s face, dangerous, entirely inhuman.

You shivered.

Ivar, feet still firmly planted, had leaned his shoulders from König, trying to create distance, and in his attempts, shifted around slightly, before looking around and finally, to the ground.

“This is not over, Good day,” Ivar mumbled and stepped away before turning around and walking out of the garden.

You both stayed and watched him trott off until he vanished between the trees and bushes, breathing a slow exhale once out of sight.

“What kind of curse is it?”

You turned your head, facing König.

“I’m sorry?”

“What kind of curse is it?” He repeated, “is it by a witch or by another human or something else? And how does it work?”

“I don’t know?”, you huffed, stepping away and crossing your arms before you defensively while fighting the incoming tears. “I am not cursed. I think. I hope. It’s only what Ivar says to make me leave the village. He wants my family’s fields and my home. It could be nothing but a convenient lie.”

“How disappointing.”

You blinked in surprise. Disappointing?

“You would have preferred me to have a curse, König?”

He shrugged, “I certainly wouldn’t have minded it. How dangerous can a little human curse be after all? And it could be practical to have curses to keep annoying men like Ivar away, don’t you think?”

You considered his words. It’s not like you wanted to believe him, but the thought of keeping anyone away with a curse - real or not - felt more comforting than you would have wanted to admit.

“Maybe,” you conceded, “But I would prefer not to be cursed, or have Ivar show up at my doorstep claiming that I am.”

“Do not worry about Ivar anymore, my bride,” König said before turning to the house. “I smell fish cooking. Is that the fish I got you?”

Your head whipped around. The Soup!

“Oh no, I forgot it!”you cried before running back to the house and to the fire. Quickly, you grabbed a rag before taking the hot iron pod to move it off the hot flames. It smelled fine, not too burned. Yet, the bottom of the pot felt like it had started to burn slightly as you stirred and tasted the meal.

At least one good thing today, you thought to yourself while taking a deep breath.

A little knock on the door made you look up. König standing in the door frame, looking all green and tangled again like you remembered from the pond. Briefly, you wondered how he did that.

“Everything alright?” He asked, peeking into the house, his skin shimmering like water reflecting sunlight before appearing nearly human again.

“Uhm,” you tilted your head and looked away, “It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

He eyed you silently, clearly not believing you before finally mumbling, “Alright, you are as good of a liar as an otter. Don’t worry, my bride, I’ll have the heron watch your house in case Ivar returns.”

“Oh, so that’s how you knew he was here,” you stated dejectedly. Even the bird was watching. Was there any way to escape all this with so many eyes on you?

He grumbled before stalking into the room.

With a shriek you stepped back but he was before you, bowing down to you.

Terrified, you froze in your spot.

“Don’t worry, bride,” he said, “I may not know much about your human customs. But, I know that I am expected to keep you safe. No harm will befall you anymore.”

You stared up at him.

Blue, watery eyes you did not understand. Eyes, so profound. You felt like falling into deep waters. As you stared, it recalled the calming waters of the swamp, the gentle sway of laping rivers. Waters that carried the same oaths and secrets and security you were almost granted the day before as you stared and stared and stared-

He blinked and smiled, his eyes suddenly just blue eyes, the profane dissipating like fog in the bogland.

You gasped for air, suddenly feeling your lungs constricted and your skin going cold and damp.

“I’m glad you want to marry me,” he said and straightened up again, “I worried that I might have scared you yesterday. But you called me your fiance, so you must not fear me.”

He chuckled darkly while drawing your form into a hug.

“Ivar on the other hand, has plenty to fear now after picking a fight with the king of under the water.”

[antiromanticbaby]

Kingdoms - Obey Me TSL

[✧] ー Have you ever wondered how each kingdom in the Tale of Seven Lords looks? Part 2 of my TSL rants <3 all of them will come with the tag #♡ ┊ tsl rants by pk.

[✧] ー extra: Lord Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke and even Solomon's places are mentioned too :)

The Main Three:

♡ ┊ There are three empires over all. Where angels, the holy creatures of light reside, is named Aurum. And where the Demons, creatures of darkness and sin reside, is named Sumbra. And then there is the land of humans, the place were creatures hold both darkness and light within themselves, known as Equilibrium.

♡ ┊ Aurum is ruled by a group of higher up angels named 'Father'. That father doesn't exist, but many believe it to do, especially the humans of Equilibrium. Some of the angels are known of these dark truths, and flee. The angel Simeon and the young angel in training Luke are two examples of the ones who flee, and live in Sumbra. The kingdom of demons, Sumbra, has one main Emperor, known as the King of Lords. That is where Lord Diavolo stands. That part of Sumbra is pretty much like a capital and has its own dukes, counts, etc. The roles are mostly based on Ars Goetia, much like Duke Barbatos. There are six kingdoms in Sumbra, ruled over by the seven overlords.

♡ ┊ And last but not the least is Equilibrium. The main king is King Solomon the wise, but the king himself is not seen much and is only named in stories. King Solomon the wise has disguised himself as a traveller between the three worlds and is known as a sorcerer.

Lord of Corruption:

♡ ┊ The Lord of Corruption's kingdom is by far, the coldest. Full of tall mountains and snow, and corrupted shadows. It is as if clouds are always looming over the kingdom throughout the daytime, and it's very rare for the people to see the sun. Nights are usually clear, but the shadows are ever lasting. The people in Lord of Corruption's domain are known for their harsh exterior but soft hearts, and they're very good when it comes to taming and controlling others. People are mostly wearing warm clothing, and they're very formal.

Lord of Fools:

♡ ┊ A deserted area, but full of glory. Imagine ancient Egypt, but make it eve more magical and elegant. The weather is usually hot, even in winters. As I stated in my other post, I like to imagine that his kingdom has multiple mines of gold and diamond, and many palaces like ancient middle eastern asian countries. The people are known for their good trades and they have connections all over Sumbra, some having connections in Equilibrium too. While Lord of Shadow's domain is good at training knights and war, Lord of Fool's domain is known for their wealth and connection, which makes them very scary.

Lord of Shadow:

♡ ┊ A fantasy kingdom, surrounded by water. The weather is amazing, if you enjoy being around seas a lot. Most of the people have their own sea pets and are great swimmers. I've once read that Levi trained and lead soldiers in wars, and so, I believe his kingdom in the TSL series is also good at training knights. The best knights in Sumbra are trained in Lord of Shadow's domain and have a badge that indicates that they've been trained there. They have huge troops of soldiers for wars and are known for their shape shifting abilities.

Lord of Masks:

♡ ┊ Have you ever seen pictures of magical forests where elves live? Where fairies fly around freely and magical animals walk around? That's the vibes I get when I think of the Lord of Masks. Also, many mystical animals are there. From golden deers to six eyed cats. The weather can be like rainy forests in summer, or as cold as the night in a desert. The whole kingdom, overall, gives cottagecore vibes. The people are known for their talent in plays and theatres. And if you want to read a good book, the best writers are from Lord of Masks' territory.

Lord of Lechery:

♡ ┊ Again another kingdom within mountains, but unlike Lord of Corruption's kingdom, Lord of Lechery's kingdom has warmer weather and more colorful flowers. Lord of Lechery's kingdom, or Asmo's kingdom, is also home to colorful birds and creatures that can live in mountains. Mostly birds though. The people are known for their fashion and amazing taste in colors. They're not that strong when it comes to war and magic, unlike Lord of Masks or Lord of Shadows, but the kingdom is supported by many. Many of the people don't see a reason for war either, why fight when all the other kingdoms love them and their lines of clothing?

Lord of Flies and Lord of Emptiness:

♡ ┊ The kingdom of sun and moon, the empire of light and dark. Where the skies are truly a sight and miracles happen. The kingdom is huge enough that it has been divided to two sides: The Sun, The Moon. This kingdom attracts many tourists, because sun and moon co-exist, they see each other everyday and even if they move, they're still together in the sky (which makes a very beautiful sight).

♡ ┊ Much like the kingdom itself, the people also have two sides. But that doesn't make them 'bad'. They have very delicious food and galaxy themed art. Things you can never find in other places of the world. There many accurate fortune tellers there and people who can read stars for multiple purposes, not just finding their way. The weather depends on where you are, the part dedicated to Lord of Flies? Pretty warm. Mind you, flies do exist there, and they adore the temperature. The part dedicated to Lord of Emptiness? You might need a blanket or too, but don't worry, it's not as cold of Lord of Corruption's domain.

These have been done for RP purposes. Shoot a message if you'd like to rp <;3 what should the next part be? wedding traditions? souvenirs? [Part 1]

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (14/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2134

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: For the first time in the six years she’s been on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra asks for Arianwyn to join her for a walk in the gardens.

Warnings: Mentions of rape.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99

The Garden

The morning air was cool, heralding winter’s coming before too long. But Arianwyn did not mind; it was quite warm on Emrys’ back. Indeed, the fire that raged within the dragon was so strong that even with the chill in the air and the wind whipping around her, Arianwyn’s brow was still dotted with sweat.

As always, she was loathe to bring Emrys back to solid ground. But Daemon’s threats still rang in her ears whenever she glanced across the sparkling water to King’s Landing. So, she landed again once more in the courtyard of Castle Dragonstone and watched with an aching heart as he was guided back to the Dragonmont.

While Arianwyn loved flying, she was decidedly less fond of her riding leathers, especially when the thick leather trapped the dampness of her sweat against her skin. So as long as she had to remain on the ground, she was eager to return to her tower and change into something more comfortable.

When Arianwyn emerged from the dressing room in a deliciously soft gown of gray silk, Brynna was waiting for her in the solar with paper in her hands.

“Today’s message from Prince Aemond has arrived, my Lady,” Brynna said, holding out an envelope sealed with deep green wax. She fumbled nervously with a small fold of parchment before handing it over as well. “And a note came for you – from Princess Rhaenyra.”

Arianwyn’s hands froze in the middle of tearing open Aemond’s letter. Rhaenyra sent her a message? Though her mind raced, she could not think of a single reason why. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she took the note from Brynna and unfolded it.

Lady Arianwyn,

As soon as you are able, please meet me in the Chamber of the Painted Table.

The weather is pleasant today, and I thought we could take a walk.

Princess Rhaenyra

In all the time she had been at Dragonstone, Arianwyn had never been asked to meet with her stepmother. So what reason could the Princess possibly have to reach out now?

Arianwyn refolded the note and looked to Brynna, who was waiting impatiently to find out what Rhaenyra had said. “She wants me to join her for a walk,” she said.

She was sure Brynna’s look of confusion was mirrored on her own face, but the lady’s maid quickly composed herself, nodded, and stepped back into the dressing room. “Right. You’ll need a cloak,” she muttered, almost to herself. “The wind will give you a chill.”

Once she was dressed to Brynna’s standards, Arianwyn made her way out of her tower and toward the Chamber of the Painted Table. She had been able to find her way through the castle without guards for several years, though Daemon still insisted she be escorted every time she left her apartments.

Unfortunately for her, the Stone Drum, the tower which held the legendary Painted Table, was on the far eastern side of the castle. Her tower, so small and unremarkable that it had never been given a grand name, was in the far west. As a result, it took nearly half an hour to reach her destination.

One of the guards moved to open the grand wooden doors carved with fearsome depictions of Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes in the Conquest, but Arianwyn held out a hand to stop him. Then, taking a deep breath, she focused on the carving of Vhagar, imagining that the rider atop her was not the warrior Queen Visenya, but Aemond.

Though she still missed him to the point of despair, the thought of him calmed her racing heart and gave her the strength to stand straight and proud as she finally signaled for the doors to be opened.

She was surprised to find the grand room nearly empty, the Princess and her constant retinue of guards the only occupants. Rhaenyra stood at the side of the Painted Table, in a position that, were the massive map real, would place her on Driftmark.

When she saw her stepdaughter descending the stairs, Rhaenyra gave the girl a pleasant smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn Kingsguard, from their conversation and moved to greet Arianwyn.

“Thank you for coming so swiftly,” Rhaenyra said, gesturing for the girl to rise from her curtsy. “I thought it was a fine day for a walk in the gardens, don’t you agree?”

Stunned by the casual way the Princess addressed her, Arianwyn gave a hesitant smile and nodded. That was all the affirmation Rhaenyra needed before she began climbing back up the stairs. Arianwyn dutifully followed, keeping her hands clasped before her and her head bowed.

The walk to the gardens was silent, save for the clanking of armor which always accompanied their guards. Arianwyn was desperate to know why she had been summoned, but protocol demanded that she allow Rhaenyra, her stepmother and presumptive heir to the throne, to speak first.

It wasn’t until they arrived at the gardens, the one place on the island where Maesters had been able to coax anything beyond grass to grow, that the Princess finally broke the silence.

“How was Emrys this morning?” she asked, fumbling over the pronunciation of the dragon’s name.

Arianwyn had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from correcting her stepmother. “He is well,” she replied curtly. But Rhaenyra continued to stare at her as if expecting more, so she continued, “He very much enjoys flying when the wind is strong, so his mood was quite high today.”

Rhaenyra grinned, “Syrax was the same way when she was young.” She laid a hand over her swollen belly, “I regret that I have not been able to ride recently, but Daemon is quite protective when I am in such a state.”

The small feeling of ease that Arianwyn had begun to feel was at once extinguished at the mention of her father. If only he had felt the same protectiveness for Rhea.

Sensing she had made an error, Rhaenyra moved quickly to try and break the tension. She cleared her throat, “The Dragonkeepers tell me you have been immensely helpful to Rhaena in her training with Morning.”

Indeed, for more than a year, Arianwyn had spent most mornings in the training yard with her younger sister and the hatchling. The still small creature, with scales the lovely soft pink of a sunset, had hatched from the clutch Syrax laid during Rhaenyra’s last pregnancy.

Arianwyn had nearly wept when she first saw Morning coiled around Rhaena’s neck. She had not seen a person so overwhelmed with joy since she watched Aemond claim Vhagar for the first time. Watching Rhaena bond with her dragon helped to fill the missing piece of her that still regretted not being there to see Aemond do the same.

“Rhaena is a naturally gifted dragonrider,” Arianwyn told the Princess. “I assure you, my help is entirely unnecessary.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “You would not know it by the way she speaks of you. It is good you can be a sister to her, with Baela on Driftmark with Rhaenys.”

“You flatter me, Your Royal Highness,” Arianwyn replied, bowing her head slightly.

The two continued to wander through the garden, exchanging formal pleasantries and shallow conversation for nearly an hour. By the time they at last reached the far wall of the massive park, and the vista overlooking the sea below, Arianwyn was so overcome with the monotony that she could no longer maintain her demure façade.

“Princess, may I speak freely?” She asked, her voice harder than it had been throughout the afternoon.

Rhaenyra blinked, surprised at the change in her tone. “Of course you may.”

“Why am I here?”

The Princess’ kind face immediately fell into passivity, and she let out a uncomfortable laugh. “I am afraid I do not understand what you are asking.”

Arianwyn steeled herself, looking at her stepmother directly as she spoke. “You and I have lived under the same roof for most of my life. For six years now, I have lived in your castle as your stepdaughter. And yet, you have said more to me just this afternoon than you have in all the past nineteen years. Why?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, though her voice remained friendly – but only just. “Do you think it wrong for a woman to desire to spend time with her family?”

“I think it strange when that desire appears so suddenly after almost two decades of neglect.”

The Princess sighed heavily, turning to face the sea. “That is why I wanted to tell you myself –we are to leave for King’s Landing at dawn. You will fly with us on Emrys.”

Arianwyn felt as though her heart might never beat again. She had dreamed of returning home for so long, but now that the prospect was before her, she struggled to trust that it was real.

“Truly?” she asked, her desperation revealed by the trembling of her voice.

“Truly,” Rhaenyra replied. She reached forward to take her stepdaughter’s hand. “Lord Corlys is gravely ill, and his brother is seizing the opportunity to formally contest Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark. We shall go to the capital as a family, united, to refute him.”

Arianwyn looked up into the Princess’ violet eyes, struggling to believe that she could ever be any part of her family – the family she shared with Daemon. But Rhaenyra’s gaze held genuine hope, perhaps even affection. Before she knew it, Arianwyn was clutching her stepmother’s hand.

“I am sorry for the way I have treated you,” Rhaenyra said, rubbing her thumb over the back of Arianwyn’s hand. “I know that I cannot change the past, or make up for the time we have missed, but I need you to understand. Will you listen to what I have to say?”

With a smile, Arianwyn nodded.

Rhaenyra continued, “I have loved Daemon all my life, since before I can even remember. When you were first brought to the capital, I was a heartbroken girl, younger than you are now. Daemon had just wed Laena and flown across the Narrow Sea, and I was left in the Red Keep in a marriage that was weeks old and already a failure.”

Arianwyn recognized the look on Rhaenyra’s face. She had often seen it in the mirror—the helpless look of one stranded in a prison beyond their control. Just as Arianwyn had not chosen to live on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra had not chosen her husband.

“Seeing you, the beautiful silver-haired daughter of the man I loved, was torture for me,” Rhaenyra confessed with guilt in her eyes. “I knew it was not your fault, but every time I saw you, I was reminded of the life I could not have – the fairy tale I always dreamed of.” Her words echoed similar feelings in Arianwyn’s own heart.

“It was easier for me to avoid you entirely than endure those horrible feelings,” Rhaenyra said as she raised her hand to Arianwyn’s cheek. “I am so sorry that my behavior has cost you your family all these years.”

At that, Arianwyn’s brows furrowed. She had been alone, surely, but she had not been denied her family. Ser Gerold still wrote to her frequently, as did Aemond. Alicent and Helaena had as well, even Aegon had sent a few ravens over the years. Her family was far from her, yes. But she had never been denied their existence.

Rhaenyra grimaced, “I know your relationship with your father has been strained. And how he treated your mother was…” she trailed off, grimacing, “regrettable.”

She continued her plea, but Arianwyn did not hear it. She had seen the look on Rhaenyra’s face when she mentioned Rhea – the pity, the disgust, and even the hint of fear.

Now, all Arianwyn could hear was the rushing of blood in her ears and two words echoing through her mind like thundering bells:

She knows.

It did not matter how she knew. Whether she deduced it or was told by Daemon himself was insignificant. Rhaenyra knew what he had done to Rhea. And still, she loved him. She remained married to him. She carried his child. Still, she would make him King.

What kind of person loved such a monster?

Arianwyn tore herself away from her stepmother, royal protocol forgotten and damned. Her heart, which had only just begun to warm to the woman, froze over once more. No, she would neverbe a part of this family.

As she stormed out of the garden, deaf to the calls of Rhaenyra and her guards, Arianwyn made a solemn vow:

She would return to King’s Landing, to her home and her true family. And once there, she would gladly die before allowing herself to be taken again.

Next Chapter

[emilykaldwen]

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

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

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

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

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One

CHAPTER TWO - REWRITE THIS PAIN WE OWN

Aegon grapples with the news of the betrothal. Alicent has a talk with Viserys, and Larys decides to finally step in as a brother. Allegedly.

The cloisters were some of the oldest parts of the Red Keep. They spanned the distance between the high towers of the Hand and Maester, then down along the edge of the main courtyard. Most ignored the courtyard in favor of the Godswood, or the great gardens further down near the cliff edge. This was an overgrown place, where Helaena delighted, once upon a time, in digging up fat pill bugs from the dirt, or where Aemond cried after being stung by a bee from the hive towards the eastern wall; a hidden place, ignored and forgotten by the wisteria and roses that crept along the arches, unkempt and wild and hidden even in the middle of what made the Keep - and the kingdom - turn.

Aegon’s heartbeat was thundering in his ears, and their footsteps echoed off the stone walls of the staircase as he focused on putting as much distance between him and everything in that room as possible. A headache pulsed in time with his frantic heart behind his eyes, and he could taste the acrid, burning bile in the back of his throat.

Betrothed.

The cold, dainty fingers in his damp, feverish hand gripped harder as they burst through the dripping, fragrant purple wisteria draped over the many arches, and out the bright morning sun that streamed into the garden.

“Aegon?” Abby’s voice was normally a sweetly soft or excitedly curious tone. Now, it cut through the pounding rush of blood in his ears with the way it shook with uncertainty and concern.

He abruptly let go of her hand and crashed through the flower beds instead of following the stone path that the moss had all but consumed. Buzzing filled his ears, and he fell to his knees beside a red berry bush and promptly heaved out the contents of his stomach. His world narrowed down to the raw tearing inside his throat, the painful clench of his insides, his whole body jerking with the motion as the mess spattered and soaked into the soft soil.

The ravens that called the great, weeping cherry tree home burst into the air with a litany of shrieks, clearly disgusted by the display before them.

Aren’t we all? he thought, fingers plunging into the sun warmed soil while his body decided it needed a break. Aegon gasped, dizzy and unable to catch his breath as panic fought to settle in his chest. The clamminess had not started yet. A good sign. He did not think he could withstand the onslaught of nerves that burst beneath his hangover.

“Aegon? Are you alright?” she asked, still in that gentle, worried tone. His mother sounded that way once upon a time, and with his eyes closed, Aegon could almost imagine it was his mother’s voice full of concern. It was not the voice of Alicent Hightower, however, but Abby and the worry that she hid behind her constant, ever present smile.

Except for years back, when her ocean blue eyes had gone dark and her little mouth went flat. Back then when her world burst into flames, he tried to save her. The girl he’d wrenched from the depths of grief had come back too bright, too smiling, too worried for everyone else but herself. Too prepared to burn herself out for everyone else while she froze.

He could only give her a resounding groan in response, because, well, it was exactly how he felt. He tensed, waiting to hear her footsteps through the garden to him, for it was something she would do: make sure he was alright, run a cool hand over his burning skin as she’d done for as long as he could remember. Shame burned his cheeks. He did not want her to see him like this. He hated it, and yet, here they were.

She’d have to get used to it, won’t she? Miserable, disgusting lech that you are.

Aegon chanced a glance over through damp tendrils of hair in his eyes, and saw her slippered feet and the swish of her blue skirt move away towards the willow and fountain that anchored the west end of the garden. He exhaled slowly, relief easing the knot in his chest while he watched the blue fabric finally vanish behind a bush with fat, pink and blue flowers. Perhaps she’d go drown herself in the fountain like a girl from a song to avoid this.

This, the thing he’d wanted since he was a boy and now could not run from faster.

Betrothal.

Marriage.

Aegon carefully lay down beside the bush, arm flung out and hair sticking to the dampness of his forehead. He was never awake this early, when the sun had barely crested over the walls. His throat burned and his stomach ached, chest too tight, and if he stood, he’d have to face her and it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He wanted to face her with a straight spine, sword at his side, a hand extended. My lady, he’d say, and her cherubic cheeks with her freckles would blush as red as her beautiful curls. Will you take me as your husband? He’d ask and show her how much he wanted her, instead of being ordered to. Her heart shaped mouth would part in surprise, her doll-like features bright with joy. Her fingers would slip into his, cold to his hot and he’d wrap her up and keep her warm. Warm and smiling and happy until they were old and gray and crumbling into dust.

Gods, he’d be so good to her.

Instead, she was alone over there and he was alone over here, dizzy and smelling of wine and vomit with a bite mark from one of the women he’d fucked either last night or mayhaps it had been in the early hours of this morning, right on his thigh from a less than stellar servicing.

The names of the others his mother and grandfather had listed off floated through his mind. Every single suitor was surely more worthy to be whatever it was they wanted him to be; every single one another reminder that they were forcing this. They weren’t even giving her to him, not to love like he wanted. No, they were taking his Maiden and turning her into a pawn just like him, placing her on the board beside him to move them both as his mother and grandfather pleased.

It felt like something sacrificial; dark and maybe sacred in whatever deals had been made, whatever machinations brewed behind the curtains that he could not see.

Everything worth having was meant to be claimed as he had Sunfyre, not shoved into his arms behind deceptively passive smiles.

A butterfly with green and blue wings edged in black floated across his vision and he wondered if Helaena had come out here recently. A fat bumblebee came afterwards, and he remained still and unblinking as it came near his nose, So close he could feel the brief brush of air from its buzzing wings, before it wandered away towards something that was far prettier and smelled better.

As Aegon’s ears adjusted to the sounds of the garden, he could finally make out the trickle of water from the fountain, and amidst it, the quiet murmur of Abby’s voice as she must be talking or humming to herself. He focused on the sound, as loathsome as he felt, and it helped ease the knots that had wound their way between his ribs. It always had. Long ago, when they were small, he’d crawl under tables to hide and press his heated skin against the cold floor. Her fingers would stroke his hair, and he’d plead for extras out of the treats she’d pilfer from the kitchens.

He hummed softly, soothing himself as he tried and gathered up the courage to rise shakily to his feet. His head spun, and he wobbled a bit before turning to focus on where she had gone. The humming caught in his throat as he finally focused on the sight before him, air leaving his lungs.

The fountain deep within the overgrowth still ran. Cool, crystal clear water poured from the cupped palms of the kneeling dragon queen. Queen Rhaenys tilted her lovely face up, a joyful expression forever etched in stone as the head and neck of her dragon, Meraxes, curled around her protectively.

They said that the Conqueror had never recovered the body of his love, for Rhaenys had died in Dorne and they’d only brought back the dragon’s head. Meraxes was ensconced below in Balerion’s Hall, for his sire was allegedly a romantic, although it was the Black Dread that was worshiped. He privately thought - since none cared for his voiced opinions - that his namesake would rather it be Meraxes they worshiped, or the two together. Aegon wondered if they interred part of the lost Queen within the garden, for the Conqueror’s tower loomed above the cloisters, and the King would look down upon the garden, where he sought solace after her passing.

Joy, his maester once said, had left the world when Rhaenys died, and that loss of joy gave rise to Maegor. As a child, he thought he’d marry his Maiden out of desire just as his namesake did Queen Rhaenys. As a child in their games, he was the Conqueror, and she his joyful queen, who he’d rescue from a terrible fate in Dorne, or from dastardly lords who’d want to claim her. Jaceaerys’ had played Harren the Black once, with Abby taking part of the hostage Queen (even though it never really happened, it didn’t matter). How fierce and bright his joy had been to hear her call out for him while he climbed the rocky outcropping of ‘Harren’s Tower’. How hard he fought to rescue her from Jacaerys’ clutches, where she’d cling to him and he’d protect her as they made their escape. For he could do what the Conqueror could not - save the one who held his heart.

How much he enjoyed being the hero to the rest of them. How he lived for her reliance on him as her protector in their mock battles.

The weeping cherry tree towered over this part of the garden. Its branches spread out and dappled the morning light that streamed in. Moss ran over the stone path of the garden and along the edges of the fountain where Rhaenys’ statue reached out to him. His red-rimmed eyes moved from the stone face to where Abby sat. She focused on something in the water, one hand reaching up to brace on the snout of the stone dragon as she leaned over. The long ends of her curls dragged through the water with the motion as she pushed something, murmuring words he couldn’t hear. A laugh escaped her as her mouth broke into an amused smile, so unlike the frightened one she gave him in the tower. The smile she wore to comfort others when she was afraid.

I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair.

The wind shook petals from the tree, sending the pink cascading down to blanket the surrounding area, and caught in her delicate curls. She did not notice him, and he approached quietly as the moss muffled his footsteps.

“Oh dear, not there, you little sailor. This way with the current,” she said, her laughing tone was bright, but he could hear the tremulous edge beneath it. Her hand reached out to a floating leaf, a tiny frog perched happily upon it.

Aegon moved slowly so as not to startle her. Perhaps he was buying himself time, knowing that everything careful in the moment was on the precipice of shattering. He stepped towards her, so close he could nearly feel the gentle warmth of her form. The scent of bergamot and rose clung softly to her hair, and as he leaned down to sit beside her, he instinctively raised his arm to catch around her waist lest she tumble into the cold water.

He froze. Her eyes met his in the reflection.

The back of his throat burned.

“Careful.” His voice was hoarse and raw, and even in the ripples of the water he could see how pale and sallow he looked. How pitiful compared to the delicate look of hers. “You don’t want to fall and hit your head.”

He pulled his arm back. He could not initiate. She was welcome to do so, but Aegon? Aegon was a greedy thing. It gnawed like a dragon in his chest. He did not trust himself to ever touch first, to not pull her into his ribs and cage her inside of him, to not make her his to hold and hoard.

He felt dizzy and the burning in the back of his throat grew. His vision spun and Aegon dropped to his knees on the ledge and plunged his head beneath the water before he could vomit all over her. The world was pleasantly muffled beneath the water, and he shut his eyes, exhaling bubbles in the water. Time slowed, the heat of his skin cooled, and Aegon felt like he was floating. Even his headache had eased.

Hands gripped and tugged at his shoulders, pulling him from the floating world he had hidden himself in. Abby left him gasping and sputtering, her little fists shaking him, and he finally focused on her tirade. “Careful not to hit my head? Aegon! What are you doing?” she cried.

Water streamed down his face, plastering his hair to his head and obscuring his eyes. Sputtering and coughing for air, Aegon felt the bubbling of giggles falling from him like a madman. His shoulders shook, delighting in her reaction and the way her usually calm demeanor gave way to worry and annoyance.

It should not have brought him great joy to see her reaction, and yet…

Aegon’s giggles continued, although he had the great decency to try to soften them at the angry flash in her lovely blue eyes. The fabric of her blue dress had darkened in spots from the water he’d sent everywhere; it soaked her sleeves up to the elbows and his eyes caught a few beads of water tracing down her throat into the square neckline of her dress, along the soft sprinkle of freckles and… he should not be looking, but she was his betrothed now. That meant it was okay, right?

He tore his gaze from the blush that spread along her throat. He should not look. He could not look. He could not be trusted.

“At least we like one another,” she offered with her usual hopefulness and tried to get him to meet her eyes. “That counts for something, doesn’t it, Aegon?”

Stop saying my name, he thought. Then, never stop saying it, Seven, never stop.

Aegon snorted, his laughter bursting forth before he could even stop and think of it. The water that still trickled over his face spewed out from his nose and he could feel his face heat from his dance at the edge of hysterics. Amusement and abject panic, always. “Like one another?” he gasped out amid his fit. He fell back onto the grass. “What a grand marriage liking one another will make.” His own parents had liked one another once, and he dealt with the fallout of that every moment he drew breath.

Tears welled up in his eyes from his exertions and as the laughter settled, he realized he was alone in it. Confusion overtook the panic, and he finally focused on her.

Abby still sat on the edge of the fountain, her head turned away. Her curls hung down and spilled once more into the water, but he could see how red her face was. One arm had wrapped itself around her waist with fingers hooked into her belt; the other gripped the edge of the worn stone with white knuckles. There were no twitching, bloody fingers, but the cut of her shoulders tensed all too familiarly, too familially.

Her chin was trembling and her teeth had bitten into the plump pink of her lower lip. A bead of blood welled and rolled down her chin. Red streaked across her flushed skin when she hurriedly wiped it away.

Aegon’s laughter eased, his mouth dry, mirth still clear from the tear streaks on his cheeks, and something painful and heated ignited in the pit of his stomach.

Good, he thought. It was good that he’d upset her. It was good for her to expect less.

“You know, I didn’t ask for this either, Aegon.” Her tone was even, but instead of gentle, it was sharp. A sudden swipe of claws because his ankle had gotten too close to the cat who had been napping there. “I never asked for you.”

I never wanted you, he heard lurking beneath, and that ugly, heated thing burned inside of him. She couldn’t even look at him and Aegon’s heated cheeks darkened and he could feel it spreading down his neck, past his soaking collar, until it felt like his very heart might burst out of his chest at the humiliation that was settling in.

“I never asked for you either.” He was pushing up to his feet just as she was, and she still would not look at him. “Aren’t you getting the better deal out of this, anyway? I’m making you a fucking princess. Abrogail-” He reached out to jerk at her arm that still wrapped around her waist, fingers harsh and angry and Aegon could not help himself.

A chirp escaped her, The same sort she made when she touched a bowl that was too hot, or stabbed herself with her embroidery needles.

She finally looked up at him, and the humiliation he felt deepened as the shame threatened to manifest and noose around his neck. Her mouth pinched white around the edges except for the blood that welled along where she’d bitten her lip, her large blue eyes glossy and shining in that way he hated and had promised once upon a time, childishly, to protect her from.

The urge to drag his tongue along the streak of crimson across her mouth was growing, anything but childish and he forced his focus to anything else. His eyes darted to the hand that held her upper arm and the way his fingers pressed in hard enough to push in the fabric of her pretty, now wet, dress. So distracted by his hand on her arm, Aegon did not notice her other hand rise until she clawed at the exposed skin of his wrist and he howled in pain, immediately releasing her and looking at the four streaks of red across the back of his wrist and the blood that welled up.

Good, he thought again, as instead of that helpless look she had, it morphed into something flushed and angry at him. Better this than that biddable sweetness she used to placate herself and others. Better her rage than delusion.

I’m sorry, his lips moved to try form the words but her delicate hands came up and shoved him with a grunt. There wasn’t a lot of strength behind it, but with how unsteady he was already, it took little to send him sprawling back on his ass on the ground.

“I’ve never asked for anything from you, Aegon,” she croaked out. Her skirts gathered in her hands, she all but ran from him and the garden, disappearing behind the dripping wisteria and into the Keep.

Good.

Aegon scowled at his reflection in the fountain, and scattered it in his frustration.

“You were missed at council today, Viserys,” Alicent said as the doors to the King’s chambers were shut behind her, her voice as clipped as her footsteps along the stone floor.

A slight cough shook the King’s shoulders. He had been unwell the past few weeks, but was getting around again now, finally out of bed and reclined in his chair with furs piled around him. Maester Mellos had expressed concern about him losing the rest of the arm, but they’d saved it. Viserys hummed, turning the pages of the book before him, and Alicent was truly taken aback by how similar Aemond and Viserys were. The boy had spent little time around his disinterested father, so she could not attribute the similarity - the tone of the hum, the focus on the book of histories rather than to whatever she might be saying - to anything other than inheritance.

At least the disinterest was not among the traits passed down. Aemond paid attention to her. Aemond listened to her. Aemond, her baby boy, her brightest star, cared for her, and heard her.

A fondness built in her chest - rare the past handful of years. She had not always felt resentment towards her husband. Once, she even enjoyed his company, sitting and listening to him speak of matters that were close to him, being a valuable voice of reason. It was Viserys who had opened the seat on the Small Council to her, as his queen, gifting her something not even Aemma Arryn had.

Perhaps that was why it all hurt so much.

“We have summoned the Lords Blackwood and Bracken, along with Lord Tully - I’m assuming the grandson - to answer for the continued violence that has not ceased.” Alicent’s report fell from her like a page bringing a missive to their master and the familiarity of the charade grated on her nerves but she kept her tone neutral. A simple recounting of events to keep the king apprised of the council that she ran now.

That received a response. Viserys tilted his head with a curious furrow of his brow. “Why ever for? It is a Riverlands matter, Not something to concern ourselves with.”

“It is not simply a Riverlands matter when they are burning each other’s lands and whomever gets caught in the crossfire. Lord Tully will not bring them to heel,” Alicent normally did not snip so quickly in their conversations, but her concerns and worry overshadowed her careful control. Of course, Aegon frayed her nerves more than they already were. She was on edge, as time with her eldest always pushes her to. “The council thought it best that we summon the three houses together for mediation, so they may see that their actions have far-reaching implications.” She paused, reaching to pick up the dragon figurine atop one of the dusty buildings. The stone mason had done a remarkable job fixing it all those years ago. The cracks were barely visible, but still there. “Should the Riverlands show weakness, the Ironborn may decide that may prove better ground for raiding once more.”

“Mmm, sounds like Tyland would rather have the Riverlands bicker and peck at one another then. I believe Lord Farman wrote of a raid a few moons ago? Best to give them somewhere else to look. I fear the Ironborn will always be trouble no matter what.” Viserys chuckled at his own black humor and Alicent nodded, a tight smile creasing her features. Tyland knew ships, knew the sea, but he was no Corlys Velaryon, who had no plans to return to shore soon, judging by the last updates he’d sent from the Stepstones. “A slow meeting, then?”

The pumice stone scraped softly as she put the dragon back. “We announced the engagement of Aegon to Abrogail Strong.” Viserys looked confused once more before recollection dawned on him and he made a quiet ‘ah’. “The Grand Maester and Lord Tyland thought that, with Aegon’s name day approaching, we might combine the celebration and throw a tournament, and maybe a hunt.”

The fire crackled in the quiet and Alicent finally allowed herself to relax and pour herself a cup of wine from the side table before taking a seat on the chair normally reserved for the stonemason. She did not mind a bit of dust. “Aegon will be eight and ten. A man grown, A man who will now marry and start a family of his own. That is worthy of celebration, is it not?” A sad smile crossed her face as she met her husband’s eyes and found a mirror of her own expression there.

“Aye, it is. I remember how much he laughed when we took him on that hunt. Do you remember?” Wistful, Viserys tilted his head and picked up a half carved dragon. “Waving his wooden dragon around, his joyful laughter.” A lump formed in Alicent’s throat, and she occupied herself with her wine glass. “He was always laughing, I remember that, before the others came along. Didn’t enjoy sharing the spotlight, did he?” Another chuckle. “But I think we’ve raised a fine boy, haven’t we?”

It was Alicent’s turn to be struck dumb. The recollection of Grandmaester Mellos struggling to find anything to say about her son came back to mind and the stab of pain between her ribs had her turning her head with a nod and a hum. Unbidden, she thought of Rhaenyra, crying softly beside her in the sept for the loss of her mother, and the confusion at feeling as if her own father did not understand her. Alicent took a gulp of wine. Quiet for a moment before she allowed herself to speak. “Yes, my love, we have raised a fine boy.”

“My father would find it strange, you know, that Aegon does not marry Helaena. Your father thought we should wed Rhaenyra to Aegon, but Laenor, rest his soul, was such a good man.” The comment had Alicent’s eyes widening, and she nearly choked as she took another sip of wine.

“He suggested what?” Whatever expression she had earned laughter from the king as she dabbed at her wine soaked chin.

“That was my reaction,” he chuckled. “Ridiculous. Things have a way of working themselves out, though, do they not? Why, I jested with Lyonel that very night if he was going to offer his son to marry Rhaenyra after Jason Lannister thought he could offer my daughter compensation.”

Funny that, Alicent thought, keeping her features still as the stone that lay between them. Guilt twisted in her belly at the memory of Lyonel Strong. How grateful in her grief and solitude she had been for the warm companionship of her cousin, Celeste, his wife. How grateful for the kindness she and Lyonel had shown her - the closest she had to family that were not her own children. How guilty she still felt to know that Lyonel’s death was through her own desperation.

“Lord Lyonel would approve the match. I recall we had discussed it once, not long before…” She swallowed, her mouth gone dry, and Alicent flexed her fingers against her goblet, stretching them out like a cat flexing its claws. The tension that ran through them ached.

Viserys hummed again, losing his longtime friend visible on his features and he drummed his fingers upon the book before him. “Did he? He never mentioned it to me, but…” A shift of his countenance as he visibly recoiled against the sadness and grief. “Aegon will find a fine wife in the Strong girl, if she’s anything like her father. Lyonel did well to temper some of my admittedly more foolish ideas. I may have been more inclined to listen without issue had they come from a comely maiden.”

Another pang, this time as she recognized the smirk on Viserys’ face as the same she’d seen across Aegon’s as he teased his siblings with some ribald comment.

That had come from observation, she was certain. As had the drinking.

Alicent took another sip of her wine.

“Lord Larys has suggested that after they’re married, Aegon and Abrogail would go to Harrenhal. She is his heir. Aegon could do well to have some responsibility. We will have to decide what to do with Sunfyre.”

“You cannot separate a boy from his dragon. Rhaena housed Dreamfyre at Harrenhal when she resided there. We’ll ensure they’re up to snuff before they go.” A glimmer crossed his features, curiosity and excitement. “My grandfather gave Harrenhal to the Strongs. It seems fitting that we have come full circle. You know, it was a Strong who was the longest serving Hand of the Conqueror. They are the most loyal of friends. Advisors. Defenders.”

It was her turn to hum, biting back the urge to invoke how Ser Lucamore Strong had sired nigh a dozen bastard children before being sent to the Wall. At least in Ser Harwin’s case, he had not been a Kingsguard - not that vows had stopped Rhaenyra before. Alicent took a breath, willing the vindictiveness to bleed out of her. Those were unkind things to think, for Harwin was not the one at fault. The princess’ whims drove Harwin, as poor, loyal Criston before him, into her clutches.

Rhaenyra had never been offered up on a platter - not in the way she’d been, not in the way she was doing to Abrogail. Mother above, please forgive me, Celeste.

Alicent did not seek to fill the silence. She watched her husband look at his book, but knew he was not truly reading it. No, he was planning something, tapping down his temper, or both. Viserys always had a temper, even if it rarely burned as hotly as Rhaenyra’s did. She had gotten better at withstanding the heat, as she’d gotten better at withstanding many things over the years.

“Why aren’t we marrying Aegon and Helaena?” he finally asked. It was only a question, no lure and trap beneath his words. “You were so against the match with Rhaenyra’s boy, so why not them? Had I a living sister, I would have married her. It’s the Targaryen way.”

The Targaryen Way is not always the right way, she thought. Aegon’s claim would need to challenge Rhaenyra’s without question, but her solution would not be to yoke her sweet daughter to her own brother simply because they were half dragons.

She remembered Aemond, maimed and covered in bandages to protect the wound from infection, standing in the doorway of the solar at breakfast. It had left her speechless in the moment, but now the memory left a slight smile gracing her face.

“Because Aemond bonded with Vhagar, and declared that should Helaena marry anyone but him, he would burn the realm down and us with it.”

The sentence hung in the air until Viserys roared with laughter and Alicent joined him. It had been so long since she had laughed that tears pricked the corners of her eyes. It felt good to laugh with the man she called husband, than to feel so terribly lonely.

“Spirited! Boy knows what he wants.” He slapped his hand on the open book before him with another laugh. “Well, how about a two-fold celebration? We could-”

“I thought, perhaps, a Baratheon marriage might suit Aemond. He is of an age with Lord Borros’ eldest. With Abrogail leaving, she may also make a fine companion for Helaena, and maybe another sister for the Harrenhal court. I was going to write to him, invite her to the Keep so they may get to know one another.” Helaena would need time to adapt to a new companion, and she was not looking forward to the fallout of the changes should her daughter not go along with it. Viserys’ laughter ebbed and Alicent swirled the wine in her goblet. The garnet liquid caught the firelight. Fire and blood. She tapped her fingers along the sides of it, knowing that she had to be careful. “The gods blessed us with three sons and a single daughter. We should take advantage of that to help spread some stability in the realm.”

Sons you so desperately wanted and then summarily denied.

“Is the realm truly so unstable, wife?” Sharp, pink-lilac eyes turned to her. Another expression, this one similar to the gaze that Helaena took when she was trying to convey something of import. The color was different: Aegon’s eyes were his father’s, Helaena’s closer to lavender, Aemond’s a periwinkle, and Daeron’s a cornflower blue so commonplace they’d pass for Andal were their shine not so luminous.

“No, but we have four children, husband, who will need to have their futures ensured and cared for,” she pointed out reasonably and nothing she said was wrong. Their futures needed to be assured. Viserys gave little response, but she could see he knew she was right. Quiet reigned once more. She noticed cobwebs had formed along the primary thoroughfare of the stone city.

“The blood of the dragon must remain pure, Alicent,” Viserys said with a strength absent from before. Alicent looked over at her husband, who did not look at her. Instead, he’d risen and stepped closer into the inlet of his miniature Valyria. “We are above mortal men. We are dragonriders, and dreamers of great things. Aegon the Conqueror dreamed of great things, of this realm that has, in fact, become great.”

Where was Viserys going with this? “I remember you telling me. Aegon’s second name day, in front of the bonfire.” He’d been mad with grief and drink, had scared her with his dream of Aegon wearing the crown in front of an adoring crowd - how Aemma had paid the price for chasing it, with his doubt and confusion as their son slept soundly in his little bed. She opened her mouth to press the matter, but the king continued.

“You are not a Targaryen, my dear wife, but that does not mean that no matter how you dress them in green, your children will be anything but.” Alicent drew back in her chair and the grip on her cup tightened. Her children, not his. Not his no matter what happened. “Pursue this Baratheon marriage if you’d like, and should Aemond want it, then it’s fine with me. If his mind is not changed, then they have my blessing.”

Abrogail felt like she was fraying at the edges, unmoored from her usual sense of self: calm, collected, able to focus regardless of what was on her mind. None of that mattered in the wake of what happened in the tower or what followed between her and Aegon. She’d barely allowed herself any time to collect herself before joining Helaena and Aemond in the gardens, letting Aemond fill the silence as Helaena’s focus ebbed and flowed.

So distracted she’d been, thoughts lingering on the morning’s events, that she hadn’t heard Helaena’s persistent calling until she’d snapped a frustrated “What?” to be met with Helaena’s surprised gasp and wide eyes… which in turn had Aemond turning an angry eye to her viciously. He hadn’t said anything particularly harsh, but with her own guilt at snapping and Aegon’s behavior, and then Aemond’s anger, she’d left the gardens in tears, ignoring Helaena’s calls for her to come back. The princess hadn’t ordered her return. Perhaps for the best.

Perhaps she’d be pulled from her service sooner than anticipated, and replaced with Penrose. Punished for her insolence. Marrying Aegon, did that mean she was on the same level as Helaena? That once married, Helaena couldn’t order her about, or that Abby was meant to serve her?

More often than not, Abrogail was Helaena’s bedmate, the two girls sharing pillows since she’d become the princess’ proper companion. It meant that her rooms outside the holdfast had all but been abandoned. She was a visitor more often than a tenant, so much so that it had taken Allana Tyrell and Josana Lannister a moment to recognize her when they passed in the halls - the elder girls arrived at court after a season away - and exchanged pleasantries. Abrogail all but ran the last few yards to her destination, and nearly slammed the heavy door shut behind her.

The apartments that belonged to Larys were modest, housing only a sitting room and two bedrooms: Larys’ to the left and hers to the right. So unlike the warm, multiple levels of the Hand’s tower that she’d spent years exploring and playing in. The room was empty when she burst in and she was grateful that her quiet, piercing elder brother could not witness her state as she sought solace in the cold and empty chamber. There was no warm fire crackling merrily in the hearth to welcome her, and she had to go back to the sitting room to fetch the pitcher of water there to clean her face from the tears and calm the burning of her cheeks. Not even Theraxis was there to comfort her as he often did, rolled onto his back, fluffy belly offered to bury her face in and have her hair licked by his sandpaper tongue.

A sob tore at her chest and she gulped the rest down and went to the bed and collapsed upon the cold sheets. Fingers curling in the comforter, she tried her best to hold back her tears. Even alone, she could not let the despair overcome her.

It had not been long after her mama died that Corynna, her elder half sister and Larys’ sister, had sent word that she would take her sweet little sister as she needed a strong, motherly presence in her life. Abrogail had been distraught and trying to hide it as they had fallen into a game of hide and seek that bright day.

I’ll marry you, Aegon had whispered into her hair, the pair of them hiding beneath the heavy boughs of a flowering bush as Jacaerys played seeker in their game of hide-and-seek. I’ll marry you and they won’t send you away because you’ll be mine. They’d been little more than babes in leading strings then, where Aegon’s smile had not faded into bitterness and her life had still been warm and safe. Crumbled sweets shared as the pair did their best to hide from the persistent Jace, and it had been Harwin who found them hours later. Asleep surrounded by the scent of rhododendrons and petals caught in red and silver heads both.

She did not know how long she lay atop her bed, only that the shaft of sunlight through the narrow window inched across the bed and across her skirts until the familiar drag-thump drew her notice towards the door. Larys was generally quiet and she’d only heard it for it was a sound she knew her whole life.

Her brother was taller than he generally appeared, and in the half light of the early evening, for a moment Abrogail thought he looked very much like their father. The same widow’s peak, the similar set of the jaw even though Lyonel had been a larger man than his second son. She sat up, swiping her sleeve across her face as Larys watched her with his inscrutable look.

“I needed to be alone,” she said softly. “I apologize for bothering you.” She wasn’t sure if she truly needed to apologize for being in her own room, but it was often difficult to discern her brother’s reaction to her. They weren’t close, and their relationship was not a warm one. Abrogail felt that when it came to her, Larys Strong was not quite sure what to make of her or even what to do with her.

“It is your room,” he finally said with a tilt of his head and an ambivalent shrug. She watched him as he perused the area, lingering on the empty grate and then to her. Years of practice kept her from instinctively shifting beneath his gaze but it was still an uncomfortable feeling being sized up. “Although it is not very comforting for what troubles you. I’m sure today has been more than a shock to you, sister.” Abrogail opened her mouth, then closed it with a click and merely nodded. He let out a hum and tapped his cane on the floor before opening the door further. “Well, it all works out in the end. I meant to speak with you this evening anyway. Come - Father would insist you have a belly full of warm food to dry your tears.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled and the scent of fresh bread and meat finally registered. She was starving, having only eaten that morning and so she followed her brother into the sitting room. It was warmer, the fire blazing, and the table was set with plates of food and fresh Malvales flowers in a vase. Abrogail frowned slightly at the sight of them. The only other place she’d seen them other than the Godswood was in the Queen’s chambers. She knew her brother counseled Queen Alicent and they shared meals from time to time, but the flowers still seemed strange. The servant who’d brought the food ladled fresh, steaming boar stew onto plates and Abrogail reached for a warm roll when her eyes caught on the basket of cakes to the side. They glistened with syrup, and the fresh scent of oranges assaulted her when she drew close until her brother’s sharp tsk stopped her. “For after you’ve finished your plate.” A slight twitch of a smile when he sat himself down, dismissing the servant and for a moment she simply stared at him.

“You sounded so much like Papa,” she said as she sat across from him.

“Mmm, I do hear that sometimes. I suppose one tends to pick up manners from their elders. How often I’ve heard those very words come from him, hm?” She scrunched her face up with a half smile playing on her own features and quietly dug in.

Neither Strong attempted to fill the silence as they tucked into their meal. Only the scrape of cutlery and the quiet sounds of eating filled the space. It didn’t feel like a standoff between them, even more so than when it was Larys who finally broke the silence.

“Cory will be mollified by the fact that you’re marrying a prince instead of one of the Lannister bannermen,” he said nonchalantly as he spoke of his sister. “She’s been hounding me to send you to her, but I know how much this place is home to you. Harrenhal is a far closer ride on your husband’s dragon than in a wheelhouse or on a ship from Lannisport.”

“Has she?” Abrogail wasn’t sure what else to say as the thoughts that swirled through her continued to distract her. Her and her sister were not at all close. Clever and sharply delicate, Corynna Strong could have gone to the Citadel had she been born a man. Instead, she had begrudgingly married the third Lannister son as the eldest was unavailable and Abrogail privately thought that their father had sent Cory away to be kept under the hawkish, watchful eye of Johanna Lannister instead of getting underfoot there in King’s Landing.

Abrogail did not complain. The few times she’d been with her, Cory was a sharp, judgemental woman who always had a criticism for how to improve herself, and more often than not had taken to pinching her arms and waist and assessing with that inscrutable countenance she shared with Larys. “Uncle Otto mentioned several,” she paused to tear at a piece of bread to keep from fidgeting. “Several, um, suitors? You never mentioned them.”

“Well the Queen didn’t either and although I am your brother, and head of our house, you are her ward, and because she is Queen, she too has a say in who, ah, takes you.” Larys looked apologetic and uncertain of how to word it and she nodded in understanding to put him at ease. “Her Grace is quite fond of you, you know. She only wants what is best for you, as if you were her own daughter. It is sweet. Your mother would be pleased.”

Abrogail bit her lip and looked down at her plate. Tines of the fork scraped along the edge pushing meat through sauce. Targaryens have queer customs, marrying their siblings or their uncles, she thought. Would her and Aegon’s children have to wed one another, as was tradition? Her head pounded with all the questions and she struggled to find a place to begin.

“Yes, I think she would,” she said finally and met her brother’s concerned gaze. It was the softest she’d ever seen him, which was saying a lot given his nature. For the first time, Abrogail felt like her brother might actually feel like her brother. “I don’t know where to start with all my questions, Larys,” she found herself admitting, reaching to him across this distance. “From being your heir, to how this all came to happen. I’m so overwhelmed and…” she trailed off with a slump of her shoulders and another lump in her throat.

She reached for her goblet of red wine, trying to push the feeling away. A wince crossed her features as the sharpness of it hit her tongue. She tended to favor the sweetness of ciders and meads.

The scent of the arbor red reminded her of Aegon.

Abrogail put the goblet down and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, brother.”

“No need, dear sister. Being overwhelmed is only natural in this case, but your willingness to be open with your questions reassures me that you and I can start forging our own road. You are my heir, and although we are not close, I do care for you, Abrogail.”

“Do you?” she asked. She raised her eyebrows. “Larys, you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t even like me.”

He matched her expression with his own. “I do. Besides, you are a woman grown now and far easier to talk to than a rambunctious child of eight.” Abrogail felt her cheeks heat and she couldn’t find fault in his argument there. A soft chuckle escaped him and she watched him resume tearing apart a roll. He did it so oddly and always had. Fingers carefully working along the circumference of the warm bread and slowly spreading it apart, so the soft interior gently pulled as if he savored the very act.

To be fair, it was good bread.

“There are none that attract my gaze, and I doubt there ever shall be. Given that I have little penchant for things like mistresses or whoring, there will be no progeny. Corynna’s rights are forfeit, as she’s married a Lannister.” He paused, gazing at her for a long moment until she realized he expected an answer from her.

Abrogail frowned as she thought. Corynna had married a third son, but the children of that union may very well wed Lord Jason’s son, Or marry into banner houses should they not have more children. Or even become heirs of the Rock. “As long as Rhaenyra is heir, Aegon is fourth in line. If he marries me, he gains a title and lands,” she said slowly. Jacaerys would take the throne one day, and Lucerys would have Driftmark. Little Joffrey may very well marry into another great house, but there were no more titles and lands to pass off, and that was before Queen Alicent’s children were considered, and the Queen wanted Aegon to be King.

To say it out loud would be treason, and when Abrogail’s eyes found Larys’, he gave an encouraging nod. “Harrenhal would provide income independent of what is owed the crown?” Uncertainty laced her voice. She did not know much about her family’s seat. She’d only been there a handful of times, half of them having been full of grief and misery, but she did know that outside of hushed whispers of curses and ghosts, that Harrenhal’s lands were the richest in Westeros when they were handled properly. “Harrenhal is why those other families wanted me, isn’t it?”

“Some,” Larys said matter of factly. “Tully and Vance in particular given their proximity and would benefit the most. Others claimed to be enchanted by the young beauty they’d heard of growing in the Queen’s garden.” The words sounded too poetic for the man her brother seemed and the incredulous look on her face must have been all he needed, for Larys actually laughed. A strange, unused sound and a shake of his head. “Those were the words of the Vance heir, I believe. Should they have been romantic enough, you could still say no to this current arrangement.”

No, Abrogail thought. No, she couldn’t.

She wanted to ask Larys why he would be alright with her saying no. If it had been her father, she would have. Her papa had never turned her curiosity and questions away. No matter how silly or simple they may have been, he was always happy to teach her. This was probably the longest conversation they’d had since the funeral, but Abrogail did not feel comfortable asking. Not yet. Maybe… maybe someday.

“Thank you,” she said instead with a small smile and Larys seemed pleased with that. “I would like to learn more about Harrenhal. Before the wedding and everything. I want to make you proud. I want to make Papa proud.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and was grateful that Larys did not look up at her and instead focused on buttering another bread roll.

“As my heir, I will begin to discuss these things with you, and you should begin speaking with our uncle. He will be here for the engagement tournament.” The butter knife scraped against the wooden dish as he went for more. She watched his dark hair fall into his eyes, the way Harwin’s curls would and the tightening sensation in her chest came back. Another mouthful of wine, which only reminded her of Aegon again.

Aegon’s fingers in her hair, thumb brushing her tears in the quiet of the Sept. “I’m so sorry you lost them. I’m so sorry they’re gone.”

“Abrogail?”

She blinked and found him watching her with a gentle expression. He smiled that small smile of his. “I said, perhaps we can start having our own dinners. Get to know one another better.”

“You mean like how you have dinners with the Queen?” Once a week, the pair of them met privately in her solar. She’d seen them once through the window, the pair discussing things or the queen’s voice raised about whatever terrible thing had happened that week. A friendship. A council.

Larys’ smile broadened. “Yes, dear sister. Exactly like that.”

[Chapter Three]

[cornus27florida]

Personal Review GwenDerick/FredDolyn Time-Travelling AU - Canon Divergences

I like to compiling everything to help me going forward...

Basically I make CPC fanfic about time-travelling AU (to the past) and thus making it Canon Divergences AU (means it will changes over plot points in the canon source) - my two favorite troupe AUs as it could explore so many possibilities of "what-ifs" in the original source material of the story...

There's an ongoing project by myself that I am not sure when it'll end but I know how the details it goes.. Thanksfully for the addition of my cowriters @ Queen_Allu (same name as in AO3) and @ Jazzyluvs008 (sunflower8) at the middle early part of the journey to not making me feeltoo lonely. The project is hopefully not that (too) ambitious for myself that could strains my own heart and body (espc the eyes) and my own mental and minds (there's some chapters that even on introduction arc already made my heart's bleeding and head's dizzy) - as I am on 1/7 path of the journey there based on ch

GwenDerick/FredDolyn is make me built such a special place in my heart as hardcore shipper, I really adores their journey of relationship from a complete stranger (which the male scared shirtless over the female with such unorthodox look) to such a trustworthy friend (with the help of the CPC and how the story progress, the male opens up to the female) to likely now as to be a lover (there's definetely romantic note between them, as basically they are already say love to each other - even with such 'tragic' situation as the current story)

So, Troupe "Stranger to Friend to Lover" AU canonically? Hell yeah it is! I feel this another reason why GwenDerick is so special in my book of shipper - because it's so natural and could happen to anyone, so relatable in real life. Gwendolyn is not perfect (I am not talking about her look that basically the main plot turner in the story, I am talking about her lack of skill in communication that make the whole CPC story to be happen) and so does Frederick isn't Prince Charming (I won't talk further about it, as I know there's so many people that still hates him and could utters so many hate speech over him - feel free to do so, it won't change my love over him as I think that Frederick is the best boy in the CPC that has the best character development ever possible).

There's actually several others AU troupes that happened to GwenXFrederick canonically, but I won't talk about those as I like to focus on promoting my own fanfic which featuring them as the main couple while using my top two AU troupes as the gears for the series to moving them to go...

I really wish for more people to read it, I really do.. And could give me feedback over it. That fic is basically the retelling of 'retelling' which is the CPC | Cursed Princess Club [webtoon]

[Hahahah, such an UNO reverse card ain't it? :3 ] WIKI :

The creator, LambCat, describes Cursed Princess Club as a chance given to her to take all the things they loved from fairy tales and stories of their childhood and combine them with all the messages they wished they got to hear back then. -> Here the list of ALL tales and stories that I could recognize in the overall of CPC until now which one thing that I notice? Every stories come from Western with slight non-direct nods of Eastern references. I like to be proud about my own origin as citizen from Eastern country so I'm putting them inside the fanfic story as well.

While thinking of fairy tales and brainstorming, LambCat's thoughts included "What if the spells didn't break and there wasn't a happily ever after? What would that scenario be like?", that got cross-pollinated with with the idea of insecurity and shame in general. -> the spells didn't break means the 'permanent' cursed condition, which all the CPC members are inflicted with it and overall I say - I am truly adore how each of them accepting their condition as being cursed in healhtly way BUT as the CPC story hinting of things that possibly could lifting them from their curse that not come from typical cure it all "True Love's Kiss" such as: Abbi's 24 hours curse reversal potion, the Cure-Curing Crystal (+ the period pauser for Prez' condition by Whitney) and informations from the Omniscient Clam... That make me thinking as generally all the CPC members already accepting their cursed condition (the first important step of grieving one's trauma), WHY not making the chance for them to could get cured from their curse WHAT IF the journey to lifting the curse is so painful BUT really worth it? I really want to explore it, that's why I am making Frederick cursed 'literally' as the driving point of the fanfic story that I am making... He need to deal with his curse, along with resolving the initial metaphorical curse that already in there as Plaid Prince Royalty...

In the beginning, the story was a simpler one about looks not being everything. It has expanded to being about the idea that society has a lot of things they want from us. Cursed Princess Club was about how many of us have two parts of ourselves. One that we want to present to others based on what they want, and one that's just us. What if there were a clash between them? What emotions would come from that? -> there's so many examples about it in various characters, such as : Blaine (his true self that he shown in bare to Maria after the piano duel VS the mask that he keep shows in the public as 'the perfect Plaid Prince Charming'), Frederick (his distant "icy"-shallow-judgmental 'Plaid Prince' persona VS his true self that really just wants to read books as doing nerdy stuffs etc by having true friends that could understand him), Gwendolyn (her 'polite' selfless sweety princess VS her selfish persona that just wants to skip forward to her imagination of 'happily-ever-after' with Frederick which wants to skip the hurtful feeling over confrontation about her shattered perspective) ...and the CPC as entirety, why the logo (insignia) is a rose depict half pink and half black/brown? Because even thou never confirmed it yet the meaning of it, I say it's related about accepting the previous non cursed form-persona (pink) and current cursed form-persona (black/brown).

So my fanfic, Returning Back to Make Amends wants (and really hopes) to could explore the things that the CPC tells but WON'T shy over the mature themes that hinted in the story as it's being put down on some notches, and to doing so I like to use Frederick as the main character of that fiction RaS (Reversus ad Satisfaciendum) by establishing unique personalities that depicted about him - and as I relate to him the most, I feel I could do it imagining the fanfiction story that make him swapped role with Gwen which now he's the Protagonist of the story while Gwen is the deuteragonist

It could really work and without making other characters to changes dramatically (as to not making an OOC/ Out of the character), Prez still the tritagonist of the story and the CPC as the best support system over the 'cursed' royalties. Aside from Frederick being the character that most relatable to me, I love to explore the possible interactions of him (but with more knowledges already, as he already get and learn stuffs until the episode 145 plot points) with everyone. What will he do to his own family? What will he do when meeting the CPC as the much needed support system for him...with so many things to consider first? What will he do when interacting with Gwen as he could get chance to return to the past, to make amends.. but his greatest mistake already done?

I've read so many stories be it from various webtoons, fairy tales, novels, games, fanfictions... My greatest inspiration, and the motivation that making sure that I could reach to that end is a SniLy time travelling fic (A Peace Not Promised)

But let's end the general description of the fanfic, as we jump onto the story itself. Let's begin from the prequel of the story

The Prequel of the Story (MEPHISTO) https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/733053034090921984/cpc-fandom-need-more-love?source=share

From that fic's comment, I am really glad to could make in character's depiction especially to the Plaid Royal Family

As a prequel, one could read it before reading my fic series 'RaS' for better enjoyment but not necessarily need to read it either. In nutshell, the prequel fic really help me to establish the possible scenario that happened to the Plaid Royalties - as overall the punishment scenes gives too much shock to everyone that make the digestion of what really happened is difficult to happen. Also the title inspired by the [Oshi no Ko] ED song - is to giving the hint of time travelling scenario

Mephisto = power to manipulate events throughout time

Does that means the whole cause of the time travelling AU is related to a demon? Eh, huge spoiler for my fanfic - a highly classified content that I won't deny or confirm 'till the end

Now let's go to the RaS! We're start with the summary description!!! (most finds it's so scary, WHY ;-;)

"What-If" at the episode 145 where Frederick canonically supposed to break free from the prison - unfortunately passed away instead?

-> PNP starts with the main character, Severus Snape, passed away as like canon Harry Potter where he bitten by the snake (Nagini, Voldie's Pet).. There's so many time travel AU stories that making the main character(s) to die first too

Follow the difficult, cursed journey of Frederick that becomes the protagonist of his story as given another chance to make amends by the angel of the fortune Gwen by returning to the past - few months ago before his death day as imprisoned by Leland alone in the hole Given knowledge from the memories of what might happen but inability to tell them to the ordinary, non-cursed people as blazing rusted chains of 'non-divulgence' will accompany Frederick to prevents him to telling the truths; about him that come from the future, about his kingdom's vile plan to the Pastel Princesses, about the details of the events that'll lead to the doomed future...

-> I am not a good writer by any means, this project RaS is literally the first time I am making a huge multi chapters series which make me so anxious... But I know I am not the only one that making fanfiction with that 'skeleton' like that, 2 huge fandoms (Harry Potter and NARUTO) in the fanfictions has many examples of that, but I admit that in the CPC fandom my project gonna be the very first to exist. It's gonna be the very last? Hmm I don't know honestly, I've seen some CPC fanfic with time travel element with potentials...

In the 'magical' world of the CPC series, "time travelling" is something unheard off and considered to completely fictional even for the club that consisting of cursed members. It's out of the world, and all those Fairy Tales books have no match for this particular "curse". Could Frederick makes differences for a happy ending, or he'll die again trying?

-> Time travel. Wao. Such a huge interesting plot driver that so strong and powerful, but could become very messy if not handled right espc if disregarding the canon original stories and rationale thinkings of the story (even if the origin material is a fantasy genre). There's a special character trope identity for time traveller that making FIX-IT the story (another troupe of mine that I really like, usually part of the subplot of "Canon Divergence) which is "Peggy Sue". Frederick is Peggy Sue, but I try my possible best to not making him as Gary Sue with the canon Frederick's skill - Administrative Support = he knows that he can't do everything alone, he needs the help from others that as the story progress we see the friends that he finds along the way as becomes "The Alliances" that'll progress along the way BUT before he could do anything, reaching his goal to saves Gwen - he desperately need to help himself first as in canon analogy, he need to climbing the hole first before even thinking to saves anyone yet...

Most people are scared over the honest summary that I did huhuu T^T But, that's simply the truth? I really hate fanfic that not being honest about the summary of their story, so to not making myself as a hypocrite.. I tell things like that as to not scaring anyone but well... Example: [I am really sorry, didn't mean to scare anyone!] my jaw droped after reading just the description

I am cut to the WARNINGS then for well deserved wariness

This fic decided to be rated M (mature) for reasons as following: (domestic) abuse in form of what Leland could do to his own family, character death (Frederick's reason to reviving the past - is death), (graphic depiction of) violences including cursed attacks (acid damage, were-spider transformation), drugs overdose, also mention (as including ideation) and depiction of suicide.

Most CPC fanfic are on teenager category, and honestly I am in dilemma if RaS should in M or T because PNP as main reference is T rated - even with the character death, subtle hints of mental issue including suicide by jumping from the astronomy tower etc.. I even changed for T at some moment, but then I decide to change back to M so I could be more free to put much needed warning plot points, it's not just death to establish the time travelling condition.. it's for taking complete dark turn over the dark truths that hinted all along in the CPC, like for example eating poisoned apple = suicide

Ch 1 My Deepest Regret

The shortest chapter indeed but I am not sure if anyone aware of my deliberately quote from Jamie. Jamie is the first character in the CPC that truly ships gwenderick after all

Jamie of the CPC ofc not the one that giving quote, but his IRL paralel did. It's such a heartwarming enpowering quote

“Don’t give up. Don’t give up on your story. Don’t give up on the people you love. Hope is real. Love is real. It’s all worth fighting for.
”

— Jamie Tworkowski

Ch 2 The Angel of the Fortune at the Afterlife

I know there's so many religions and beliefs, but personally I believe that the afterlife (world) is exist and there's angel(s)

Ch 3 Returning back to make amends

One of the most important moment in the story is when title drop happen, right! So does this fic, with one sentence that I like to pointing out regarding the whole story as following:

Also your death too, why did you forget? Probably with you returning to the past, there's gonna be canon divergences that even make people not as what you know in the past.. Who knows? -> there's so many examples of time-fix fic, but for much needed plot points that involve huge spoilers - some characters aren't like what they're depicted in the canon (espc as reviving the past, the 'introduction' meetings bound to be different) but doesn't make them OOC dw

Ch 4 Breakfast Affair at the Plaid Palace

I am really sorry for the ping but I want to credit you again for helping me making divergence of Frederick's confrontation at the Breakfast of Episode 16 @alexandersimpleton!

Ch 4 is the first huge dread of me to officially making canon divergence but overall I feel I am doing pretty job over it!

Ch 5 How does it feel to be cursed?

Ch 5 basically make full interpretation that Frederick read ALL of Fairy Tales possible including the ones that come from Eastern - whole new side of the world that not really ever mentioned in the CPC that making major kingdoms as whole in continent, while we know the existence of the Braided Island that unknow exactly = other side's world

So far he's handling the curse pretty well in my book- Since he's reading the tales that he knows to know if his curse is in one of them

That's HC scenario that I really love to happen if Frederick is literally cursed, what he'll do for the first time? Read books

Ch 6 Long Road Journey

hmm not so much to say as honestly that chapter is 'ugh, I need to write that no matter what for sake of the future' BUT the scene where Lance dragging Frederick out is like this;

Ch 7 SHATTERED

Ch 8 Midnight Snacks

The perks of Canon Divergences Time Travelling AU is we could explore characters early, even for the characters that in canon not yet introduced (example in that ch, Renée) if see the canon timeline - and in the fanfic you could fleshing out their character as well, Renee being an artist that keen on details IMHO not that far fetched because we've seen how she could draws a frog with stitched mouth well for Aurelia

Ch 9 Blondies’ Wariness

My inspiration of that chapter is from CPC meme of this:

https://www.tumblr.com/the-neighbors-kid/707946794118692864/a-jokey-cpc-blonde-people-alignment-chart-i-have?source=share i

@the-neighbors-kidsorry for ping but really appreciate the meme as it's even give me reference for the story!!

Ch 10 Fairy Tale Ingredients

Based on my own CPC theory analysis as following : https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/712232201376432128/curses-and-cures-magics-and-science?source=share

Ch 11 My Curse and Tales that Related to It

https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/734969016718901248/chapter-11-review-ras-the-cpc-fanfic?source=share

Ch 12 Green Eyed Ezzy

Credit again for Isaac @the-giggling-guava that helps me a lot to fleshing out the Princels as the whole, I really love how it's done but I am surprised myself over that ch is 8k hahaha

Basically that ch is the one that hurting me so far in term of heart, mental and overall self - and I am channeling my own hurts to make that much needed Princels intro as reality

Chokehold inspirations for making that chapter :

IHF's (@cpcposting) fanart of Frederick with black hair dye

IHF's fanfic that making Isolde has a brother, and a band - but instead 'uncle' for Plaid Princes has blue hair and grey eyes, I want to make him a symbol of 'union of Plaid Princes but GOOD (as the evil is OFC Leland)' by making him has great talent over music (Blaine), grey hair (Lance) and green eyes (Frederick, still mystery where he got 'em)

https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ8K6udN3VI/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

"Please, don't ever like me.. If you like me, there's only heartbreak in the future as the true nature of my curse is unknown - never mind how to break it. You should hate me instead, I am the sole reason your perspective is shattered. I am indeed the monster. You shouldn't in near proximity to a dangerous monster, it will rips you apart as already done with your self-worth..." - Frederick, chapter 11th

Personal shout outs to @meritre24601that reinforcing me that speech very in character of Frederick.. and I remember @saemi-the-dreamertheory about the symbolisms !!

https://vxtwitter.com/risdelusions/status/1729762922547540196?s=20 + https://fxtwitter.com/marinaapbch/status/1730323802175779016 Fred's mind : And all alone again - it will fine, as long as the loved ones (Gwen) will be safe, she has CPC now

+ I love Checkov's guns, which the books that the Princels gifting to their guests... might become important later on ;)

Overall I am making up all the titles, EXCEPT Syrah's one

I will do reblogs from this point forward for the incoming chapters, is also to help me get better in organizing ^^

C'mon me from the future self, YOU CAN DO IT I BELIEVE IT

[adarkrainbow]

The Yaga journal: Witches and demons of Eastern Europe

The next article I’ll translate from the issue (I won’t translate all of them since some are not very relevant for this blog) is “Baba Yaga, witches, and the ambiguous demons of oriental Europe” by Stamatis Zochios.

The article opens by praising the 1863′s “Reasoned dictionary of the living russian language”. by scholar, lexicograph and folklorist Vladimir Dahl, which is one of the first “systematic essays” that collects the linguistic treasures of Russia. By collecting more than thirty thousand proverbs and sayings, insisting on the popular and oral language, the Dictionary notably talked about various terms of Russian folklore; domovoi, rusalka, leshii... And when it reaches Baba Yaga, the Dictionary calls her : сказочное страшилищ (skazochnoe strashilishh) , that is to say “monster of fairytales”.But the article wonders about this denomination... Indeed, for many people (such as Bogatyrev) Baba Yaga, like other characters of Russian fairytales (Kochtcheï or Zmey Gorynych) do not exist in popular demonology, and is thus exclusively a character of fairy tales, in which she fulfills very specific functions (aggressor, donator if we take back Propp’s system). But the author of this article wonder if Baba Yaga can’t actually be found in “other folkloric genres” - maybe she is present in legends, in popular beliefs, in superstitions and incantations. 

Baba Yaga, as depicted in the roleplaying game “Vampire: The Masquerade”

For example, in a 19th century book by Piotr Efimenko called “Material for ethnography of the Russian population of the Arkhangelsk province”, there is an incantation recorded about a man who wante to seduce/make a woman fall in love with him. During this incantation the man invokes the “demons that served Herod”, Sava, Koldun and Asaul and then - the incantation continues by talking about “three times nine girls” under an oak tree”, to which Baba Yaga brings light. The ritual is about burning wood with the light brought by Baba Yaga, so that the girl may “burn with love” in return. Efimenko also mentions another “old spell for love” that goes like this: “In the middle of the field there are 77 pans of red copper, and on each of them there are 77 Egi-Babas. Each 77 Egi-Babas have 77 daughters with each 77 staffs and 77 brooms. Me, servant of God (insert the man’s name here) beg the daughters of the Egi-Babas. I salute you, daughters of Egi-Babas, and make the servant of God (insert name of the girl here) fall inlove, and bring her to the servant of God (insert name of the man here).” The fact Baba Yaga appears in magical incantations proves that she doesn’t exist merely in fairytales, but was also part of the folk-religion alongside the leshii, rusalka, kikimora and domovoi. However two details have to be insisted upon.

One: the variation of the name Baba Yaga, as the plural “Egi-Babas”. The name Baba Yaga appears in numerous different languages. In Russian and Ukrainian we find Баба-Язя, Язя, Язі-баба, Гадра ; in Polish jędza, babojędza ; in Czech  jezinka, Ježibaba meaning “witch, woman of the forest”, in Serbian  баба jега ; in Slovanian jaga baba, ježi baba ...  Baba is not a problem in itself. Baba, comes from the old Slavic  баба and is a diminutive of  бабушка (babyshka), “grand-mother” - which means all at the same time a “peasant woman”, “a midwife”, a (school mistress? the article is a bit unclear here), a “stone statue of a pagan deity”, and in general a woman, young or old. Of course, while the alternate meanings cannot be ignored, the main meaning for Baba Yaga’s name is “old woman”. Then comes “Yaga” and its variations, “Egi”, “Jedzi”, “Jedza”, which is more problematic. In Fasmer’s etymology dictionary, he thinks it comes from the proto-Slagic (j)ega, meaning “wrath” or “horror”. Most dictionaries take back this etymology, and consider it a mix of the term baba,  старуха (staruha), “old woman”, and of  яга, злая (zlaia), “evil, pain, torment, problem”. So it would mean  злая женщина (zlaja zhenshhina), “the woman of evil”, “the tormenting woman”. However this interpretation of Yaga as “pain” is deemed restrictive by the author of this article.

Aleksandr Afanassiev, in his “Poetic concepts of the Slavs on nature”, proposed a different etymology coming from the anskrit “ahi”, meaning “snake”. Thus, Baba Yaga would be originally a snake-woman similar to the lamia and drangua of the Neo-hellenistic fairytales and Albanian beliefs. Slavic folklore seems to push towards this direction since sometimes Baba Yaga is the mother of three demon-like daughters (who sometimes can be princesses, with one marrying the hero), and of a son-snake that will be killed by the hero. Slovakian fairytales tale back the link with snakes, as they call the sons of Jezi-Baba “demon snakes”. On top of that, an incantation from the 18th century to banish snakes talks about Yaga Zmeia Bura (Yaga the brown snake): “I will send Yaga the brown snake after you. Yaga the brown snake will cover your wound with wool.” According to Polivka, “jaza” is a countryside term to talk about a mythical snake that humans never see, and that turns every seven years into a winged seven-headed serpent. With all that being said, it becomes clear (at least to the author of this article) that one of the versions of Yaga is the drakaina, the female dragon with human characteristics. These entities are usually depicted with the head and torso of women, but the lower body of a snake. They are a big feature of the mythologies of the Eurasian lands - in France the most famous example is Mélusine, the half-snake half-woman queen, whose story was recorded between the end of the 14th century and the beginning of the 15th by Jean d’Arras (in his prose novel La Noble Histoire de Lusignan) and by Couldrette (in the poetic work Roman de Mélusine). For some scholars, these hybrid womans are derived from the Mother Goddess figure, and by their physical duality manifest their double nature of benevolence-malevolence, aggressor-donator. 

If we come back to the incantation of Efimenko, we notice that the 77 daughters of Baba Yaga each have a “metly”, a “broom”. This object isn’t just the broom Baba Yaga uses alongside her mortar and pestle to travel around - it is also the main attribute of the witches, and the witch with her broom is a motif prevalent in numerous textes of Western Europe between the 15th and 16th centuries. Already in medieval literature examples of this topic could be found: in the French works “Perceforest” and “Champion des dames”, the old witches are described flyng on staffs or brooms, turning into birds, to either eat little children or go to witches’ sabbaths. Baba Yaga travels similarly: Afanassiev noted that she goes to gathering of witches while riding a mortar, with a pestle in one hand and a broom in the other. Federowsky noted that Baba Yaga was supposed to be either the “aunt” or the “mistress” of all witches. Baba Yaga herself in often called an old witch, numerous dictionaries explaining her name as meaning старуха-колдунья (staruha-koldun’ja), which literaly means old witch. Even more precisely, she is an old witch who kidnaps children in order to devour their flesh and drink their blood. We find back in other countries of Europe this myth of the “bogeywoman cannibal-witch”, especially dangerous towards newborns and mothers, as the “strix” or “strige”. According to Polivka, in his 1922 article about the supernatural in Slovakian fairytales, the  ježibaba is the same being as the striga/strige. And he also ties these two beings to the bosorka, a creature found in Slovakia, in eastern Moravia, and in Wallachia, and which means originally a witch or a sorceress, but that in folklore took a role similar to the striga or  ježibaba. 

Vinogradova, in a study of the figure of the bosorka, described this Carpathian-Ukrainian witch as a being that attacked people in different ways. For example she stole the milk from the cows - a recurring theme of witches tales in Western Europe (mentionned by Luther in his texts as to one of the reasons witches had to be put to death), but that also corresponds to a tale of the Baba Yaga where she is depicted as sucking the milk out of the breast of a young woman (an AT 519 tale, “The Strong Woman as Bride”). In conclusion, the striga-bosorka is clearly related to the Slovakian version of Baba Yaga, the  Ježibaba. The  Ježibaba, a figure of Western Slavic folklore, also appears as numerous local variations. She is Jenzibaba, Jendzibaba, Endzibaba, Jazibaba, and in Poland she is either “jedza-baba” (the very wicked woman) or “jedzona, jedza-baba, jagababa” (witch). However this Slovakian witch isn’t always evil: in three fairytales,  Ježibaba is a helper bringing gifts, appearing as a trio of sisters (with a clear nod to the three fatae, the three moirae or the three fairies of traditional fairytales) who help the hero escape an ogre who hunts him. They help him by gifting him with food, and then lending him their magical dogs. And in other farytale, the three sisters help a lazy girl spin threads. 

In this last case,  Ježibaba is tied to the action of spinning. It isn’t a surprise as Baba Yaga herself is often depicted spinning wool or owning a loom ; and several times she asks the young girls who arrive at her home to spin for her (AT 480, The Spinning-Woman by the Spring) - AND in some variations, her isba doesn’t stand on chicken legs, but rather on a spindle. This relationship between the female supernatural figure (fairy or witch) and the action of spinning is very typical of European folkore. In several Eastern Slavic traditions, the figure of Paraskeva-Piatnitsa (or Pyatnitsa-Prascovia, who is often related to Baba Yaga), is an important saint, personification of Friday and protectress of crops - and she punishes women who dare spin on the fifth day of the week. Sometimes it is a strong punishment: she will deform the fingers of the woman who dares spin the friday, which relates her to the naroua (or naroue, narova, narove) a nocturnal fairy of Isère and Savoie in France, who manifests during the Twelve Days of Christmas and enters home to punish those that work at midnight or during holidays - especially spinners and lacemakers. In a Savoie folktales she is said to beat up lacemakers until almost killing them, hits them on the fingers with her wand, beats them up with a beef’s leg or a beef’s nerves, and attacks children with both a cow’s leg in one hand and a beef’s leg in another. These bans are also found in the Greek version of Piatnitsa: Agia Paraskevi, Saint Paraskevi, who punishes the spinners that work on Thursday’s nights, during Friday, or during the feast-day of the Saint (26 of July). But her punishment is to force them to eat the flesh of a corpse. Finally, we find the link between spinning and the demonic woman/witch/fairy through the Romanian cousin of Baba Yaga - Baba Cloanta, who says that she is ugly because she spinned too much during her life. And it all ties back to the “Perceforest” tale mentionned above - in the text, the witches, described as old matrons disheveled and bearded, not only fly around on staffs and little wooden chairs, but also by riding on spindles and reels/spools.  

Another typical example of “demonic woman” often compared and related to Baba Yaga is the character known as “Perchta” in her Alpine-Germanic form, Baba Pehtra in Slovenia, or Pechtrababajaga according to a Russian neologism. The name Perchta, Berchta, Percht, Bercht comes from the old high German “beraht”, of the Old German “behrt” and of the root “berhto-”, which is tied to the French “brillant” and the English “brilliant”. So Berchta, or Perchta, would mean “the brilliant one”, “the bringer of light”. Why such a positive name for a malevolent character?

In 1468, the Thesaurus pauperum, written by John XXI, compares two fairies with a cult in medieval France, “Satia” and “dame Abonde”, with another mythological woman: Perchta. The Thesaurus pauperum describes “another type of superstition and idolatry” which consists in leaving at night recipients with food and drinks, destined to ladies that are supposed to visit the house - dame Abonde or Satia, that is also known as “dame Percht” or “Perchtum”, who comes with her whole “troop”. In exchange of finding these open recipients, the ladies will thenfill them regularly, bringing with them riches and abundance. “Many believed that it is during the holy nights, between the birth of Jesus and the night of the Epiphany, that these ladies, led by Perchta, visit homes”, and thus during these nights, people leave on the table bread, chesse, milk, meat, eggs, wine and water, alongside spoons, plates, cups, knives, so that when lady Perchta and her group visit the house, they find everything prepared for them, and bless the house in return with prosperity. So the text cannot be more explict: peasants prepared meals at night for the visit of lady Perchta, it is the custom of the “mensas ornare”, to prepare the table in honor of a lady visiting houses at night. If she finds offerings - cuttlery, drinks, food, especially sugary food - she rewards the house with riches. Else, she punishes the inhabitants of the home.

But Perchta doesn’t just punish for this missing meal. Several stories also describe Perchta looking everywhere in the house she visits, checking every corner to spot any “irregularity”. The most serious of those sins is tied to spinning: the woman of the house is forced to stop her work before midnight, or to not work on a holiday - especially an important holiday of the Twelve Days, such as Christmas or the Epiphany. If the woman is spotted working ; or if Perchta doesn’t found the house cleaned up and tidied up ; or if the flax is not spinned, the goddess (Perchta) will punish the woman. This is why she was called “Spinnstubenfrau”, “the woman of the spinning room”. It is also a nickname of a German spirit known as Berchta - as Spinnstubenfrau, she takes the shape of an old witch who appears in people’s houses during the winter months. She is the guardian spirit of barns and of the spinning-room, who always check work is properly and correctly done. And her punishment was quite brutal: she split open the belly of her victim, and replaces the entrails with garbage. Thomas Hill in his article “Perchta the Belly Slitther” sees in this punishment the remnants of old chamanic-initiation rite ; which would tie to it an analysis done by Andrey Toporkov concerning the “cooking of the child” by Baba Yaga in the storyes of the type AT 327 C or F. In these tales a boy (it might be Ivashka, Zhikharko, Filyushka...) arrives at Baba Yag’s isba, and the witch asks her daughter to cook the boy. The boy makes sure he can’t be pushed in the oven by taking a wrong body posture, and convinces the girl to show him how he should enter the oven. Baba Yaga shows him to do so, enters the oven, and the boy finds the door behind her, trapping Baba Yaga in the fire. According to Toporkov, we can find behind this story an old ritual according to which a baby was placed three times in an oven to give it strength. (The article reminds that Vladimir Propp did highlight the function of Baba Yaga as an “initiation rite” in fairytales - and how Propp considered that Baba Yaga is a caricature of the leader of the rite of passage in primitive societies). And finally, in a tale of Yakutia, the Ega-Baba is described as a chaman, invoked to resurrect a killed person. The author of the article concludes that the first link between Yaga and Perchta is that they are witches/goddesses that can be protectress, but have a demonic/punishment-aspect that can be balanced by a benevolent/initiation-aspect. But it doesn’t stop here.

The Twelve Days are celebrations in honor of Perchta, practiced in Germany, Austria and Switzerland. Still today, “Percht” is a term used to call masked person who haunt at night the villages of High-Styria or the land of Salzbourg: they visit houses while wearing masks, clothed in tatters and holding brooms. During these celebrations, young people either dress up as beautiful girls in traditional costumes (the schöne Perchten), either as ugly old woman (die schiache Perchten). These last ones are inspired by the numerous depictions of Perchta as an old woman, or sometimes a human-animal hybrid, with revolting trait - most prominent of them being the feet of a goose. This could explain in Serbia the existence of a Baba Jaga/Baba Jega with a chicken feet, or even the chicken feet carrying the isba of Baba Yaga. This deformation also recalls a figure of the French region of Franche-Comté, Tante Arie (Aunt Arie), another supernatural woman of the Twelve Days tied to spinning. The second most prominent trait of the “old Perchta” is an iron nose - already in the 14th century, Martin of Amberg wrote about “Percht mit der eisnen nasen”, “Percht with an iron nose”. Yaga also sometimes hag an iron nose, and this is why she was associated with other figures of Carpathian or Western Ukraine folklores - such as Zalizna baba or Zaliznonosa baba, the “old woman of iron”, who lives in a palace standing on duck legs ; there is also Vasorru Baba, the iron-nosed woman of Hungaria. Or Huld - another Spinsstubenfrau, often related to Perchta, but who has more sinister connotations. Huld has an enormous nose according to Luther, and Grimm notes that sometimes she appears as a witch with one very long tooth. This last characteristic if also recurring in Eastern Europe’s mythologies: in Serbia Gvozdenzuba (Iron Teeth) is said to burn the bad spinners ; and Baba Yaga is sometimes described with one or several long teeth, often in iron. But it is another aspect of the myths of Huld, also known as Holda or Frau Holle, that led the scholar Potebnja to relate her to Perchta and Baba Yaga.

According to German folk-belief, Huld (or often Perchta) shakes her pillowcases filled with feathers, which causes the snow or the frost ; and thunder rumbles when she moves her linen spool. It is also said that the Milky Way was spinned with her spinning wheel - and thus she controls the weather. In a very similar function, the Baba Jaudocha of Western Ukraine (also called Baba Dochia, Odochia, Eudochia, Dochita, Baba Odotia, a name coming from the Greek Eudokia) is often associated with Baba Yaga, and she also creates snow by moving either her twelve pillows, or her fur coat. According to Afanassiev, the Bielorussians believed that behind the thunderclouds, you could find Baba Yaga with her broom, her mortar, her magic carpet, her flying horses or her seven-league boots. For the Slovakians, Yaga could create bad or beautiful weather. In Russia, she is sometimes called ярою, бурою, дикою , “jaroju, buroju, dikoju”, a name connected to thunderstorms. Sometimes Yaga and her daughters appear as flying snakes - and the  полет змея, the “polet smeja”, the “flight of the snake” was believed to cause storms, thunder and earthquakes. In a popular folk-song, Yaga is called the witch of winter: “Sun, you saw the old Yaga, Baba Yaga, the winter witch, this ferocious woman, she escaped spring, she fled away from the just, she brought cold in a bag, she shook cold on earth, she tripped and rolled down the hill.” Finally, for Potebnia, the duality and ambiguity of Baba Yaga, who steals away and yet gives, can be related to the duality of the cloud, who fertilizes the land in summer, and brings rain in winter. Baba Yaga is a solar goddess as much as a chthonian goddess - she conjointly protects births, and yet is a psychopomp causing death. 

It seems, through these examples, that Baba Yaga is a goddess - or to be precise, a spirit of nature. Sometimes she is a leshachikha, the wife of the “leshii”, the spirit of the forest, and she herself is a spirit of the woods, living alone in an isolated isba deep in the thick forests. She is thus often paralleled with Muma Padurii, the Mother of the Forest of Romanian folklore, who lives in a hut above rooster’s legs, surrounded by a fence covered in skulls, and who steals children away (in tales of the type AT 327 A, Hansel and Gretel). This aspect of Baba Yaga as a spirit of the forest, and more generally as a “genius loci” (spirit of the place) also makes her similar to another very important figure of Slavic folklore: Полудница  (Poludnica), the “woman of noon”. She is an old woman with long thick hair, wearing rags, and who lives in reeds and nettles ; or she can rather be a very beautiful maiden dressed in white, who punishes those that work at noon. She especially appears in rye fields, and protects the harvest. In other tales, she rather sucks away the life-force of the fields - which would relate her to some stories where Baba Yaga runs through rye fields (either with a scarf of her head, or with her hair flowing behind her). Poludnica can also look like Baya Yaga: Roger Caillois, in his article “Spectres de midi dans la démonologie slave” (Noon wraiths in the Slavic demonology), mentionned that Poludnica was a liminal deity of fields, to which one chanted  полудница во ржи, покажи рубежи, куда хошь побѣжи !, “Poludnicaa in the rye - show the limits - and go where you want.” This liminal aspects reminds of an aspect of Baba Yaga as a genius loci, tied to a specific place that she defends. It is an aspect found as Baba Yaga, Baba Gorbata, Polydnitsa and Pozhinalka: Baba Yaga is either a benevolent spirit that protects the place and the harvest ; either she is a malevolent sprit that absorbs the life-force of the harvest and destroys it. This is why she must be chased away, and thus it explains a Slovanian song that people sing during the holiday of Jurij (the feast day of Saint George), the 23rd of April, an agrarian holiday for the resurrection of nature: Zelenga Jurja (Green George), we guide, butter and eggs we ask, the Baba Yaga we banish, the Spring we spread!”. This chant was tied with a ritual sacrifice: the mannequin of an old woman had to be burned. As such, Baba Yaga and her avatars, was a spirt that had to be hunted down or banned - which is a custom found all over Europe, but especially in Slavic Europe. At the end of the harvest, several magical formulas were used to push away or cut into pieces the “old woman” ; and we can think back of Frazer’s work on the figure of the “Hag” (which in the English languages means as much an old woman as a malevolent spirit), who is herself a dual figure. In a village of Styria, the Mother of wheat, is said to be dressed in white and to be born from the last wheat bundle. She can be seen at midnight in wheat fields, that she crosses to fertilize ; but if she is angry against a farmer, she will dry up all of his wheat. But then the old woman must be sacrificed - just like in the feast of Jurij.

The author concludes that the “folkloric” aspect of Baba Yaga stays relatively unknown in the Western world and the non-russophone lands. The most detailed and complete work the author could find about it is Andreas Johns’ book “Baba Yaga: The Ambiguous Mother and Witch of the Russian Folktale”. The author of the article tried to prove that, as Johns said, the Baba Yaga is fundamentaly ambiguous - at the same time a kidnaping witch, a psychopomp, a cannibal, a protectress of birth, a guardian of places, a spirit of nature and harvests... And that she is part of an entire web and system of demon-feminine figures that create a mythology ensemble with common characteristic - very present in Eastern Europe, but still existing on the continent as a whole. 

[the-monkey-ruler]

Back in Ming dynasty, were all characters given some kind of backstory or is that a JTTW thing?

If you mean all the characters in the novel then yes most of the gods and even several demons were already established in Buddhist lore and Chinese folklore long before the novel and they make more cameo appearances within the books. Not all the demons were created before the book but there are certainly inspiration from real mythos in their creation. I do a little backstory for the demons here if you wanna check it out.

As for the main five that is a bit more tricky. Sanzang of course if based on Xuanzang the real-life Tang Monk.

The earliest mentions of Sun Wukong are from The Story of How Tripitaka of the Great Tang Procures the Scriptures in late-13th-century CE so that would be right in the middle of the Ming Dynasty. But of course, you could consider how Wukong is inspired by both Hanuman who rose around the second millennium CE and Wuzhiqi whose tale is around the Tang and Song Dynasty. Different monkeys for sure but he is inspired by these legends in his final creation.

Bajie was really made in the Zaju play early Ming dynasty (14 to 15th-century) where he was shown to be a demon in a similar form and part of the group. However, I had read that his inspiration go as far back as the Jin Dynasty. They say his origin may lie with the story "猪臂金铃" by Gan Bao in Jin Dynasty. Or that he was inspired by He Bo Feng Yi, because the prototype of Feng Yi is a pig. Wu Zimu's "Meng Liang Lu" mentioned that "Tianpeng" was originally a Taoist fairy official. Some people also think that the prototype of Zhu Bajie comes from Indian Buddhist scriptures, as Chen Yinke said. There is a portrait of "Pig Head Bodhisattva" in the Thousand Buddha Caves in Kizil, Xinjiang, excavated in the early Tang Dynasty. He is called "Marizhitian" in Buddhist scriptures.

As for Wujing he was actaully written in Xuanzang's historical biography from the 7th-century as a complacent water spirit. He was an established character even before Bajie and Wukong but receives the least amount of attention sadly enough. Some scholars believe that he might have been inspired from the image of the deep sand god of Esoteric Buddhism from "The Poetry of the Tripitaka of the Tang Dynasty" as Shensha. Shensha God exists as an authentic Buddhist god however, in the scriptures translated by Zhu Tanwulan in the Eastern Jin Dynasty, Shensha and Fuqiu existed as evil spirits, rather than Dharma protectors.

As for Bailong he was created for the novel itself but there is a long history of how heavenly horses and even dragons were before his creation. In the Zaju play Bailong was actually a Fire Dragon Horse. I have to thank @ryin-silverfish for this information that according to 西游故事跨文本研究 Bailong's origin could be traced to a tale about an actual horse in the aforementioned biography of Xuanzang. The unnamed skinny old horse was gifted to Xuanzang by an elderly foreign man, who was an experienced traveler of the western roads. Later, when Xuanzang had lost his way in the desert and was about to die of thirst, the horse took a different road of its own accord and saved the day by bringing him to an oasis. Because the said horse was red in color and why the Dragon Horse was often called a Fire Dragon Horse in later Baojuan and Zaju plays, and this was changed to white because of the keystone imagery in the legends of Buddhism's spread to China "white horse carrying the scriptures" (白马驮经).

Hope that helps!

[nasuverse-most-breedable-tourney]

Side B, Round 2 (Match 7) *Clash of Casters*

On the left: One of the world's great three fairy tale authors. "The Little Mermaid", "The Little Match Girl", "The Ugly Duckling", and many of his other stories are known throughout the world. Born in 1805 from Odense, Denmark, he died in 1875 from liver cancer. He may be known as one of the great three authors now, but during his life he suffered constant setbacks with frustrations and failure. Because he hated his adult life, he takes the form of his younger self when he is summoned as a Servant. He is Hans Christian Andersen

On the right: A major female character and the storyteller in the famous narrative of the Middle Eastern collection of tales known as the One Thousand and One Nights. The story goes that the monarch Shahryar, on discovering that his first wife was unfaithful to him, resolved to marry a new virgin every day and to have her beheaded the next morning before she could dishonor him. Eventually the vizier could find no more virgins of noble blood and, against her father's wishes, she volunteered to marry the king in order to stop his brutality. To keep herself from being executed, she told the king a story every night as he eagerly anticipated the conclusion of each previous night's story. Vastly knowledgeable and an excellent storyteller. While she is terrified of dying, she is in fact surprisingly tough. She is Scheherazade

[naha-division]

Round 1 - Fashion Show

Theme: “Fairy Tale Beginning”

Contestant: Kyō Sakuma

Division: Naha

"Fairy tale, huh? that's an interesting concept to start the event. Ok I'll give it a go! I'm pretty sure you're familiar with "One Thousand and One Nights", right? I really dig with Middle Eastern aesthetic or you rather want to call it "Arabian Night" fairytale cuz I like how silky the garments were, especially so many accessories and it's easy to wear! I found something interesting where Aladdin and Ali baba were involved in the story other than in the movies. This is the first time I’ve been to the pageant. My friends told me I should join the pageant, even my teammates thought the same thing because of how good looking I am. Well, I have no trouble to go if Ryuunosuke will come but he said he wasn’t interested in dressing up “fancy-schmancy” on stage, saying it’s not his thing. Good thing Naoki is there with me as my consultant since he’s way more experienced when it comes to fashion. Hmm...I don't know what I am supposed to be, how about....a handsome spoiled Sultan, maybe?"

[thepringlesofblood]

Dimension 20′s Neverafter FPE (Fairytales Per Episode)

im going out of my fuckin gourd on this neverafter shit, and i have decided to make a list of what and how many fairytales/nursery rhymes are introduced in each episode. will update as time goes on but i make no promises as to how frequently. theories are not included in totals. allusions/references are.

disclaimer: i am coming at this from a primarily american, english-speaking, culturally christian background, though I have studied a lot of ancient mediterranean myth and religion, a little bit of norse myth and religion, and a little bit of arthurian legend.

please let me know if there’s a reference to something I missed or if you know shit I don’t. i’ve decided that for our purposes, whether a reference/allusion is intentional or not doesn’t factor into our final count - unintentional/ambiguously intentional allusions/references count too, not just obvious ones.

(especially about mythical middle eastern spiders. I only know anansi & arachne, and have a passing familiarity with jorogumo & ye xian, and none of those are middle eastern or fit the situation.)

update: the show is finished! I won’t be taking my various theories off, i think it adds flavor. just remember as you’re going down that I was updating this weekly-ish. I’m going to do another post in the future that is Just The Numbers, but for now, enjoy my rambling! [updatier update: here’s the Just The Numbers post]

Ep. 1

The PCs (and their backstories)

 Mother Goose (+1)

Hubbard (old mother Hubbard who lived in a cupboard) (+1)

Jack

jumped over the Candlestick (+1)

(implied) and the Beanstalk (bc of the giants everywhere) (+1)

theory: Sprat? (the rhyme goes “Jack sprat could eat no fat his wife could eat no lean/and so between them both, you see they licked the platter clean.” not directly mentioned but that was my first thought upon the whole turning to bones thing that like all the fat was removed from his body or smthin)

Ylfa (Little Red Riding Hood) (+1)

there are 2 wolves inside you. you are 12.

the big bad wolf is mentioned in the context of 2 stories, the 3 little pigs and little red riding hood, so (+1) for the pigs

Pib (Puss in Boots) (+1)

Pinocchio (+1)

Cinderella (stepmother’s official art says “Cinderella...” at the bottom) (+1)

theory: “The second fairy you have met in your life” so also a character in smthin else probably since cindy’s stepmom isnt usually magical

update: maybe the whole cannibalism thing made her magical? who’s to say

updatier update (post ep 7): so it turns out that the evil fairy =/= the stepmother, but is the evil fairy from sleeping beauty. i was right about the stepmother being in multiple different stories but boy howdy do i wish I wasn’t. 

Rosamund (sleeping beauty/briar rose) (+1)

Gerard (the princess and the frog) (+1)

Snow queen (mentioned by Elody) (+1)

the rest of the episode

the little red hen (+1)

i fuckin love this one.

the story’s basic but good - she’s makin some bread and at every step asks for help from the other barnyard creatures and they’re all like hmm nahhhhh and then when it comes time to eat the bread they’re all like yes please lemme help w that and she’s like uh no, where was this energy when i was making the damn thing? and eats it ‘without any help at all’

so brennan doing her as like ‘u gotta help or you don’t eat’ is fantastic. 10/10

Ol king Cole (+1)

The little old lady who lived in a shoe (+1)

(alluded to) Alice n Wonderland (rabbit and teapot) (+1)

theory: “the chandling caravan” sounds like it should be something, but I don’t know what it is, and google has not been helpful. same w boffit, lord bandlebridge, and cressida lumley.

total tale count: 16

Ep. 2

The nutcracker (+1) (herr drosselmeyer is the weird uncle who gives clara the nutcracker. also in every ballet his drip is consistently immaculate)

Snow White (+1) (mirror mirror…..leaned up against the wall)

(alluded to) Beauty n the beast (furniture coming alive) (+1)

theory: Eidelgrin means something, but I don’t know what it is.

total tale count: 3

Ep. 3

.........nothing new to report

Ep 4

the fairy with the turquoise hair (aka the blue fairy) is actually not exclusive to Pinocchio - she has her own book n everything. (+1)

(alluded to) the little mermaid (+1)

“a dancing princess who either cannot or will not speak near a beach.”

the little mermaid trades her voice for legs and in the OG grimm story it feels like stepping on swords whenever she walks so she kind of “dances” (rip)

there’s. So many rabbit and fox tricksters. And other clever cats. I don’t think any were directly mentioned (except that Pinocchio has some in his many adventures, which isn’t a new tale) so I’m gonna say (+1) for rabbit and (+1) for fox.

Update: a reply to this post mentioned a character named Reynard the Fox from medieval French literature that might be the reason that the Fox speaks with a French accent. I found more support for this theory below!

“Isengrim”

this is the name of the daggers Pib gets. Rabbit mentions that it’s a name that Fox called the Wolf.

In fact, there’s a tale called Ysengrimus from 1152 CE where Reynard the Fox tricks the titular character, a wolf! So, there’s one Fox story confirmed. No additional points since Fox already had 1 point, this is more confirming the specific story he was inspired by.

theory: also, if we know the accents Mean Something, then Rabbit having a British accent might point to Peter Rabbit.

update: i have noticed several posts calling Rabbit’s accent Australian. it can be hard for me to tell the difference and idk if the general European bent of these tales means that brennan’s British just sounds kind of Australian or if it Means Something. I’m sure there’s Australian trickster rabbits too i just don’t know them

no fuckin clue where the ring came from tho :/

the golden goose (another Jack/Mother Goose tale not specifically mentioned before) (+1)

plus the beanstalk thing is talked about more (not new info though)

total tale count: 5

Ep. 5

hey diddle diddle (+1) (the dish ran away with the spoon + the cow jumping over the moon are from this same rhyme)

also anyone catch brennan mentioning fiddle music as tim was healing pib? ik it was king cole related music, but also...hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle.

itsy bitsy spider (+1)

(alluded to) little miss muffet (+1) (tuffeton)

(alluded to) goldilocks (+1) (”just enough” oats)

1001 nights (+1) (scheherazade is the author of these tales, as well as a myth in her own right. I have not read 1001 nights. please tell me things if you know them)

“spider queen” (+1) idk what it is but its fuckin something

identifying information: guardian of a cave/maze. supposedly has a throne. 1001 nights-adjacent.

theories:

“the spider and the wind” tale 909 of 1001, spider isn’t in this one that much actually

not all folktales in the neverafter are in mother goose’ book, so it stands to reason that not all folktales in the Endless Nights are in 1001 nights.

however, all the folktales in the neverafter are European in origin (mostly medieval), so it would make sense that the folktales in the endless nights would be middle eastern or adjacent

ye xian - chinese folktale where there’s a spider queen

“that’s east asia not arabia” fair but consider: in the older translations, aladdin is a chinese peasant. the world of 1001 nights is already bigger than arabia, and stories travel much more easily than the goods being traded across asia and the mediterranean on the silk road at the time the stories were written.

jorogumo - japanese yokai. a spider that turns into a woman. again, extremely far away from arabia, but girl i am looking.

cave of thawr - islamic oral tradition of muhammed hiding in a cave and a spider protects him. there’s a similar jewish tale w david hiding in a cave.

unlikely, but if there’s beautiful tapestries and the mother of all spiders i have to mention my girl Arachne (greek myth)

all time famous mythical spider anansi (west africa) still doesn’t really fit the bill, and is farther away from arabia than arachne (greece, which had colonies in the middle east (along the mediterranean shore but still. water = trade = exchange of goods = exchange of ideas/stories)) but still possible

yes i got a degree in ancient mediterranean studies and am using it to ruthlessly analyze a comedy show instead of sleeping, what about it?

sinbad (+1) “Sinbad the Sailor” (the roc is part of this as far as i can tell)

magical palace w the tapestries of starlight (+1) there’s a fuckload of magic palaces in 1001 nights. idk which one this refers to but it’s Something. am currently combing the stories more closely to specify at least one.

theories

the bartender with the icy wound is definitely someone. my gut says someone from the snow queen - people get icy mirrors in their eyes n shit in there and oftentimes straight up don’t get better

the peddler of wares in the corner has to be someone

the name of the tavern being “the cock and toad” has to mean something. i did some googling. there’s lots of fairytales w toads and lots of fairytales w cocks (lol) but none I could find where it’s just the two of them together. it’s weird, w a lot of fairytales/fables/nursery rhymes its like rolling 2d8 on a table of 8 animals and then just making the title out of the two animals you get. statistically its likely that there’s a story out there called that but I can’t find it.

the fucking spidersilk ring. i will solve this riddle one day.

they say the name “Aesop” as in “Aesop’s fables” (like the tortoise and the hare) but no tales mentioned yet. worth looking into if you’re the curious sort tho. Pib is going to fuck this guy up, his stories are very animal-centric and definitely have some trickster cats.

total tale count: 8

Ep. 6

No new tales - expands on ones already mentioned.

It’s just Muffet and whoever Scheherazade’s spider is

at least we find out that the “spider queen” referred to the monstrous form of muffet and Scheherazade’s spider combined, and not some new wholly separate myth.

Scheherazade’s spider seemed a little...riddly? for lack of a better term? like the whole “something that does not breathe” thing was weird, and if it’s supposed to be a guardian or guide of some sort, riddles make sense.

honorable mention: In the adventuring party episode, brennan tells the fable of the scorpion and the frog.

total tale count: 0

Ep 7

many theories with little knowledge.

In the adventuring party, brennan straight up says that the sword of truth is a general archetype, not from any specific tale. didn’t know that was an option! so no points for the sword of truth, dope as it is.

p.s. anyone else get flashbacks to fhsy with the whole truth mirror thing? it’s a good concept I’m glad brennan’s bringing it back

I am assuming each artifact found in the spider’s lair either comes from a separate tale, or is an archetype. I’m only counting it if I can pin down a specific tale that it is from.

the gillesuit/haystack cloak (+1)

update: As of Ep. 9, we now know that this is called “the cloak of rushes” and grants advantage on stealth checks. it is almost certainly from the English fairy tale “Cap-o’-Rushes” which, confusingly, features not just a cap but a whole outfit made of rushes!

my first thought was little boy blue, which does come from the tales of mother goose. this makes more sense tho lol

the golden bridle (+1)

some cursory googling indicates that this is from the celtic tale of Guleesh. one night, upon hearing the Fair Folk partying in some ruins (had to look up what a “rath” was lol) and saying “My horse, my bridle, my saddle!”, he repeats what they’re saying and is suddenly on a horse with a golden bridle. the story isn’t about the bridle itself, but the horses feature prominently, and can fly and stuff. When Guleesh kind of breaks the magic, the horse turns into a wooden beam, so maybe putting the bridle on a wooden beam summons a horse?

update: in ep 13 & 14 (& the adventuring parties) they mention that a. it does not summon a steed - you need to already have a steed there, and b. it would only work on a beast, not a monstrosity.

so.......maybe it’s not the one from the tale of Guleesh. I remain optimistic.

the golden chair (+1)

an obscure one, to be sure. from a grimm fairytale with a weirdly christian bent, where a tailor convinces st peter to let him into heaven but then sits in a big golden chair which as it turns out is the chair god sits in, and fucks up by throwing the footstool at some lady on earth washing veils (?) and gets kicked out again.

it is very possible that this was not an intentional allusion, but rather meant to evoke a fairytale-like atmosphere. either way, mission accomplished!

honorable mention: mayor harold hopps, while not a fairytale character himself, looks exactly like and was apparently inspired by the guy on the Pringles can, who is 100% a modern-day folkloric character.

theories:

the black velvet cloak with stars on it

idk where this is from. the only story I could find w a cursory google that had star clothing was Allerleirauh aka Thousandfurs, about a princess whose dad who wants to marry her (gross) so she asks for a bunch of impossible stuff to be made before the wedding can happen to try and stop it, including a dress made of stars (and one made of every kind of fur in the world hence the title). but it’s not a cloak so no points.

i s2g i have heard of something called ‘the cloak of stars’ before but I can’t fucking find it. pls lmk if you can think of something

update: ep 9 - they ALMOST told us what it was fuck, they mentioned wearing it to escape from the stepmother but we have no name. also the ‘cap-o’-rushes’ tale is extremely similar to thousandfurs minus the incest, so I don’t think it’s from that.

the stick skeletons w/ flesh on them were minions of the evil fairy from sleeping beauty - not a new tale

total tale count: 3

Ep 8

correction: brennan mentioned in the adventuring party for this one that aesop himself may also be fictional, and that many fables contain him telling the fable as part of it, so we’ll officially count him as his own fable like we did with Scheherazade (+1)

the lion and the mouse (+1)

the boy who cried wolf (+1)

they did finally mention the scorpion and the frog (+1)

alphonse is there but “the mule” isn’t actually referenced as being part of any of aesop’s fables in the show (like, there’s plenty of mules in aesop’s fables but no specific one was referenced in the show)

total tale count: 4

Ep 9

BABA YAGA BABA YAGA BABA YAGA BABAYAGABABAYAGA!!!!!! (+1)

i love her so much. i truly understood emily’s excitement this episode. 

(alluded to) the princess and the pea (+1)

first time around I didn’t hear siobhan ask if anyone sees any stacks of mattresses without peas under them to sleep on lol

(alluded to) this little piggy went to market (+1)

idk if that’s the name of the rhyme or not, or if it has a name

it’s not in the captions but emily axford saying ‘well there has to be a market, right? cause this little piggy went to market’ is iconic

some sources say this rhyme is from Mother Goose lol

total tale count: 3

Ep 10

(alluded to) peter and the wolf (+1)

the baron’s named peter and there’s a wolf. that cant be a coincidence, the 3 little pigs don’t have set names

mostly retreading 3 little pigs territory. awesome battle set!

theories:

the soup could be an allusion to something but i think its just playing into this season’s theme of consumption and the end of the 3 little pigs

the council of kings might be from something

total tale count: 1

Ep 11

we get 5 kings from 5 tales on the Council of Kings (which seems diegetic and not a reference to anything), 3 of which we already knew, 2 which are new.

the little mermaid (the mer-king)

the snow queen (the tsar of snowhold)

the nutcracker (the mouse king)

the emperor’s new clothes (the naked emperor) (+1)

rumpelstiltskin (FINALLY) (the king of apogee) (+1)

Koschei the deathless (+1)

i had no fucking clue who this guy was until emily axford recognized him, thank you emily

at first I was scared the sealskin would be a selkie thing. it may still be, but that doesn’t appear to be the case in this specific situation

(alluded to) the binding of Fenrir, the wolf at the end of the world (+1)

there’s a norse myth where tyr (a god) puts his hand in fenrir’s mouth to show good faith. the gods want to put this magical leash/collar on fenrir, and since he’s not an idiot he says that he’ll consent to it only if tyr puts a hand in his mouth while they do it, to show that what they’re doing will not hurt or bind him in any way. the gods agree, but oops they lied, the chains are very much to bind him, and tyr loses his hand but the wolf is still bound.

but ylfa and mother goose are telling the truth! happy ending (for once lol) ^v^

I didn’t catch this one at first - thank you to the many posts about it in the #neverafter tag!

honorable mention

sheldon from ‘garfield and friends’

theories

the tavern-keeper (Natalia) doesn’t stand out to me as anyone specific so far, though her daughter is the second “snow-touched” person we’ve met (the bartender at the cock and toad had an icy wound over one eye) so im thinkin snow queen

there’s dwarves in other stories than snow white I’m sure, but these ones specifically say “snow white” on their intro card.

also, their names, Mürrisch, Schläfrig, & Arzt, mean grumpy, sleepy, and doctor in German. Grumpy, Sleepy, and Doc are all disney snow white dwarf names. nice.

another infuriating mention of the cloak of stars without any indication of what it does. I’m going to spontaneously combust.

one thing i do appreciate is the amount of taverns they run into. this is the third and i am very pro

total tale count: 4

Ep. 12

so many princesses!!!!! most of them already counted but still!!!

Rapunzel!!!!! (+1)

The North Wind (+1)

my classics major ass immediately assumed they were talking about Boreas, the Greek god of the northern wind lol

from what I can tell, this is from "East of the Sun and West of the Moon"

i’m sure The North Wind is from other things too, everybody loves personifying the wind

honorable mentions

Beast!!!!! i already counted the tale early on as a reference but it’s here fr now!!!!

Finally meeting the little mermaid!!! Also counted early on but this is her first appearance!

“the beast beyond no name” that Mira mentions in combination w the taut string that Pinocchio feels that means part of his story is happening soon whether he likes it or not makes me think it’s Terrible Dogfish time. But. I also think that it could be the literal Kraken.

there’s so many monsters in folklore that are just “really big scary fish thing that lives at the bottom of the ocean yet somehow also wrecks ships on the surface” i just don’t know which one brennan’s going for. my money’s on either Pinocchio’s Dogfish or The Kraken

Candlewick! jesus fucking christ! every time a bit of Pinocchio lore shows up, it’s already horrifying just from the whole story of Pinocchio being horrifying, but then Brennan leans into it in just the right way for it to be so much worse!

in the adventuring party, they mention several other tales, including the tortoise and the hare and the little matchgirl. they also (rightfully) dunk on Hans Christian Andersen for writing ludicrously depressing children’s stories.

total tale count: 2

Ep. 13

no new tales, dogfish, mer-king, & sea witch are from existing tales, but

CLOAK OF STARS LORE CONFIRMED

WE NOW KNOW THE CLOAK OF STARS IS CAPABLE OF CASTING 5TH LEVEL MAGIC MISSILE

THIS DOES NOTHING TO NARROW THINGS DOWN! BUT IT’S SOMETHING!!!!

also MANY tantalizing mentions of the golden bridle with 0 hints as to its capabilities.

total tale count: 0

Ep. 14

the sea witch is named Alba Mac Lír

several allusions here!

thank you @twoeelsforsupper for this observation!

“there is a legend called "the children of Lír" where a witch/stepmother turns King Lír's children into swans but does not take their voices, which ends up getting her found out. like the threads about voices and witches and stepmothers and transformations???”

“Alba” can mean several things

it’s the Scottish Gaelic name for Scotland (this is probably what was being referenced)

in Latin, it’s the feminine nominative singular of the adjective albus, meaning “white”

in Spanish and Italian, it means “sunrise”

In Scottish Gaelic, “Mac” means “son of” so we have “Scotland, son of Lír”

good for her

also, if she’s one of the children of Lír, does that mean she’s one of the ones that got turned into swans?? much to consider.

so, plus one for the legend of the children of Lír! (+1)

FINALLY (finally) we get full cloak of stars lore.

its a fucking dnd 5e item. all this time and it’s legit just a reskin of Robe of Stars

it can take them to the lines between and shoot magic missile

i don’t know why i’m mad

total: 1

Ep. 15

yikes

no new tales, unless you count Clara The Horse Princess (she is not from anything as far as I can tell but I love her. also like Clara is the name of the nutcracker main character but we already counted the nutcracker so it wouldn’t be anything either)

total: 0

Ep. 16

thumbelina! (+1)

tom thumb! (+1)

I thought they were from the same thing but it turns out they have different origins, though there was a 2002 movie that had them be in the same movie.

tom thumb - English folklore, there was a 1621 book called The History of Tom Thumb

thumbelina - hans christian anderson tale from 1835, in the second volume of his Fairy Tales Told For Children series.

turns out he was actually inspired by Tom Thumb a bit, so it’s not convergent evolution or anything.

ngl - I mostly know the story of thumbelina from hearing julia from drawfee rant about how shitty of a movie it is in various streams/videos lol

all the jack stuff is stuff we’ve seen before - golden goose, giantslayer, nimble

UPDATE: in ep 17 adventuring party, brennan talks a bit about the multiplicity of jacks, and clarifies that there are TWO separate giantslayer myths.

Jack the Giant Killer - a Welsh fairytale about a warrior named Jack who fights a bunch of giants with a huge club and wins

Jack and the Beanstalk - an English fairytale about a young boy who accidentally grows a beanstalk to the Giant World and only “kills” the giant at the end by cutting the beanstalk down, leaving the giant to fall to his (their?) death.

So, while we’ve already counted Jack and the Beanstalk, this episode does introduce a new variation on Jack - Jack the Giant Killer. (+1)

henry hubbard is BACK!!!!! yes!!!!!

and tomás!!! and A L P H O N S E

I am v psyched for what comes next.

honorable mentions:

these aren’t explicitly Liliputians, but they do talk about gulliver in the adventuring party. I don’t think they talk about him in the actual show though.

total: 3

Ep. 17

holy shit. so many right off the bat, with brennan and siobhan going through a list of c-list folktales!

Fear Not (+1)

another grimm fairytale - not their finest work i see why this guy would be c-list lol

the brave little tailor (+1)

aka “the guy who kills a bunch of flies with his belt”

this is a for-real grimm fairytale about a guy who kills 7 flies at once, is very proud of it, makes a belt that says “Seven at One Blow” on it, and then goes out into the world and has his shit wrecked from various people misinterpreting what “Seven at One Blow” means

it’s hilarious

another jack tale!! Jack and Jill! (+1)

three blind mice (+1)

honorable mentions:

Henry talks about reuniting a clockwork man with a man in an eyepatch

this is all consistent with the Herr Drosselmeyer lore from all the way back in the first episodes of the show! We already counted him, so no new points, but still very cool!

also cool how brennan combined shoeberg w giant-slaying bc i mean how did they get all those ludicrously big shoes?

the golden goose shows Timothy all the versions of his story where they are one and the same. I’m not counting this as her showing him a new, separate fairytale, since it just overlaps two tales that we already have counted. also, I cried, that was a really intense part of the episode.

in the adventuring party they talk a lot about Narnia and “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.”

ik those aren’t exactly ye olde english fairytales, since they came out in 1950, but if Aslan wandered into the neverafter I’d count him for sure

we learn what the harp does!

the harp’s power is consistent with the jack and the beanstalk myth, but it also reminded me of several other myths about lulling beasts to sleep

e.g. Hermes of Greek mythology fame (and supposedly the inventor of the lyre) also killed the giant Argus after lulling half of his eyes to sleep with the lyre and boring the other half to sleep with various tales of his exploits. (Argus’ big thing was having a bunch of eyes all over his body)

lulling a beast to sleep is a common theme across cultures, makes sense that it’s the kind of archetype useful for the gang.

it’s very possible that some aspect of how baba yaga’s cottage was described alludes to some other Slavic folklore that I didn’t pick up on

total: 4

Ep 18

“The Wishing Star” (+1)

fuck disney for making it impossible to find real fairytales about wishing stars on google

there are many tales/nursery rhymes about wishing on stars. “star light, star bright” is the first that comes to mind, but I’m sure there’s others. we’ll count this as a multi-tale figure and give it +1

honorable mentions

so. The Trials of Baba Yaga could refer to several things.

The Tale about Baba-Yaga is a 18th c. folk story where Baba Yaga has one normal human son (???) who marries a normal human woman, who then has to prove herself by doing seemingly normal chores (milk the cows, shear the sheep) that she then finds out from her husband are secretly meant to kill her (the cows are bears, the sheep are wolves).

(aka a fucked up slavic version of the tale of eros and psyche.)

(not that eros and psyche isn’t fucked up, just in a different way)

There is a 2017 book called “Winston and Baum and the Trials of the Baba Yaga” I do not think this is what was being referenced, and as it is modern and not a folk story, I’m not counting it.

other stuff I can find about Baba Yaga also includes stepdaughters having to do chores with secret meanings - it’s a part of her Thing

I’m including this under the general Baba Yaga mythos, not as its own thing, but still cool stuff to know about.

Prince Johnathan of Apogee (that’s how the subtitles spell it)

so. wayyyy back in episode 11 we find out that the kingdom of apogee is where Rumplestiltskin happened.

I think that’s all the Apogee info we have, and with a name as vague as Johnathan I don’t think we can call it a reference to anything.

We got Mother Goose’s OG rhyme!!!

not a new story but very cool!!!

there’s more but I think they stopped at a good place

fun fact: I found an extra verse that isn’t in the one linked above

“Then old Mother Goose/that instant came in/and turned her son Jack/into famed Harlequin/She then with her wand/touched the lady so fine/and turned her at once/into sweet Columbine”

and then they go on with the rest of the book like that bit never happened

other fun mother goose shit

i thought that littlefinger and “chaos is a ladder” were fairytale quotes but they’re from game of thrones it turns out. ._.

total: 1

Ep 19

no new tales (it’s the finale pt 1) but several honorable mentions

“As you wish”

cinderella girl you are KILLING ME

for those not in the know, this is an allusion to The Princess Bride

in the context of the book & movie, it means “I love you”

could be unintentional but i highly doubt it.

the book is too recent to count as fairytale for our purposes (1973) but it is very much in that genre. god damn.

la bête saying “be our guest” alludes to the disney beauty and the beast movie obvs

“Something wicked this way comes”

quote from Macbeth, by Shakespeare

I don’t think Shakespeare counts as fairytales. idk the vibes are just off. ik it’s an Old Story but it isn’t a fairytale.

total: 0

Ep 20

this is it gang!

The Fairies

so in the 1880s, Andrew Lang wrote a series of fairytale books named after fairies of various colors. I’m counting each fairy who has a book named after them as a new tale.

EXCEPT: the Blue Fairy

ok look i fucked up yall. The Fairy With Turquoise Hair is re-named “The Blue Fairy” in a lot of adaptations, so when I previously counted her separately from Pinocchio bc she had her own book, I was referring to “The Blue Fairy Book”

so we’re not counting it here bc that would be counting it twice. apologies to the actual Blue Fairy.

The Red Fairy Book (+1)

The Green Fairy Book (+1)

The Orange Fairy Book (+1)

The Yellow Fairy Book (+1)

this is by no means all of Lang’s color fairy books. he’s got crimson, violet, grey, pink, you name it.

honorable mentions

Calvin & Hobbes is modern day folklore

I looked up to see if there’s any actual Aesop fables with a shark in em, closest I could find was a dolphin. Rip.

Beaky’s stint in the TAA lines up with Pinocchio’s story, so not a new tale. thank you for your service beaky o7

total: 4

total series tale count: 62

alas, the only mystery remaining is Scheherazade��s spider. someday I may come back to this post with new information about her, but today is not that day. If you know any middle eastern myths/fairytales/folklore/nursery rhymes that prominently feature a spider that guards a maze or guides people through caves, please feel free to reply/reblog with your knowledge.

this show has been a fun and wild ride. Here’s a shortened version of this post with just the numbers

thank you for coming on this journey with me - see you in the stories!

[tathrin]

Hi! How does a pirate au with gigolas sound?

From this prompt-meme.

Oh definitely not like something that's been slowly simmering in the back of my mind ever since I first saw this thing months ago.

We're going with a sort of East India Trading Company/Golden Age of Piracy era-mythos for our vibes, and a world that has less magic and epic battles to its history than Middle-earth for our setting, but one that still has our various fantasy species running around.

Númenor is sort of like an England/America hybrid, in that it's a newer land than the main continent, very expansionist/colonialist in attitude, and simultaneously an old power, because it has a bunch of colonies on the old continent now, and a belligerent attitude towards everyone else. They are the largest sea-power and like to claim even more dominion than they actually have.

Meanwhile to the south-west of them we have the islands of the Teleri (Eressëa) which are widely described as "the last free elven isles," and mainly stay that that by being A: not enough trouble to conquer and B: too much trouble to conquer. They keep to themselves (and their waters shrink a little more each year as Númenor keeps pressing in) so no one feels inspired to deal with them, and there's a lot of risk to trying to because water gets weird around those islands. Lots of shipwrecks, lots of strange creature in the waves. (The Teleri get some sort of mingled siren/kraken vibes here.) The eastern elves tell stories of a farther island beyond theirs, where no mortals have ever gone; where the seas themselves are sundered so as to protect their inhabitants from all encroachment...but more people these days know those are just fairy tales. There is no Western Shore; there are no Undying Lands. That's all just old sailors' stories and superstitions.

Anyway, Middle-earth itself: very old-school Europe vibes going on here, with lots of little kingdoms always sniping at one another for advantage, and whose power-balance has been kind of skewed by the Númenorian Colonies of Gondor and Arnor—really not colonies anymore at this point, because Númenor looked back east generations ago and decided to return to their ancestral homeland and claim it again farther back than any living mortal can remember. That doesn't stop Númenor from treating them like colonies still, which Denethor, the current ruling steward, isn't thrilled by. His people are more torn on the issue, with half of them liking the regalness of being Númenorian and the other half resentful at not being able to rule themselves. They even had a king once, for a few generations, but that collapsed during the civil wars called the Kinstrife, which were rumored to have been instigated by Númenor itself, although no one was ever able to prove that. There are rumors that an heir escaped the slaughter (Anastasia vibes!) but no one has been able to find proof of that. It may be no more than a pretty story. At any rate, no king has been seen in Gondor for generations.

Beyond the colonies of Gondor and Arnor, Númenor has other strong allies on the continent as well: Erebor, for one. The dwarves of the Lonely Mountains were driven from their home by the last of the dragons long ago, and the deal that their king made to acquire Númenorian assistance for taking it back from Smaug left the dwarves more indebted to the Númenorians than they intended. If only they could have found the Arkenstone, and been able to buy Númenor off with that the way they had planned...but if the Arkenstone was ever among Smaug's horde, it must have vanished at some point before the siege. (Some dwarves insist that it was there, had to have been there; and the only way it could be gone was if Númenor betrayed their word and burgled it when the dwarves' backs were turned—but that is a claim they cannot prove, alas, and so they must live with their debts to the White Island.) Erebor's might is more of craft than warfare, but those crafts have been put to good work on behalf of Númenor's military, and their armies are now the best-outfitted in the world, thanks to Ereborian smith-craft and manufacturing. They are allies far too valuable for Númenor to ever give up, no matter how richly they repay that debt.

As for the elven-lands, perhaps the most notable is the smallest: Rivendell. Founded by the brother of the First King of Númenor, Rivendell occupies a unique place in Númenorian headspace: it is deeply respected, but also looked down on a little. Elrond was clearly the lesser brother, choosing a life of lore and healing over the leadership that should have been in his blood; and yet, he is known for that wisdom, and his healing arts have saved many lives. He sails to Númenor occasionally to share his knowledge with their healers (although less often with each century) and to walk the lands where his brother once lived and died, and he is well-loved there...but they prefer the legend of Elrond to the reality, and their leaders more and more often welcome him with strained smiles than they do with open ones. Elrond will not participate in any endeavour which would lead to war, and the suffering that comes from such conflict; that does not mean that he approves of Númenors politics in these days of domination, and while he is always polite and respectful, he does not hesitate to offer its rulers his true opinions and advice.

They don't really care for that. But he is Elros's brother, so they force smiles and grateful platitudes, and then try and bundle him back onto his ship and off to his lovely but insignificant little valley as quickly as possible, and try to think about him and his dour warnings as little as they can when he's not around.

Mirkwood is the largest elven-kingdom, and the only one these days that truly counts as a kingdom. The lords of Númenor aren't keen on such a large nation existing without paying even lip-service allegiance to them, but on the other hand...does anyone really want alliance with Mirkwood? It's a terrible place, dark and dour and full of monsters. The elves there aren't like other elves; they're less wise, less refined...more dangerous. Feral, almost. There are rumors that—well, really it would be easier to compile the stories that aren't told about Mirkwood than to start listing all the ones that are. Death lives in those black trees. Even the water is dangerous to drink, more likely to cast you into a hundred years of dreams than to refresh your thirst. There are spiders in there the size of horses, deer with all their bones on the outside of their skin, squirrels that are venomous and moths that suck your blood. It is said that if you hear laughter in those trees, you might as well slit your own throat before the merry sound dies because you'll never escape the terrible, laughing things that hunt there. The stories even say that there are ghosts in those woods, wandering the south lands by the ruined citadel that towers over those gnarled black trees.

No one sane would live in Mirkwood. No one sane would even set foot in Mirkwood. No one sane should want anything to do with Mirkwood—and Númenor does not. Even the Daleman, known for being provincial weirdos, know better than to actually go into those black trees, even if they're deranged enough to trade goods with the elves that lurk there. Well, let them; and on their own heads be it when the wicked elvenking leads his people out for a feast of man-flesh!

(Some of the stories are true, but even the other elf-lords no longer know how many. Mirkwood has done far too good a job of spreading those terrible tales for anyone—maybe even them, sometimes—to remember which are false, and which are real. Even other elves steer-clear of those black trees, these days.)

The last elven-realm, Lothlórien, is something of an outlier among all the lands of Middle-earth: it is a small realm, which neither offers nor seeks trade or commerce with others, and yet which wields an outsize power in the affairs of greater nations. Lórien is a land of lore and mysteries, and it is said that the elf-witch who rules those golden trees can read a man's secrets merely by glancing at his eyes. Númenor wishes no war with the eerie elves of Lothlórien. Lady Galadriel is consequently invited to every grand affair of state, and never ever wanted there. Sometimes she attends (likely just to remind Númenor that she is real, and should not be trifled with) but mostly she stays in her trees, whispered about yet unseen.

As for the other lands of Middle-earth, many of them are tired of being to some degree under Númenor's heel, but not to the point of daring to risk open war against them. They all remember what happened to Eregion when Ost-in-Edhil's smith-lords though to oppose Númenorian domination.

Now, the world has settled into a sort of tense peace, where nation-states fight through commerce rather than the battlefield, and use their armies more for posturing and prestige than actual warfare.

Into this world, enter the pirates.

Númenor's domination of the sea has not gone unopposed. Círdan long defied them, until they sent their entire navy against him, landing soldiers to crush the Havens and take him and his lords prisoner back to Númenor for trial and punishment—but though the Havens fell, Círdan was not found there. Some say that he and all those closest to him were slaughtered, and Númenor covered it up; others say that he managed to slips their nets and sail West, and find the promised shores beyond the islands of the Teleri; still others say he is on those oceans still, hurrying Númenors ships as a rebel captain of a small pirate fleet. Whenever a ship fails to return to harbor, there are whispers that it fell to Círdan's rebels...but more likely it was claimed by waves and weather.

Probably.

The stories spread anyway, and those who sought to defy Númenor's will listened, and so they began too to seek the sea. Small, single pirate ships are no material threat to Númenor: their navy is too large for the sacking or disappearance of a few ships here and there to make any difference to them. But the stories of pirates being able to defy their might and slip away free of consequence...well, that might have more lasting repercussions. Certainly Númenor's leaders must think so, for they have devoted quite an undo amount of effort to hunting down and destroying these pests otherwise. Unless, of course, one believes the rumors that Gondor's lost heir is out there somewhere amongst the pirates, capable at any moment of returning and staking his claim to the throne—a claim which, thanks to the faltering and intermingling of generations since, gives him actually the most direct claim not only to the throne of Gondor but to Númenor itself, now that the line of the founding kings has broken so many times...provided such an heir even exists of course, which he does not.

Clearly.

And now, it's finally time to turn to our cast of characters: the good ship Fellowship was originally a merchant vessel, sailing the waves on behalf of the wealthy Took family. Hobbits do not go to sea very often themselves, but they appreciate life's comforts enough to finance ocean-going vessels, and are quite happy to pay the necessary tariffs to Númenor to have their protection on the waves, and there are always Men in Bree who are happy to sail on Hobbit ships (the rations they provide are always much nicer than you get on any other vessel!). Old Bilbo was one of the rare Hobbits who actually followed his sense of adventure all the way out to the waves, and was captain of the Fellowship in deed as well as name, and when his nephew was old enough he brought young Frodo along with him.

(Every gossip in the Shire said they would both come to a bad end, drowning just like Frodo's parents did; but even the sneering Sackville-Bagginses never expected pirates!)

For many years, the Fellowship went about its trade-routes quite respectably, causing no trouble and earning no malice. But then...well, the trouble started with that fellow called Strider. He was one of many sailors who signed-on from Bree one day, and should have been no more special than any of them. But there was something about him that always seemed a little disreputable, a little dangerous—and so it soon proved.

No one back on shore is quite sure how it happened. The nearest anyone has been able to piece the story together is that there was some sort of shipwreck, or a raft that escaped a shipwreck, and there was something on it—some chest or treasure. Whatever it was, it proved to be too much temptation for the sailors of the Fellowship. Instead of making a quick salvage of the wreckage and continuing on their way, they abandoned their course and their cargo's intended destination, and went from being respectable merchants to pirates.

Old Bilbo (who had retired some years ago) was scandalized, of course; positively scandalized. But of course, Bilbo had always been something of a scandal himself, and there were far too many suspicious eyes on him after everything went south. He sold Bag End, packed up his things, and disappeared from the Shire three weeks after the first wanted-for-piracy posters of his nephew went up. Rumor has it he went to Rivendell, but no one from Hobbitton has ever gone after him to check; Hobbits don't generally care for travel, and Rivendell is such a long was away. Must more pleasant to stay home by the fire, and gossip.

And gossip folk do, and not only in the Shire. Stories of the Fellowship quickly came to spread far beyond Hobbit-lands, and they got bigger as they went. Soon it was being said that Strider was not just a brigand, but a romantic scoundrel too, who had managed to steal the heart of Elrond's daughter before running away to sea before her brothers could revenge themselves upon him. He had a magic ring, which he had used to enthrall Frodo, and declare himself captain of the boat. He had a magic sword, which could break itself into pieces as short as a dagger and then reforge itself as long as a boathook at need. He had elf-blood, and was decades older than he looked. He had served in Gondor's army, and in Rohan's, and had learned healing from Elrond himself. He was one of the Rangers, the secretive wanderers that spread rumors against Númenor and hunted for treasure and forgotten beasts in the wilds.

The more outlandish stories even claimed that he was that lost heir, and his real name was Aragorn or Arathorn or something of that sort. Nonsense, of course—but nonsense that Númenor wasn't happy to hear being whispered up and down the Misty Mountains.

Their displeasure grew when word began to spread of Strider's companions: Frodo somehow recruited three of his friends to the ship (Hobbits at sea! What were the youth coming to?) but he had arranged for one of their more land-locked fellows to act as a blackmarket middle-man, passing coin and supplies and information back and forth between Bree and the boat. Fredagar Bolger was soon caught and arrested, but someone broke him out of prison before his trial could begin, and he disappeared as thoroughly as Bilbo had. (Rumors said that the Brandybuck and Took families had helped in that jail-break, for two of their own were among Frodo's crew, but no one could ever prove that; indeed, no one who had been on duty at the jail that night reported seeing anything. Fredagar had been there when they went to sleep; the next morning, he had been gone, and no one ever saw him in Hobbiton again.)

Even more outlandish than the idea of four Hobbits at sea, the stories insisted that they had a dwarf on the ship as well. Everyone knew that dwarves hated boats, and feared the ocean; everyone knew that a dwarf would sooner shave his beard than go to sea. Nonetheless, the stories persisted: the Fellowship had a dwarf. Rumor claimed that he was a disgruntled son of Erebor, who had joined Strider's band of pirates out of disgust for the debt that Númenor held over the Lonely Mountain; others insisted that his father had been friends with Bilbo (in addition to his other oddities, Bilbo had been known to have friends among the dwarves, somehow!) and that it was Frodo who had somehow coaxed a dwarf away from land and out to sea. Whatever the motivations that had brought that dwarf to the Fellowship, there was soon no denying that he was there: only dwarven craftmanship could have kept that ship afloat through all of Númenor's efforts to sink it, and sailing faster than any of their own vessels could follow.

In addition to the dwarf, there was an elf among the crew as well. A less absurd notion on the surface, but strange when one dug-down to the details, for this was no Teleri; nor was he even one of the elves of the Havens, or from Rivendell. No, this was a Wood-elf of Mirkwood, one of those half-feral creatures of death and shadow and knives in the dark. His eyes were keener than any looking-glass that Númenor could fashion, and he could see as clearly in the starlight as men could under bright sun. With those elven eyes in their crow's nest, there was no chance that the Fellowship could ever be sneaked-up upon again; and those who survived attacks by Strider's pirates told stories of his terrible bright laughter echoing across the waves like the ringing of doom-bells in their dreams.

(There was surely, surely no truth to the rumor that the elf and the dwarf were any more than grudging crew-mates; elves and dwarves were notoriously distrustful of one another's people, and since Eregion's fall there had been no sign of reconciliation or camaraderie between any of their kind again. The sailors who reported that the two had been heard cheerfully competing like friends during the battles taking Númenorian ships were mistaken; the ones who claimed that they had witnessed victory-kisses were suffering from sunstroke; and the shaken survivors who whispered that the elf had lost his mind and slaughtered an entire crew himself when one of their number managed to wound the dwarf were surely just suffering from shock. No single elf, not even a Mirkwood elf, could slay an entire contingent of Númenorian soldiers like that; and no elf would ever be spurred to do such a thing for a mere dwarf. These stories were just one of Strider's many attempts to undermine Númenorian rule, by attempting to foster an alliance between Erebor and Mirkwood based on ridiculous false rumors about the joining of two of their people. Such things simply did not happen.)

The worst of the Fellowship's many assaults upon Númenorian sea-supremacy was when they took a ship that had been carrying Rohan's princess out to make a state-marriage on the White Island. The rest of the Rohirrim they let go, including the king's nephew, whom one might have expected them to hold for ransom; instead they took only the girl, and no ransom demand ever came back for her. Indeed, rumors soon began to whisper that she had been somehow seduced to Strider's crew as well, and could be seen with a cutlass in one hand and her fair hair streaming in the salt-air, a fell smile on her face, whenever the Fellowship boarded their prey, her own unfettered laughter ringing out alongside the elf's deadly merriment.

That was a crime too far. Númenor needed to stop Strider's pirates, and stop them now. Gondor dispatched two of her own to go to sea and hunt him and the Fellowship down: Boromir and Faramir, sons of the Steward and noble warriors of stout heart and stalwart arms. Everyone assumed that that would be the end of the Fellowship, for no pirate had yet escaped bold Boromir, and Faramir's cunning wits would surely be enough to outsmart some ragged Ranger. For months they pursued the pirate vessel, chasing the Fellowship through storm and fog and sun-kissed waves; then, far off the coast of the Teleri islands, a hurricane rolled in, and both ships were lost from sight behind the grey rainclouds.

Imagine Denethor's fury, and Númenor's wrath, when the next stories that came back from the sea told of how bold Boromir and cunning Faramir had joined the terrible crew...