#or is it a 'link died so he can see dragons As A Treat' thing

[svtskneecaps]

grrrrrrrr i have more inane zelda lore questions

[blueskittlesart]

can we talk about how rauru is literally like. just zelda’s dad. like in that one scene where zelda looks like she’s gravely contemplating turning into a dragon and then rauru goes “i believe the answer lies in more research and understanding your power!” and she looks at him with such shock and awe. zelda’s adventures in the past are literally like her life but with a better dad. the queen promises her to help her figure out her power but dies before they can figure out a way how to use that power to safely save everyone. zelda desperately wants to help everyone and is clearly feeling the pressure of it all and the king is the one to tell her “hey i understand how hard you’re trying and how much you want to save everyone and we’re thankful for what you’re doing”. rauru actually acknowledges zelda’s dedication and the importance of research and technology, he is kind to her and never blames her for any of the bad things happening. he also never pushes zelda to make sacrifices and is the one sacrificing himself in the end - in botw, all the champions and zelda have to choose to make sacrifices to save the kingdom, but in totk rauru doesn’t ask that of any of the sages, instead recognizing his own responsibility as king and basically dying to save his kingdom. he’s literally zelda’s better dad.

same anon as the one raving about rauru also the differences between how the two kings treat link. they’re both tutorial figures but the way they guide is SO different. pretty much the first thing rhoam does is lie and pretend to be a random old man, being quite annoying as he sends link to do a bunch of challenges for a paraglider. the framing is so fundamentally different, rauru freely offers the information he has to link upfront, he apologises for the body modification, acknowledging link’s potential distress. rhoam basically keeps link on the plateau arbitrarily, presenting giving items and teaching link about things as challenges for link to overcome. rauru on the other hand aids link as best he can, tells him what he needs to do from the beginning (tells him to open the door which is pretty much the last thing he’ll need to do in the tutorial, telling him about the ultimate goal from the beginning), proposes solutions when it doesn’t work out (directs him to the shrines as a way to help him gain the strength he needs, as opposed to making him complete challenges to get a paraglider that in the moment seems like literally arbitrary conditions). rhoam telling link how much responsibility and pressure he has on him all of a sudden and how much he needs to do vs rauru telling link that it was wonderful to meet him and zelda’s accounts of him were all true. like. the framing. the difference in character. the deterioration of knowledge within hyrule falls parallel to the deterioration of its king’s kindness and virtue.

the differences between rauru and roham are crazy to me because one of them was so fundamentally good and one was so fundamentally flawed and yet. neither of them were able to save their kingdom. no matter how good a king of hyrule is, no matter what he gets right or wrong, he is still doomed to die. rhoam tried to sacrifice his daughter to keep hyrule alive. rauru did everything in his power to make sure she DIDNT have to be sacrificed. and in the end the outcome was the same. but the KINGS were not the same, and that difference in framing you mentioned i think is fundamentally a difference in legacy. rhoams legacy is to forever be the king who sacrificed children to save himself and died anyway. rhoam died a loser through and through, a king atop a throne of nothing but failure. i think that’s partially why he appears as an old man at first, because he KNOWS what being the king of hyrule means and he’s EMBARRASSED that his legacy is what it is. but rauru. in complete contrast, rauru was so GOOD. rauru died with his sages and his DAUGHTER alive to see another day. rauru ENSURED they’d live no matter what. he wouldn’t LET them sacrifice themselves for him. rauru put everyone else before himself. he didn’t expect or even tolerate self-sacrifice and yet when the time came he sacrificed HIMSELF selflessly despite knowing that it wouldn’t even WORK. rauru’s legacy is something to be proud of. he’s open to link because he has nothing TO hide. no regrets or stupid decisions. and he is remembered so much more favorably because of it.

[sapphicseasapphire]

Hiii, I ADORE your chain as Cryptids AU, all of your art is gorgeous and every character is wonderfully unique, I wanted to ask for a lil more lore if possible? While Four is my favorite character we have not had nearly enough asks for Hyrule! And fairies in general, in your au are they more fae-like with some trickster tendencies or very kind and giving like the Minish? Thoughts on bottles, etc? TYSM!

Oh boy oh boy do I have some Hyrule Thoughts. And some general fairy thoughts as well!

(Under the cut because this is gonna get long)

For this au, I’m thinking of just Zelda fairies. Little glowing balls of light that flutter on fragile wings, iridescent and magical and gentle. Fairies have an affinity for magic: all kinds of magic, though they’re best known for their healing abilities. There isn’t a single archetype of what a fairy’s behavior will be. Some can be tricksters, some can be kind, some can be shy, some can have the most ill of intentions. Fairies are like people, really, in that they’re not just all one thing. (This is what separates them from spirits, really. They’re just on the cusp of ascension, but unlike Koroks or Blupees or Dragons or anything like that, they cling to their mortality and allow themselves to grow and evolve. Because of this, Hyrule is not a part of the telepathy circle).

There are many communities of Fairies, and they tend to group up around a Great Fairy as their leader. There are some colonies that are independent of Great Fairies, though, but they are rare to find, as they are at a much higher risk.

You see, while Fairies are magical, they’re very fragile. Usually, a typical Fairy wouldn’t posses enough magic to defend themself against a Hylian captor. Docile and tiny, they’re quite easy to bottle up and carry off, and easily discarded once they’re used. Great Fairies are much more powerful than the average Fairy, and even more powerful than a Hylian, so sticking around them is preferred. They protect the others.

Hyrule is a very unique case. You see, he was born with the Spirit of the Hero. For this au, the Spirit of the Hero acts as an enhancer for any kind of spiritual or magical power a Link already possesses. For example, Twilight is only able to shift because he’s descended from a God and possess the Hero’s Spirit. (Otherwise, one of his parents would have had God Powers TM too, and they probably wouldn’t have died so soon).

In Hyrule’s case, having the Hero’s Spirit grants him much more magic than a typical Fairy- almost as much magic as a Great Fairy herself. All of this power in such a small frame… no one is the wiser. Hyrule has enough magic to properly defend himself (if he had any sort of training… which, as a child, he didn’t) and most importantly, he has enough magic to hold a Hylian disguise for a LONG TIME. His glamour can change the way that he’s perceived but cannot change his actual shape. Others can see and even touch his changed form, but it is not real.

ANYWAY. Yeah. Bottles. Fairies are afraid of them, are afraid of Hylians. And Rito and Gerudo and Gorons and Zora and monsters and literally everything under the sun. When you’re two inches tall, everything is a threat.

Fairies are hunted mercilessly by Hylians, mostly. They’re never killed, not outright, but they’re taken from their colonies and shoved into a tiny bottle, sometimes for weeks and months on end (Fairies don’t starve as quickly as other species would, able to expend magic to keep their little bodies functioning). That being said, they often do not survive captivity. A tiny little bottle, often shoved in a bag and jostled around, no light, no food or water, all alone, just glass on all sides. It’s no place for a Fairy. Even if they do make it out (after expending magic to heal whatever wound they were abducted to treat), they will rarely make it back to their Great Fairy before succumbing to magical exhaustion or being captured again.

On the topic of magical exhaustion: Fairies have a limited amount of magic they can expend before they have to recover. Even one as powerful as Hyrule has their limits. Recovery almost always means rest, and it can mean their body does a forced shut down and simply stops working for days at a time. Often, Fairies are more hungry when they’re recovering, as magic can no longer be used to sustain the body.

Hyrule is less vulnerable to this than other Fairies would be, but when he’s standing next to the Chain? And every single one of them is hurt? After a fight where he’d used his magic to take down dozens of monsters? All while keeping up his glamour? Yeah, he’s gonna be feeling that one.

Telltale signs of magical exhaustion before it gets to the point of actually passing out: Physical exhaustion, drowsiness. Headaches, sudden hunger. Feeling cold. Often, the other heroes might notice Hyrule picking up an extra serving at mealtimes or ask to huddle up with someone at night (oftentimes Sky, as his wings are very warm and he doesn’t bat an eye when asked to cuddle). Hyrule sleeps longer, but never seems to gain any more energy.

Magical exhaustion, if pushed too far, can be fatal.

ANYWAY. When Hyrule first joins the Chain, he forces all of them to free any Fairies they might have. He enforces that rule as others join, and is hesitant to lower his glamour. I’m think that for a long time, they don’t even know he’s a Fairy. He’s terrified that if they find out, they’ll bottle him up and use him for healing and never let him go. For. Long time, he’s terrified of them. Fairy Bottlers surround him. It’s not until he physically cannot keep his “Hylian” form up that the others find out what he is, and he never expected them to be so understanding. So… apologetic. Actually legitimately regretful of their Fairy Bottling pasts.

ONE MORE THING. Four can turn Minish sized. When Hyrule works himself to magical exhaustion and passes out, he goes back to his True Form, the two inch tall lil Fairy. And of course, when that happens, it’s really really difficult for the Chain to move him or help him without accidentally hurting his tiny body. So Four will shrink down and help him to bed, check to make sure that he wasn’t hurt when he fell unconscious, and stay with him at their size so he’s not alone when he wakes.

I have many more thoughts but this is getting actually so long. I apologize!

[xiyouyanyi]

Welcome!

@ryin-silverfish here, also known as "That person who talks a lot about FSYY and fox spirits".

This is my little LMK AU sideblog, which started off as a bunch of disjointed background notes for my fanfics, but developed into its own gigantic thing over time.

I've said elsewhere that, despite LMK (and many other JTTW adjacent works) lifting certain tidbits wholesale from FSYY——like Nezha's backstory or the Golden Dragon Shears, neither the show nor the fanworks really go into the implications of a FSYY/JTTW combined universe.

(For one, Zhao Gongming's three sisters, the Sanxiao, showing up to kick Jin and Yin's butts for stealing and breaking their treasure would be very satisfying, and also hella badass.)

Well, be the change you want, they said. 

So here it is: Journey of the Gods, aka "LMK, but FSYY is also canon and an extremely influential historical event".

Inspired by @digitaldoeslmk 's By the Book AU.

What even is FSYY?

"Ancient China's bloodiest bureaucracy recruitment program, kickstarted by a king who simped too hard for the creator goddess of humanity and the fox girl she sent to end his dynasty."

"I'll write my own God-Demon novel, with blackjacks and fox hookers and no Buddhist allegories!" ——Xu Zhonglin/Lu Xixing/Li Yunxiang

Okay, jokes aside: Investiture of the Gods(Fengshen Yanyi) is the other big "God-Demon Novel" of the Ming dynasty, written after JTTW. It's about the toppling of the Shang dynasty and its tyrannical King Zhou by King Wu of Zhou——but with more Daoism, immortals and demons helping out both sides, and ten billion magical formations and treasures. 

At the end of the story, almost everyone who died in battle were deified and became the 365 gods of the Celestial Bureaucracy, thus "Investiture of the Gods". 

Here is a link to the only full English translation of FSYY, by Gui Zhizhong.

Here is my overview of FSYY's grand overarching conflict, a.k.a. "Why are all the Daoist immortals fighting?" 

Compared to JTTW, it's a lot more formulaic and suffers from a massive character count inflation problem, but also extremely influential in Chinese folk religion, to the point of some modern temples, like Qingyang Palace, basically worshiping characters from the novel! Like, the western equivalent would be a church worshiping Dante and Beatrice from the Divine Comedy.

(Similarly, it is to orthodox Daoism what the Divine Comedy is to medieval Christian theology, and should not be treated as actual religious scriptures.)

Okay, FSYY happened in the LMK universe. So What?

Well, first, it will really do wonders to fill up that eerily empty Celestial Realm we see in the Spider Queen special, and the Celestial Bureaucracy will no longer consist of a grand total of five people.

Secondly, it can solve some major show-not-tell problems and actually give legitimacy to the grievances of the LMK Brotherhood + Havoc in Heaven, as well as fleshing out the Celestial Realm.

Third, so many cool magical treasures.

Fourth, LBD gets an origin story, with a twist.

Fifth, I delight in quality angst and horror, and FSYY had some seriously messed-up stuff and implications.

Sixth, Celestial Bureaucracy office politics.

Seventh, Nezha kicking asses and winning fights like he should.

Eighth, crazy Xianxia shit, as you’d expect from the great-granddaddy of modern Xianxia genre.

Ninth, infodumps about Chinese mythos and history trivias.

Tenth, Underworld lore.

...As you can probably tell, this is mostly just me nerding out and writing walls of texts. I'm not a very good artist and can't do Lego style, but will probably doodle some symbol/character designs for funsies.

I also derive most of my enjoyment from writing fix-its and worldbuilding, not shipping characters. Like, I love exploring individual characters through relationships, but just ain't a fan of romance.

There will be a lot of OCs, but unless otherwise specified, all of them will be based on actual characters from FSYY and JTTW, with a few folk gods sprinkled in for funsies.

With that taken care of: good luck and happy reading!

[felassan]

Some more snippets of interest and insight from Mark Darrah, from some older Mark Darrah on Games YouTube videos where he was livestreaming playing Dragon Age: Origins some months ago. (The source of each snippet is linked after each point.)

"I would be incredibly surprised if we did see Desire Demons [in future games], but possibly. I saw some updated concept art." [source]

Chat asked "Do you think we are going to be able to spend points on attributes again in DA4 or nah?" and Mark replied "I don't know if they'll do attribute points, I suspect not...?" [source]

Chat asked "Do you think DA4 would be able to read DA:I saves since they're both using Frostbite?" and Mark replied "Oh, it doesn't matter, the reading the save games is nothing to do with Frostbite. The reason why Inquisition uses the Keep instead of save game reading is because of cross-generational stuff, we didn't want people locked to a platform. So I think it's quite possible that DA4 will use the Keep. I don't think they'll do save game reading, because the Keep exists already". Chat followed up, "I wonder if DA:I was made to even create plot flag data at all, what with the Keep already being a cross-game option" and Mark said "DA:I does store plot-flags in their save games, but yes, the intention was always to store them in the Keep, not to mine them out of save games". [source]

Chat asked "Would Oghren be done differently today?" Mark replied, "I do think Oghren would be done differently. He either needs to be more serious, as he's always treating his trauma with alcohol, or he needs to be somehow made more comedic. But I don't know that BioWare would make a character like Oghren again". [source]

They won't drop the name Dragon Age even if they switch in-world ages. Chat asked "DA5 should wrap up the Dragon Age series, and then any new game should be set centuries ahead of the Dragon Age". Mark replied "I mean if you wanted a massive reboot you could set it a long time in the future, have a new Dragon Age, that they've called it that for some reason, but I don't think there's a need for that." [source]

He also talked more generally about DA:O and the franchise in general. These bits are collected under a cut due to length.

One of the reasons why Dragon Age hasn't kept the same protagonist and has moved around the world a lot is because DA:O wasn't originally really intended to have a sequel, so it leaves a lot of dangling things depending on the choices you make (different rulers, many different states for some characters like Alistair, etc) [source]

What happened to Dragon Age Journeys? Facebook gaming died [source]

Game of Thrones was floating around in the studio during the time of the development of Baldur's Gate 2. "I do think it was at least consulted, it was read. What GoT did to fantasy in its moment was sort've show you could have a bit more politics, a bit more human-human conflict" [source]

On a hypothetical DA:O remaster: Tech-wise, there aren't that many people who know how to work with the engine, although it's a relatively simple engine. If they used a different engine it wouldn't be a remaster but a remake. For a remaster, you'd keep the same engine and turn the knobs as far as they could go, which would limit how far you could take it. Chat said "the Aurora [DA:O] engine isn't really being maintained, there's nothing to actually remaster there" and Mark replied "the code exists, it's in EA's repositories, you could get it running, updated DirectX version, remaster all the textures, you could do that" [source]

On this he also said "it's not gonna happen unless they can get the money from EA to do it as an external project and bring in external people, because otherwise you're just taking people from other things. Or unless EA suddenly decides that BioWare can hire 50 people, which seems...". "If you took something like Mass Effect and updated its Unreal version, that would be a massive amount of work just to do that. You don't really get anything for just doing that, particularly. You might be able to have it run at a higher resolution" [source]

The fact that MELE actually did well means that the chance of a remaster for DA is significantly higher than it was before. But EA doesn't like spending money. The devs had been trying to do a ME remaster since shortly after the last gen started, so basically since 2014 [source]

If they ever did a remaster of DA:O you would definitely see an improvement in textures on the consoles, even if you did nothing else, simply by including the "things that already exist" (as the original 360 version had its textures smooshed down from hi-res). DA:I you could make look better just by turning the knobs up further, as most of its stuff is already authored at higher resolutions [source]

Chat asked "'This might be better answered in a video, but what are your thoughts on remakes?''. Mark replied "I think it really depends on the game, some games are very much a product of their moment so they don't, a remake is always gonna fall a little flat. Remaster, you're just kind've re-establishing that. I think you can remaster anything. Remakes, some things should just be allowed to be a product of their time" [source]

Chat asked "Was there ever interest in making games like Diamondback and Wicked Grace playable minigames like Lodestone in Fable or Gwent for example?" There was a design for a dwarven chess game that the devs were thinking about doing for DA:I, "but no, time is time". Mark thinks that they may have had the rules for Wicked Grace at one point but "I don't know that there was ever much desire for it" [source]

The art direction in DAII is much more intentional than it was in DA:O. In DA:O and other fantasy games from that time period, it wasn't very intentional, and was more just 'generic English countryside from a certain time period' [source]

Chat commented about wanting a Dragon Age MMO in future. Mark replied "I don't think you're gonna see a Dragon Age MMO. MMOs are incredibly expensive to create and maintain. It was very interesting to watch Bethesda make an MMO of Elder Scrolls and make pretty much the same statements and mistakes as were made on SW:TOR just years later" [source]

Chat commented about wanting a Dragon Age RTS game in future. Mark replied "You could certainly see, especially like a DA:O RTS, but there aren't as many RTS devs around as there were once upon a time." When chat mentioned that a Mass Effect RTS could succeed, he added "I think if you were gonna do a Mass Effect RTS you'd definitely want space combat to be part of the game" [source]

Chat asked "What DA game would you remake?" Mark replied "I don't know, that's hard to say, some of the older ones are too a product of their time to easily be remade" [source]

Chat asked "How complex was Origins to make in terms of gameplay?" Mark replied, "I'm not sure what you're asking in terms of complexity of gameplay, it's a very long game with a lot of abilities. The underlying rules are not, it's not as intricate in terms of individual bits of balance as something like a shooter, lootershooter or fighting game is. RPGs are more about, sort've piling enough stuff on it so that it kind've gets balanced through volume as opposed to balanced through individual bits of, through the actual core mechanic. Honestly one of the issues with Anthem is that I think that a lot of the people on the team weren't familiar with that style of development, and so the inner most core of that game isn't tuned to the same degree that potentially a shooter company like Bungee would do" [source]

"Lyrium [potions] restore mana, I think. Which we have never explained"

Chat asked "Why are party members auto-levelled to the same level as the party/main character when you get them in Origins? I.e. in Knights of the Old Republic they were always level 6." Mark replied "the reason they're odd levelled is exactly because of KOTOR. If they're not odd levelled, what was happening was a lot of people just never levelled them up, so you ended up taking a character and they were Level 6 and they just died [source]

"The Leliana thing [Leliana coming back in DA:I if she was killed in DA:O], it's pretty weak but an explanation was given. A lot of the other ones are.. not even bothered to be given" [source]

On-screen Leliana had dialogue telling the Chantry's version of the story of how the Golden City became Black and the Magisters released the Taint. "I don't think the Chantry is lying so much as applying an argument on top of something they don't really understand" [source]

(pls note that in places there is a bit of paraphrasing of the info, the best source is always the primary source with full quotes in their original context)

[ratasum]

A bunch of you asked for it SO...

Eye of the North and Rhenn's very near death to Bangar shooting him with Braham's bow was indeed a huge shift in Kippa and Rhenn's dynamic. Before that point, she'd held back her magic significantly, and he'd always strived to protect her.

After all, when he died to Balthazar, she didn't have access to her full well of magic, and Aurene was still Baby. So any time she DID use her magic, it was outbursts or in limited amounts. Which is why she was struggling to heal him in EotN when they arrived.

As a result, she started reaching PAST what she allowed herself, deeper and deeper, until a dam broke. Everything she'd been holding back the ENTIRE 29 years of her life. And something SNAPPED. This little asura, completely unknowing of the kind of magic that was churning inside her, was just flooded with the dragon magic she had no idea she had, and all of a sudden, it was too much. Which is why Aurene intervened- it was too much for Kippa to control without the knowledge to do so. Linking her magic to Aurene's mostly by accident, but in a welcome respite, that let Kippa come down safely but not without consequence.

It happens in a split second. A blinding flash of light, and Kippa's just… floating. There's delicate shards of ice and crystal suspended in the air, Rhenn is healed, he's breathing… but everyone else is healed too. There's a distinct feeling of dehydration, like they'd just walked through the Crystal Desert for a day without a water flask. And there's a LOT of consequences to the immense, powerful, immediate healing she unleashed.

Depending on the severity of the injury, there's phantom pains. Aches. An almost hollow feeling. People brought back from the brink of death have haunting nightmares, INCLUDING Rhenn, that last a few days.

(And yes Kippa feels SO much guilt over this. She wasn't trying to drop a healnuke she was just trying to save Rhenn's life, and apparently grief and panic can do a lot of heavy lifting)

I don't think anyone's really mad at her but reactions vary. Some charr are outright distrustful. Some asura want to study her. The Crystal Bloom starts treating her as almost a saintlike figure.

And she does finally start learning to control and utilize the well of magic she has. By EoD she's much more in control, and a lot more confident.

Aurene does a lot to help her learn that having this gift isn't her fault. She didn't ask for it, and she didn't take it. Someone else gave it to her, and maybe it wasn't theirs to give, but it is Kippa's to use.

But where Rhenn had always tried to keep her safe before, Kippa has the power to protect herself now. She has access to her fire and earth attunements in ways she never had before. He's still commander, and still gets a lot of respect. But Kippa's something new. She has power that neither of them can fully comprehend, and the ability to fully defend herself if push comes to shove. Things she wasn't able to do before (hence why she didn't try to escape when she was captured along with Taimi in S4).

It doesn't change their feelings for each other, but it does change how Rhenn sees her to a degree. He's no longer her protector- they're equals in a way he hadn't expected. If anything, it makes him admire her even more, and levels the playing field as their relationship deepens and progresses.

[aboutdragons]

the thing about dragons - chapter six

in which Viserys continues being the family disappointment.

Dialogues in quotation marks are in Common Westron, in angle brackets in High Valyrian, in square brackets for other. Thoughts, emotions and emphasis are in italics.  

Cross-posted on

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43121373/chapters/108369012

Scribblehub: https://www.scribblehub.com/series/699684/the-thing-about-dragons/

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/331546036-the-thing-about-dragons

Now with a Discord server! Come join me at Marq's Assorted Writery: discord.gg/WQ7mNwk

◄○○○►

Read the Summary, Tags & Warnings as linked on the page to know what to expect.

warnings: Daemon Targaryen, Otto Hightower, Viserys Targaryen, allusions to statutory SA, blood magic, small children doing small children things

wordcount: 10,862

Read the chapter under the cut.  

Daemon kills Crabfeeder, as a treat. Just because, really; Viserys doesn’t send any letters about sending reinforcements that send him into a rage, because between three dragons and Dornish allies, Daemon and Corlys are doing fine. More than fine, even. And the last time Viserys tried to interfere more significantly, Lyra did what she did and he didn’t seem to be over it even years after, still reeling from the fact that real world did not, in fact, work the way he expected it to. Of course, Lyra held no illusions that the issue actually taught Viserys anything, but his current careful distance was appreciated, whether it stemmed from genuine understanding or confusion over people not reacting exactly the way he wanted them to.

Still, when Daemon comes back covered head-to-toe in blood infected with grayscale, Lyra all but throws him in a vat of near-boiling soapy water and doesn’t let him out until she deems him acceptably clean of the infected blood, and then has his wounds and nicks disinfected for good measure.

Thanks to their dragon blood, Targaryens were less prone to getting sick than regular people and more prone to recover quickly, but Daemon’s aunt Maegelle died two years before Lyra was born of this very affliction, and Lyra wasn’t taking any chances if she could help it. And sure, Maegelle didn’t have a dragon boosting her physical health through the bond, but Maegelle also caught the disease through simply caring for the sick; Daemon likely got infected blood in open wounds, and with a line this direct Lyra was taking no chances. Even if he bitched about the soap and pure alcohol stinging.

She even saves his hair form the blood and grime taking to staining the white all too eagerly, and sure some of it is beyond saving and has to go, but more than enough is left to weave into Valyrian braids, gold clasps and whalebone pins Lyra carved herself included.

It’s the victory one, and Daemon preens. Both for what it signifies, and because Lyra can braid it exactly the way it’s supposed to be. But then again, she learned from the best.

(Ancalagon liked his diet whale-rich, and Lyra oftentimes had more whalebone than she knew what to do with; she wore no corsets or petticoats, and even if she did, she could only get so many made before it got ridiculous. Instead, she sold the whalebone to Corlys for mostly-cheap, as people on Driftmark could always use some. She liked having pocket money, and the way Corlys looked at her warily impressed was equal parts amusing and insulting. Was the bar really so low?)

But all good things have to come to an end eventually, and the War for the Stepstones does too, a little over three years early. Not with Daemon’s return upon the news of his wife’s death, but with the Triarchy being chased out by the combined might of the Velaryon and Dornish fleets and three grown dragons.

Rhea Royce isn’t even dead, and now that the divorce has taken effect Lyra hopes she lives a good, long life. She has no hard feelings for the woman; she just doesn’t want to see her again, and she knows her sentiments are much returned.

Or maybe she was just used to her first set of parents being openly disdainful of her instead of politely disinterested unless startled. The kind where she actively cut contact the moment she no longer depended on them for basic survival.

○

King’s Landing stinks as it stank when she first arrived here years ago for Viserys’ coronation, with rot of garbage and human waste alike. It’s horrid, and even with Jaehaerys’ work on the waterways they only ever benefitted the rich and privileged in the upper town, leaving the smallfolk to wade in their own filth because the Conqueror couldn’t have gotten a functioning city built to save his life, and his sons were certainly more interested in being an utter failure and a tyrannical fuckup respectively.

They land just outside the city, on the plains, Ancalagon and Caraxes both. Ancalagon would neither fit in the Dragonpit—and Lyra would never make him go there besides, to be chained in a cell too-small even for a dragon half his size instead of being able to at least burrow his own hole in a cliffside somewhere—nor would Lyra want him in such close proximity to other dragons, all of them smaller than him. That was just inviting trouble. Daemon doesn’t want to leave her to wander the city by herself, of course, and there’s little issue leaving Caraxes outside as well. He and Ancalagon at least won’t try to kill each other. They’ll likely roost somewhere on the cliff-face of Blackwater Bay, under the Red Keep.

By the time they get off their dragons and get all their things off their dragons, and it takes several trips on both ends, there’s a simple carriage waiting for them at the gate, flanked by Gold Cloaks. She sees Harwin first, with a well-groomed beard doing nothing to hide his grin, and the last of the baby fat gone since she last seen him. He’s filled out, she can see, lanky gait gone. Corren is a little harder to spot, his ginger mop hidden under the guard helmet, but she knows what to look for. The rest of them are less-familiar faces but she recognizes them still as having seen them in passing at least, and Daemon greets each like an old friend, with a clap on the back and by name.

He made them what they are now, and they are loyal to him even now. Will be still, nearly twenty years from now when Viserys’ short-sighted decisions catch up to everyone but him after he dies and leaves an utter clusterfuck of a succession crisis in his wake that would have been so easy to fix for him either which way, if he wasn’t a fool blinded to reality by the world he wanted to see.

Lyra can already feel the noose tightening around her neck, and it’s shaped an awful lot like her uncle’s hands.

○

They get to Red Keep without all that much fanfare past the excitement Ancalagon’s presence generates, and Daemon doesn’t do the whole song and dance with swearing allegiance to Viserys. He’s no King of the Narrow Sea this time around, and he’s not looking for his brother’s approval that much either. Not anymore, at least.

They reconcile anyway, a hug, a kiss to the cheek, a promise of good behaviour that everyone but Viserys knows Daemon won’t keep for long.

His wilful ignorance is a comfortable one sometimes but it makes Lyra seethe all the same, because this very wilful ignorance that serves them well right now is one of the major causes of the Dance less than twenty years from now.

If only he gave enough a shit to raise Rhaenyra’s popularity; if only he had her educated to rule; if only he put his foot down in the matter of securing a politically useful marriage for her, or at the very least a husband that would somewhat uphold her. If only he opened his fucking eyes and did something, anything, instead of saying a thing and closing his eyes pretending that made it real, no actual elbow grease necessary.

If only she could tell Viserys about the future, if only she could steer him towards a better ending without the very real and very terrifying risk of everything going so much worse through his meddling, and causing new disasters she couldn’t see and prepare for.

If only, if only, if only.

The only thing she can trust Viserys to do is to make everything worse, as always. He has claimed to love Aemma after all, and he had her butchered alive anyway. He doesn’t give half a shit about Alicent in comparison, or her children, and Lyra is certainly not willing to risk whatever Viserys would do with the knowledge she has and his absolute conviction that Rhaenyra will be queen just because he says so, without actually preparing her to rule.

(This can only end in disaster. Even if she assumes rule peacefully, she won’t know what to do if nobody teaches her. And nobody can teach her how to rule the country except the gods-damned king.)

She gives her best close-lipped smile as she claps and congratulates her king of an uncle and his wayward brother of her father on their reconciliation, though she doesn’t mean a word of it.

They only just got back, after all. Give them a few months before they make themselves unpalatable enough to Viserys’ sensibilities to have to leave. Unless Viserys does something so supremely stupid that they have to hoof it before then, of course.

He’s bound to do something stupid enough to piss them off himself sometime; he always does. But until then she smiles and curtsies and pointedly ignores the jabs the courtiers make about her wearing pants and looking like a boy, as if it’s a moral failing on Daemon’s part and she didn’t just spend several years in a warzone where court-appropriate dresses were a little hard to come by.

○

Alicent is awkward when they meet in person; a little startled, a little worried, and barely twenty this year. Thinner, her hair duller and her eyes have aged at least twenty years in the span of the past six; she doesn’t look particularly healthy, though she doesn’t look unhealthy either. There’s little happiness in those aged eyes, and her fingers are scabbed over in places, clearly picked at.

They run into each other half by chance and half by design on the hallway. Lyra has been on her way to do just that.

It’s a little startling to realize that they’re on eye-level now, though, because Lyra is thirteen and in the middle of a growth spurt that’s doing numbers on her bones and rapidly shrinking her clothing selection, and Alicent is now an adult done growing.

Before she left, after Aemma’s death, they were at best passing associates; her cousin’s best friend, exchanging greetings when they ran into each other as was polite, and little else, and Lyra barely reached Alicent’s bony elbows with the top of her head.

“Hi,” Lyra says with a small wave.

“Hello,” Alicent says and takes a breath, straightens her spine, folds her hands daintily in front; a posture more befitting of queen. It suits her. “I see you have returned from Stepstones. It gladdens me to see you well.”

Lyra smiles. “I am glad to see you as well,” she says. “Though you do look tired.”

Alicent sighs, a little self-consciously. “I… Am, somewhat,” she admits. “It is, they tell me, the lot of all mothers of young babes. Scarcely time to rest.”

There’s something in her voice, a tinge of displeasure at having young babes at all, that Lyra catches before it’s gone. She can’t blame Alicent for it at all, even if she knows this resentment will cause issues for her children down the line, too; a vicious cycle of abuse and neglect, begotten from a rape of a child.

No wonder Alicent’s children would turn out fucked up if she’s already like this, and between Viserys who can’t give half a fuck and Otto who does nothing but scheme for power and Rhaenyra who refuses to understand, she doesn’t really have anybody.

“I can’t tell, I’ve not been around small children… At all, really,” Lyra says, a little awkwardly. “They’re hardly the company I keep.”

“You will eventually,” Alicent says with a small smile. “They are tiring, but they are a blessing.”

She’s clearly trying to sell it to Lyra now, as she’s been taught by the society to. To soften the blow to her friend, no doubt; it comes from a kind place.

Still, Lyra wants to say that it’s beyond unlikely to happen. Her manufactured homunculus body is incapable of growing life, after all. Not without copious amounts of blood magic, and only once in its entire lifetime.

Instead she just shrugs. “We shall see,” she says. “First I’ll need to find someone crazy enough to withstand both myself and my father, and comely enough so that my father doesn’t cut him down for sport.”

Alicent gives a startled giggle. “Oh dear. He would, wouldn’t he?”

“He killed for far less.”

Alicent opens her mouth to say something, but they’re interrupted by a maid. Alicent, apparently, was on her way to the nursery; when Lyra held her up, the maids got worried, and came to fetch her.

Lyra catches the minute grimace Alicent makes. Split-second decision later, she’s opening her mouth.

“I can go with you, if you don’t mind,” she says quickly. “I’ve not yet met my younger cousins, after all.”

Alicent smiles. “In that case, let us hurry.”

○

It’s only when Lyra enters the nursery that she realizes she may have miscalculated a little.

Or a lot, actually.

Truth is, Lyra was never overly good with children, or all that comfortable with them, in either life. And so, when tiny Helaena in a puffy yellow dress toddles to her and latches onto her leg with zero warning, all Lyra really knows to do is freeze up, and look around panicked for help.

Alicent, some friend she is, laughs at her and makes no move to help at all, whatever sort of help Lyra hopes for; unlatch the toddler, ideally. Because those things are loud, and slobbery, and fragile, and she has no idea what to do.

Helaena reaches her grubby arms up and hops a little against her leg, and for a moment all Lyra does is just stare. The toddler is entirely undeterred, though; and eventually, slowly and carefully, Lyra bends down, puts her hands under Helaena’s arms, picks up the child, and examines the creature.

She’s not very heavy, for how chubby she looks, but she already has a worrying number of toddler-sharp teeth she’s undoubtedly plotting to put on nearest unidentified object, which just so happens to be Lyra herself right now. Helaena is certainly already making grabby hands at Lyra’s braids, barred from painful tugs by the distance alone.

“That is new,” Alicent says, amazement in her voice.

“What is?” Lyra asks, momentarily distracted. Helaena uses the momentary distraction as Lyra bends her elbows and, finally able to reach, grabs one of her braids and tugs on it as hard as a toddler can. “Fucking ow—! Ow, no, bad toddler, let go—”

Alicent lets out a startled giggle as Lyra grabs under Helaena’s legs with one hand for support and tries to unlatch the grabby hands finger by finger from her braids with the other, with only some success.

“Helaena hates being touched,” Alicent admits. “Will more often than not cry when approached at all. Certainly, she has never approached anyone herself before, not to my knowledge.”

Lyra looks at the giggling menace and narrows her eyes a little. Helaena only beams in answer, violet eyes twinkling, as if grabbing a scowling teenager by the hair is the best thing ever.

For a toddler, it might just be.

“Skill issue,” Lyra says and brings Helaena to her chest, hoisting her up and putting one hand on her back for support, like she does with Snickerdoodle. It doesn’t turn on any waterworks, so she figures it is as good a method as any.

Still, she’d much rather be holding an actual cat right now. A cat wouldn’t hold her hair hostage. Maybe gnaw on it, but not try to rip braids out of her skull.

“Skill—what?”

Lyra only grins at Alicent’s questioning look.

They talk some more after that, about everything and nothing and benign fun little things, and it’s not bad; except Alicent lulls Lyra into a false sense of security, and next thing Lyra knows more small children are being put in her immediate vicinity.

And Aemond, though he has less teeth than Helaena, is significantly keener on using them, much to Aegon’s unrestrained giggles as Lyra yelps and locks her elbow in place as she fights the urge to swing her arm and shake the cause of hurt off it very, very hard.

Getting him off, when he clearly means to bite to blood and refuses to latch off, is more difficult than it should be. Snickerdoodle would never be this problematic.

She takes everything back; she hates it here.

○

Daemon finds them eventually, sometime after. Alicent is serenely embroidering a shirt for Aegon using a moment of peace, and Lyra covered in sleeping toddlers who couldn’t care less at how she stiffened whenever a small human appeared within five feet of her and showed any interest in her, and tugged at her braids, and bit her hands for sport.

At least she managed to put her braids up in a bun, out of reach for too-curious pudgy hands, but soon enough had to resign herself to be climbed, slobbered on, thrice bitten, and eventually napped on by two of three of them when the spawns tired themselves out after using as a glorified jungle gym. She’s not sure if they’re actually asleep or just resting before the next round of chaos, but she takes her peace where she can get it.

She can’t feel her legs, but at least all she has to do now is sit still instead of minding where each spawn is, what it is doing, and if it’s not eating something it really shouldn’t.

Like her hair. Or her hands. Or her shirt. Or the legs of the chair Alicent is sitting on. Aemond made it rather clear he has energy to spare unlike his elders.

Daemon is fair game the moment he enters, too. Fairest game of all, perhaps, as far as Aemond is concerned. He has no fear and teeth to sharpen, and his uncle’s leather boots apparently look tastier than his mother’s chair.

Daemon is having none of this of course. He scoops the toddler up in a well-practiced move, heedless of the way it makes Alicent tense, and looks him in the eyes.

“You sure do remind me of someone, nephew, though your eyes are far brighter,” he muses, eyes sliding to Lyra. Aemond gives him a grin; given that it’s the first time he sees his uncle, it’s a pretty good reaction. Lyra meanwhile bristles.

“I did not bite everything my teeth could reach!”

“No, but you loved to cause trouble,” Daemon says, putting the toddler in the crook of his arm and against his chest comfortably, effortlessly instinctual. Aemond settles almost instantly, as comfortable as one gets. “Not that much has changed since then.”

“I was unaware the Rogue Prince had such a way with children,” Alicent says, a little strained. Daemon looks at her, then back down at Aemond.

“It’s not hard,” he says. “You just pick them up and keep them interested. It worked before, why not now?”

Lyra can almost hear what Alicent wants to say in response to that.

“I suppose it is a gift not all men possess ,” Alicent says instead, and it’s close enough.

“It’s not a gift, it’s a skill,” Deamon says, focused on his mesmerized nephew and either none-the-wiser or wilfully ignoring of the jab hanging between them directed at his brother. “Some men are simply not inclined to learning the simplest of skills.”

Nevermind, he got it. Him talking shit about Viserys in court-speak is a new one, though.

He gives a startled Alicent a cheeky smirk and proceeds to entertain Aemond without making a single move to free Lyra of the rest of the toddlers.

What a menace, that father of hers.

“I thought you’d have gone to spent some time with Rhaenyra,” Alicent says eventually, carefully.

“She’s not my only niece,” Daemon says, half-dismissive. “And young women tend to be cantankerous in ways I’m in no mood to entertain for long besides. Not this soon off the road, anyway.”

“That might well be me in a few years, too,” Lyra reminds him.

“I have my doubts,” Daemon says. “And even if, you’re mine. I made you and I named you, and now you're my responsibility. Rhaenyra isn't.”

“If you say so.”

Alicent looks between them wistfully, with a twinge of jealousy she can't quite hide. She feels it on both fronts, Lyra can tell, as both a daughter of a father who put his greed over her wellbeing, and the wife of an absent, deeply mediocre man hung up on a ghost of the woman he murdered, forcing children upon her but never truly taking responsibility.

What-if s can be an insidious game.

But at least Alicent relaxes and returns to her embroidery, only glancing at them every so often, and less surprised each time.

○

With Lyra as a buffer, Daemon is much more receptive to his newest niblings. He likes them, she thinks. With time, he learns to visit them just by himself, without following her to the nursery. Alicent relaxes in his presence, too.

He’s good with children, after all. Engages them easily, knows what he’s doing. He managed to raise Lyra successfully and in some ways she was worse than a normal toddler, living with a half-remembered life constantly hanging over her that her developing child lizard brain couldn’t compute.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Aegon who latches onto him, almost desperately. It might just be the first time he has something remotely resembling a father figure; and a child of four starts to notice the cracks of a broken home in full. Lyra would know. She had, in her first life.

Helaena clings to Lyra mostly, and Lyra notices all the more how uncomfortable the girl is with literally everybody else. She’ll cry, and run, and if desperate enough, even bite a particularly dedicated nursemaid. Poor woman’s just trying to do her job.

Daemon comes a close enough tolerable second to be of use in an emergency at least, but he's on thin ice. Alicent is barely tolerated, even with Lyra mediating. Lyra isn't exactly sure why it's like this.

Aemond meanwhile is happy to hog his mother’s attention, now that his siblings consistently target other people, and Alicent herself is quite content with this arrangement. For the first time in forever she’s getting actual help with her children; nannies and nursemaids try their best, but they’re too human to properly care for those children in the end. Their bodies are too cold, they don’t purr, they don’t get the little lizard-adjacent tells that Targaryens do by instinct alone, and in the absence of Viserys, Daemon simply steps in. It's easy for him.

They calm down, Alicent claims, almost overnight. It’s as if something settles in them, now that they no longer feel so alone and disassociated among the non magical people without the first clue on what to do. It does weird Alicent out, though. It’s more like she tolerates Daemon’s presence than anything, especially when he purrs and chirps at them, and they respond in kind.

It’s difficult for Alicent to wrap her head around her children not being truly human, and needing different care than that, even if she means well. Forcing them into human boxes will never do anything but backfire, potentially horribly, and it’s giving Lyra flashbacks to her first life and her parents never putting any effort into understanding her own neurodivergent struggles and sending her into the world with a nice box of issues and trauma that not even reincarnation could fix because they refused to read a diagnosis, let alone understand it.

She’s better, though. Because she gets it, and even if Daemon doesn’t, he tries his best to be accommodating. Being magic elf-coded lizardpeople also helps. Is this why neurodivergent people were compared to fey in ye olden times? Because being weird sure is easier if your immediate family is just like you, and it weirds others out.

The children like music, too. Lyra has to keep her guitar from getting trampled on, but once she starts playing, they sit and listen and don't cause her much trouble.

Same can’t be said about poor Snickerdoodle. Lyra brings the cat to the nursery exactly once, and he spends most of his stay on the top of the wardrobe after Aemond tries to eat his tail.

The one person who is very unhappy with the whole situation is of course Rhaenyra. She expected Daemon to join her in complaining about her siblings, and instead, he shuts it down rather quickly. Reminds her that Alicent didn’t want to marry her father, and her siblings didn’t choose to be born, and that she should be kinder to them. 

Rhaenyra doesn’t take kindly to it; Daemon doesn’t seem to care.

She gives up her sulking after a week when Daemon continues to not care. Huffs and puffs still, but seemingly accepts that she can’t hog her uncle’s attention. Even starts to come to see her siblings from time to time, and to her horror realizes they’re not that bad.

Lyra meanwhile follows Snickerdoodle’s example, and begins to climb out onto the roof whenever she wants a moment of peace. Past some startled looks, it works very well.

○

Daemon takes them flying, one by one. Alicent tries to disagree, but he insists it’s tradition, backed by just about everyone. Even Viserys comes out of the woodwork to support the idea. After all, he can’t because Balerion is dead, Rhaenyra is too young with a still-young dragon (a bullshit excuse nobody buys, Syrax is at a point where she can fly two) and Alicent never had a dragon to begin with, so it just makes sense. Daemon is the next best thing.

Lyra too it turns out when Helaena decides that today is the day she doesn’t like Daemon after all. It takes some back-and-forth, but Ancalagon graciously allows a passenger other than Snickerdoodle in the end. Once.

It’s a hit, especially with Aegon. He starts hunting down Daemon to demand dragon rides daily after that. It’s funny to see a toddler marching towards a spooked Daemon. Defeated by a child quarter his size, again.

○

It's never that Alicent seeks out Daemon's company in any capacity, so it makes it all the more confusing the one time she does.

“Thank you,” is what she tells him. “For all your help. You needn't have to.”

“But I did need to,” Daemon says. “If not me, then who?”

Her face does this funny thing where it freezes somewhere between anger and shame as she bites down on an agreement. They both know the kind of a man Viserys is.

“You need to learn to take care of them,” Daemon declares eventually and she startles. “Properly, I mean. I won't be here forever, neither will Lyra, and if you try to raise them like any other human child, all you'll have will be heartache and unstable, broken adults.”

Alicent picks at her fingers, face set in a frown. “Do you mean that I am a bad mother?” she asks eventually.

“No, just human. And that is simply not what they need. Can't make a bird out of a fish, or a fish out of a bird.”

“Do you detest my humanness then, then?”

“It's not a personal attack, goodsister. Just the truth,” Daemon smiles wryly. “Don't try to put a dragon into a human mold and we'll get along just fine.”

○

Corlys arrives eventually, too, with Laenor. They needed some more time, between Corlys making the best of the victory and not having a dragon, but they're there. Lyra doesn’t really remember if they did that originally, but without Daemon crowning himself, and with a newfound relationship between Velaryons and Dorne, Corlys is a very welcome guest.

Viserys grovels almost, between that and not having married Laena. It’d be funny, if it wasn’t so pathetic.

○

Honestly… Daemon should have known that something like this would’ve happened, and soon.

His stay in King’s Landing was nice. Too nice. Too peaceful. Too unproblematic past the chaos he caused himself for fun.

Then, Viserys calls him to a Small Council meeting, and Daemon can’t fathom why. It’s not somewhere he goes after all of Cunttower’s plots to have him removed from this very room. Part of it has him curious.

He finds Otto there, all smug, and Viserys positively beaming, and Corlys looking—wildly uncomfortable. He winces when his eyes land on Daemon, and that is the precise moment Daemon knows he’s about to hate this meeting equally as much, or more.

He soon finds out why as his curiosity bleeds into confusion bleeds into disbelief and eventually into simmering anger.

It’s a betrothal talk. Viserys’ and Cunttowers newest machination, trying desperately to soothe the relation with Velaryons fuelled by Corlys’ newest Dornish alliance and haphazard attempt at soothing the political quagmire Viserys gleefully ran into by not marrying Laena—

But it’s not Rhaenyra, who is looking for a husband anyway, that Viserys wants to throw at Laenor and call it a fix. No, no—Rhaenyra gets to pick her own future king. No.

It’s Daelyra that he wants to marry to Laenor.

“What,” Daemon says somewhat dumbly, because he, for the life of him, cannot quite compute anything about this decision, starting with the fact that his daughter, his child, is three-and-ten, and ending with the fact that neither he nor she were asked for their input on the situation.

Corlys, too, is looking like he wants to shrink into his chair, and part of Daemon can commiserate. Between the hell Rhaenys would unleash and the hell Lyra would add to it, and Laena no doubt being upset in the middle—

How can Viserys not see it?

“Daelyra and Laenor already have built up a rapport, after all,” Viserys says, hapless fool. “They know and are fond of eachother, and besides Daelyra already bleeds so there’s no need to wait—”

And how the fuck does he know that? Daemon will snap the neck of whichever maid that tattled.

He doesn’t hear the rest of Viserys’ speech as static fills his ears. He sees white, grits his teeth, clenches his fists; something burns in his chest and throat so hot he thinks he could very well breathe fire right now.

Instead, he stands up abruptly, bright eyes zoned on this foolish, foolish creature.

“Brother,” he says as calmly as he can and his voice sounds distant to him through the haze of the fire that swirls in his chest for it, and takes grim satisfaction in the way Viserys flinches. “I suggest you stop with this jest. There’s nothing remotely amusing about it.”

Viserys balks. Gods, please, he can’t be this stupid, he—

“This isn’t a jest, Daemon. Daelyra will be betrothed to Laenor—”

The world goes grey, static in his ears.

He will marry Lady Royce as soon as he comes of age. Married life will calm him down.

Of course, mother.

But he doesn’t—

He abruptly stands up and slams his fists onto the solid slab of wood they have for a table, and it crackles ominously under his fingers and the power of the blow, splintered spiderwebs left in his wake. “Stop. This. Jest. Before I do something you will regret,” Daemon snarls, and there’s nothing at all human in his voice. The kingsguard take a step forward but he doesn’t move, eyes boring into that pathetic foolish wyrm before him. Viserys had gone pale all of a sudden, shivering like a rabbit spotted during a hunt.

“I-I’m your king—” he tries.

“And?” Daemon snaps, because right now, he doesn’t think kings matter much. Just because Baelon, in his uncharacteristically limp-dicked spineless lapse let Alysanne sell Daemon off as she pleased in her senility doesn’t mean Daemon will do the same when his brother threatens his daughter like that.

He knows how that feels, and fourteen forbid he was a father quite as lousy as Baelon. He’d rather die.

He’d rather kill Viserys, really. Lyra wouldn’t even stop him, he knows, because he would be right to kill that wretched, spineless creature—

No.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Repeat until you feel a little less like getting blood on your hands could fix you.

But it could, though—

He shouldn’t commit regicide, and neither should Lyra. It’s rude, apparently. Bad for the realm too, or some unimportant shit like that. He doesn’t see how or why because Viserys is many things but a good king he’s not, but it would upset Lyra that she wasn’t there for it and that’s enough to stop him.

Viserys swallows, fixes his collar, fidgets with his hands nervously, as if aware of the thoughts going through Daemon’s head. Daemon doesn’t move, or even blink. He’s quite good at not blinking, and it makes people nervous the longer it goes on.

“You should,” Viserys says, stops. Swallows thickly. “You should consider it.”

It wasn't even about Laenor’s proclivities; Daemon himself partook in men, perhaps more often than in women. It was about the principle.

“I will,” Daemon tells him, voice devoid of anything. “If—and only if—Lyra drags Laenor before me on her own and in no uncertain terms tells me that this is who she will wed. I don’t give a shit about the political quagmire you waltzed into, and you will not use my child as a tool to get out!”

“Daemon, this isn’t how—”

“Am I understood, my King?”

There’s an undertone to those words. A growl, a snarl—he’s not sure, but it’s bone-deep and rattling, a flash of sharp teeth, and it makes Viserys snap his mouth shut. Because at the end of the day, they’re both dragons. Dressed in human silks as they may be, playing pretend with human hierarchies—it won’t kill instinct.

And Daemon is done deferring to one quite so toothless.

Daemon is also fairly sure nobody has ever used ‘my king’ as an insult to the king’s face either, but alas, there’s a first time to everything. All the councilmen suddenly decided their hands laid on the table are the most interesting thing in the room, even the Cunttower. Even the Kingsguard are uneasy, shifting from foot to foot like half-spooked horses.

“Yes,” Viserys says, voice a little faint to match the paleness of his face. “I—I believe… That this meeting is adjourned. You made your opinion on the matter quite… Clear.”

“And don’t even think of going behind my back about it,” Daemon feels it prudent to warn. “I doubt you’ll enjoy the consequences.”

“You dare threaten the king—” Cunttower rises up, but snaps his mouth shut when Daemon side-eyes him. Pales, more than he’s already pale.

“I’m not threatening anyone, merely reminding people to be mindful of the consequences of their actions, like you constantly remind me. And I’m protecting my daughter as is my gods-given duty,” he tells the man. “Though I understand that you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

As he turns on his heel and walks out, he doesn’t miss the sharp glint of discomfort in Otto’s eyes. It brings him enough glee to calm some of his anger.

The silence left in the wake of Daemon’s exit is nothing short of ominous. There was a sort of confidence in Viserys and in all his councilmen before this—that Daemon, despite his vices, would never turn against his brother.

Now, through Viserys’ own designs, that certainty is gone.

○

“Your Grace, you cannot let Daemon get away with such display of hostility. It is all the more essential you bring him to heel. I beg you to proceed with the initial plan.”

“I… You’re right, Otto. I made my decision. I ought to see it though.”

○

They go take a nice long flight, after Daemon comes back and tells her. It’s necessary. Caraxes was just about ready to chew his way through the Red Keep to get to Viserys, and the more Lyra listened, the more Ancalagon became a gleeful accomplice.

They’re still rattled by the end of it, but better. So long as Viserys pulls no more stunts.

Which is probably exactly why he pulls another stunt very quickly.

○

Corlys Velaryon, as steeped in the traditions and customs of the realm as he is, with all his pride and greed, is far from blind, and he’s far from stupid. He has also spent several years in close vicinity of Daemon and Daelyra at the Stepstones, and gained an insight that most seem to sorely lack in the face of those two.

And so when Viserys calls him to speak again privately and resumes as if each party agreed to the betrothal, Corlys shuts him down maybe more harshly than intended. Viserys balks at it, at this olive branch he so graciously extended, and Corlys doesn’t budge.

He declines, without any room for discussion even if it will inevitably lead to continued tensions between Velaryons and the crown, and he sends Laenor to tattle.

○

Laenor shivers under her gaze, co carefully blank, with a smile so carefully polite he dreads whatever hides beneath it.

“Thank you,” she says simply, voice carefully even. He swallows thickly.

“What will you do now?” he asks, even though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

Her smile sharpens; miniscule but noticeable, and Laenor finds himself flinching.

“Nothing,” she says breezily, but her eyes have darkened to black with rage threatening to overspill under that mockery of calm nothingness that devoured light as if it only ever starved. He doesn’t even want to imagine the kind of rampage her nightmare of a dragon is going on right now; he thinks he can hear it screeching somewhere outside the city, in the skies above the ocean, more than receptive to its rider’s rage and more than eager to act on it.

He’s relieved to see her turn around and leave; no doubt to go to the beast, and rage with it.

He’s glad to be wiser than the king, as the cold claws of danger leave with her.

○

Daemon is restless, and he knows himself that his idea is stupid and dangerous and, in all honesty, wrong, and that he shouldn’t—but he doesn’t think he cares.

He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but he expected it would. It hurts him all the same, and it makes him want Viserys to hurt as well. To regret. He wants his brother to taste the same bitterness he’s tasting, to feed him the same medicine Viserys has been trying to feed him.

And if Viserys insists on targeting Daemon’s daughter—well. Daemon can do the same.

He runs into Lyra by what almost feels like chance, but he knows better. She’s still in her riding leathers, the braid he twined himself windswept but holding strong, coiled at the base of her neck.

She looks like a wraith in the candlelight, a ghost come to haunt him for his choices or maybe absolve him of guilt or something in-between, white hair and pale face shining in the darkness, black clothes melding with the shadows, and black eyes looking like bottomless voids full of emotion, reflecting candlelight back in an eerie glow, his own emotions thrown back at him through the warped mirror of his blood. Rage, mostly, but underneath the rage it’s a maelstrom of conflict there, and singularly he can read them fluently, but together he can’t make much sense of them—and by the looks of it, neither can she.

He can relate. He wants to lash out, too, some way, any way. He’s lashing out now, actually.

They stand like that for a while, just looking at each other.

She may stop him, he thinks. He worries. Because she’s the only one who can. If she tells him to not do this, he won’t. If she tells him she forgives Viserys for this transgression, he will forgive.

She takes a deep breath, and her eyes harden as she clenches her fists. Then—

She steps away without a word, away from the light and into the shadow. She looks away.

This is wrong, Daemon thinks. She should be stopping him. She should be telling him not to follow through, because it’s wrong. And she wants to, he realizes. That’s what shining in her eyes. Part of her does, at least, the lone righteous piece left.

But the part blazing hotter and hotter, the bitter anger; it snuffs the reason out. They really are made of the same stuff, in the end, vengeful and capricious and utterly unwilling to let this go. They will both regret it tomorrow when their minds are cleared of this fire, and neither of them cares.

She turns on her heel and leaves on silent feet, and Daemon watches her go as he lets out the breath that he didn’t know he was holding. He takes in another, in and out, plasters a cheeky grin on his face and hopes it looks real enough, and if the swagger to his step looks a little forced, it’s best to not dwell on it.

He has a note and some common clothes to deliver.

○

Cloak and rough spun clothes, a scarf wrapped tightly around her head. A prayer and a toll paid in blood spilled from her own veins, answered by a glint of yellow eyes just outside of the periphery as Morghul lets his shadows cloak her.

Until dawn and not a moment longer,  the Shadowlord whispers as she lets blood drip down her fingers and into the fire. It’s more than enough she declares as she licks what is left off her fingers and takes a moment to wrap the shallow cut tight with clean linen.

And maybe that’s overkill. And maybe she doesn’t need them, and maybe she wouldn’t have been seen anyway, slithering through the bowels of the keep like a thief in the night with her skill alone—but one can never truly be too careful, and she wants to test her limits, too.

○

He leaves Rhaenyra with her pants down and hair undone in the middle of a brothel where everyone can see her, and leaves. Runs, almost, to Mysaria, grabs her shoulders, shoves a pouch in her hand, heavy with coin.

His skin crawls. His hands feel clammy. He wants to scrub his lips and neck and hands raw and then pour pure alcohol over them for good measure, to make sure they’re clean.

Stick them in a vat of boiling water, even. Maybe that would help.

“Make sure the princess remains unharmed. I want her reputation ruined, nothing more.”

“Of course, my prince.”

He trusts Mysaria’s greed.

He himself goes deeper in Fleabottom, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks—until Lyra, hooded and barely-recognizable in urchin garb save for the familiar gleam in her near-black eyes, materializes at his elbow and slams her hand on his cup.

She’s only a fragment of his wine-and-regret-addled mind, he’s certain. The wraith his guilt chose to show him, shaped like that which he holds most dear.

And then she speaks.

<She’s back in Red Keep.>

<You should be, too,> he slurs but leans onto her shoulder. She’s warm, and too solid for an illusion of what remains of his conscience. The hands she puts on his shoulders are warm, too, fingers digging into his shoulders so hard it hurts. He welcomes the distraction. <It’s dangerous here.>

<It’s more dangerous for you, in your state. You can barely sit up. Come.>

She tugs at his elbow and he goes, blindly following her lead, much too drunk to do more than focus on not falling flat on his face. She leads him through alleys he barely-recognizes when sober, better-versed in the veins cutting the city than he is, especially in the dark, and much less drunk. They stop eventually, she speaks to someone—he thinks he recognizes the voice, deep and friendly, but is tugged along again before he can figure it out. He’s ushered onto a cot and tucked in, manages to get his shoes off before fitful sleep claims him.

○

“Harwin.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it still startles him as he spins, face to face with the shining dark eyes he recognizes; Lyra, sitting on a barrel half-covered by shadows, deeper in the alley, awfully at home in rough-spun street urchin garb with a knife at her belt.

“Seven hells, where did you come from?!”

“Red Keep,” comes the dry yet cheeky answer. “I need your help.”

“I don’t know where Daemon is.”

“I do. Rather, I need you to escort the princess safely back to the Keep.”

“Ah. I. Yes, if you know where she is.”

“I do.”

“Of course, you do. I’m not even going to question why you’re sneaking around alone at night.”

“The less you know the better you sleep. Follow.”

“That wasn’t ominous at all. Aren’t you going to question how I’m not surprised Princess is here?”

“You ran into her earlier.”

“…how do you know that?”

Glint of violet in the candlelight, pupils that look uncomfortably slit and viperlike in the light, starting straight at him. That’s a familiar smirk right there, all smug and Daemon-like. Eerie, in this light.

She doesn’t answer. He doesn’t ask again.

○

Mysaria looks into the creature’s eyes, all the darker for the candlelight yet glowing impossibly bright under the shadows of the hood. She just sent off the princess, upset and cantankerous at being stood up as she was, led away and back to the Keep by a Gold Cloak the girl brought with her.

Then Mysaria is alone with the wraith, and it’s… Far from the way she imagined their first meeting would go.

“Can you make sure Otto Hightower thinks they fucked?” the wraith asks and Mysaria bites at her lower lip. “Just enough implication without outright stating it. Let his mind fill in the blanks.”

“I can try,” she says carefully. The wraith turns to look at her properly, and she shivers. Something moves under the cloak.

“Let me rephrase that,” the wraith says, a hefty bag of coin between its pale fingers. It’s bigger than the one Daemon gave Mysaria a scant minutes agon. The bag is more than enough to buy Mysaria’s loyalty for the night.

The wraith came prepared. Of course she came prepared, ready to speak the language of whores and thieves, dressed like an assassin urchin just after her father ran with his tail between his legs and something disturbed in his eyes.

Maybe it’s this very thing before her now that haunts him.

“I can,” Mysaria amends herself. “And then?”

“The rest will fix itself. Don’t worry about it,” the wraith that is Daelyra Targaryen says in a sing-song voice the notes of which send shivers down Mysaria’s spine and makes her feel cold around her neck, and then the girl slinks back into the shadows she came from leaving only empty space, like she was never there at all.

Mysaria rubs her arms, the bag of coin in her hand the only proof that she didn’t dream it.

She worries about it.

○

“What are you going to do about this?” Harwin asks.

“Sleep.”

“The dawn is already almost upon us. But I meant—” he trails off and gestures at Daemon sprawled on the cot. “He was out with the princess. I ran into them. The king will have questions.”

Lyra sighs, tugs the scarf off her head and two thick braids come loose from under it, falling haplessly on her back. They’re almost blindingly white in contrast with everything; very easily recognizable without the headgear.

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it in the morning. And you—and I mean, all of you,” she leans forward and points at the door where few other freshly-off-duty guardsmen cheekily wave at her, unabashed in their eavesdropping, “don’t throw yourselves under the bu—carriage for us. You don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“With all due respect m’lady,” Corren says and crosses his arms on his chest. An ugly bruise is blooming on his cheek, no doubt from duty hours. “If all of City Watch says you and Daemon were here all night, then who will speak otherwise?”

Lyra closes her eyes and sighs. “Some are in Cunttower’s pocket.”

“Few. They’ll be persuaded to speak the truth.”

She likes the tone with which he says it. She likes that they will stand with Daemon, the loyalty they still hold for him years later.

But getting them in trouble is not something she wants. It’s a lousy reward for their loyalty.

“Viserys will believe what he’s more comfortable believing. And if Otto believes Daemon to have been the culprit, and feels scorned by you—the Hand can make you all miserable. And he can spin his tales into a believable case.”

“Otto can go fuck himself,” spits out a huge guy, buzzcut and bushy moustache, Lyra somewhat recognizes him—Morsh, she thinks, former bouncer at one of Fleabottom brothels. Wave of agreements follows. “Daemon made us into what we are. He’s the only reason we’re able to do our jobs at all, that we’re no longer just a bunch of idiots with pitchforks and leather jackets!”

The men cheer. Lyra sighs and shakes her head. “I have a better idea,” she says, a half-remembered scene coming back to her, two girls, a tree crying bloody tears, and a lie by omission. “Say he was there, with Rhaenyra. Say you saw them drinking in taverns. Say they went to a brothel.”

A murmur of confusion. Lyra holds a hand up, wags a finger at them.

“And then tell the truth. Tell that he didn’t do it. Moment of clarity or coward’s way out or got distracted by whores, however you want to phrase it.”

“How do you know that?” Morsh asks. Lyra grins.

“Because I was there, stalking them,” she says simply. “Making sure nobody got into actual trouble.”

“She told me to get the princess safely to the castle,” Harwin admits, and turns to her. “Aren’t you a little young to be your father’s protector, though?”

“If I don’t look out for him, who will?” she asks. It causes an uncomfortable beat of silence as they look between each other. She claps her hands. “Anyway, boys, remember! Don’t get in trouble for our sake. We got ourselves into this; we’ll get back out. We always do.”

They filter out after that, shift rotating. Some get in the barracks for some much-deserved sleep, some leave. Corren’s cot is right next to the one Daemon is on right now, and Harwin sits at the foot of it once he’s gotten out of his armour.

“Sorry for taking your bed,” Lyra says. He shakes his head.

“I offered. I’ll figure it out.”

Corren lets out a long-suffering sigh and scoots to the side of his cot, patting the now-free half. “Get on, idiot.”

Harwin looks at him, eyebrow raised. “You just want me because I’m warm.”

“Would you rather sleep on the floor?”

Harwin rolls his eyes and heaves himself to lay down next to Corren. “But if you put your cold feet on my shins, I will kick you o—ogh-fucker!”

Corren, who has clearly just put his feet on Harwin’s shins, snickers and sprawls across his chest. It looks like a somewhat familiar maneuver, and he’s clearly comfortable. “I’m letting you sleep on my cot. Least you can do is spare some warmth in return.”

Harwin grumbles, but neither moves to push Corren off or to get out himself. Lyra giggles.

“Goodnight boys.”

○

“What if he does get banished again?”

“Then I’ll follow.”

“You can’t follow him forever.”

“I will for as long as I’m the only thing he has.”

“Lyra, Harwin.”

“Yes Corren?”

“Go the fuck to sleep instead of philosophizing, would you? Some of us want to rest.”

“Sorry Corren.”

“Goodnight Corren.”

○

Kingsguard comes, finds them—how they find them, Daemon stumbling towards Red Keep, disheveled and bitching about everything every step of the way. The sun’s too bright, the people too loud, the air too dry, and the puddle too wet.

Corren, bless his soul, crawled out of the bed to get him some water before they left, but then crawled right back under the covers, causing Harwin to bitch about cold feet all over again but not budge, and leaving Lyra to drag her father back to the Keep through the morning light.

What birds are out there chirping piss her off too as she does. Who let them be this chirpy this early even.

It’s Willis Fell who first sees them as they enter the courtyard, Lyra recognizes his face immediately. He takes a step forward and then promptly freezes when his eyes slide to her and he registers her presence, as if reconsidering his life decisions as his face circles through several emotions before settling on a sour grimace. The Kingsguard make a move to grab Daemon but Lyra whacks the hands of the nearest one with her sheathed dagger and snarls at the other and he takes the instinctive step back, hands raised. Smart man. Or startled—either way, no longer a problem.

“We know the way to the throne room, thank you,” she says primly and then shoves the cloaks and other unworn outer layers into the hands of Fell because carrying them wrapped around her elbow and dragging Daemon along is a bit much logistically. “If you want to be of use, carry these instead.”

Fell’s face sours further but he bites on his words, especially as Ancalagon’s crocodillian rumble resonates through the air, still audible from the other side of the cliff and over all the city-noises. It’s the kind of rumble that triggers something deep within the hindbrain that says run before the consciousness even registers the danger.  Fell grips the cloaks and follows, and if Lyra purposefully sets a slower pace, well. Daemon is still somewhat out of it, and she herself isn’t faring the best either, between lack of sleep and coming off of a magic high.

Fell barely follows them in; throws the cloaks on the ground and leaves. Lyra doesn’t turn to look.

The throne room is drab and dreary as always, with its offensive chair sitting offensively as the centerpiece further in. Lyra sits Daemon by one of the pillars but he flops over to the ground, curling on himself. She lets him, though he doesn’t get to wallow for long, because the door creaks open, and Lyra’s second least favorite person in the world wobbles in.

He is surprised to see Lyra there for sure, as he stops and looks at her wide-eyed, taking in her appearance. Bar her hair, so white it almost glows in the shadows, she’s dressed like any other street rat after all.

“What—” Viserys says and sighs before looking at Daemon with disapproval. “My daughter. Your daughter. You’d take them both to the bowels of Flea Bottom?”

“No,” Daemon groans. “Just Rhaenyra. Lyra hunted me down herself.”

“You don’t—” Viserys snaps and makes a move as if to kick Daemon, but Lyra is faster and whacks his shin with her sheathed dagger maybe harder than she intended, but it certainly sends the message as Viserys stumbles back, looking at her wide-eyed, wind knocked out of him.

“He won’t deny the truth,” she tells her idiot uncle king. “But you don’t know the truth, do you. Just the honey Otto Hightower poured into your ears.”

“That I took Rhaenyra to the brothels,” Daemon groans and rubs his eyes.

“You defiled her,” Viserys says, but though he visibly wants to, doesn’t make a move to try to kick him again. Lyra still has her sheathed dagger in hand, and already proved she’s faster than him.

“Oh, what does it matter, brother?” Daemon asks as he slowly straightens up into a sitting position, only to flop his head on Lyra’s shoulder. If her back wasn’t against the pillar, he’d have toppled her over. “When we were Rhaenyra’s age we fucked out way though most of the brothels on the Street of Silk.”

“We were young men,” Viserys says with that disbelieving huff of his. “She’s just a girl. Your niece!”

Lyra isn’t sure what Daemon being Rhaenyra’s uncle has anything to do with it in the magic dragon incest family other than being a hypocritical kind of statement.

“Rhaenyra’s a woman grown,” Daemon argues instead and smirks. It’s a sharp and ugly thing, but a winning one nonetheless. “Besides, if you can marry off my daughter, then I can at least show yours how to have a good time, can’t I?” he coos and Viserys rears back and stutters, and looks at him in shock.

“It was revenge, then?”

“Reminder,” Daemon purrs and leans forward, a little more awake. “I’ll cut you a deal, how about that?”

“What deal could you possibly offer me?”

“A very simple one. You stay the fuck away from my daughter, and I’ll stay the fuck away from yours. I suppose Rhaenyra will sulk for a bit for it, but in the end, everybody wins.”

Viserys’ face sours. He looks at Lyra, sitting next to Daemon, then back at Daemon. His face goes through several emotions Lyra finds very funny. The fact that her father can be slumped halfway between the pillar and her shoulder, though, hungover and in crumpled dirty clothes and looking like death warmed over, yet still exude a commanding aura over the king of the Realm—that’s impressive.

“I ought to have you sent away for this,” Viserys says. “You said so yourself, actions have consequences.”

“Then do so,” Daemon says as he leans back against the pillar, soaking up its chill. “But know this, once and forever. I’ll do anything to protect my daughter, no matter from what—or from who. Even from you.”

“Including harming mine?”

“I didn’t go that far,” Daemon bristles, violet eyes snapping open, ablaze in the morning light. “And I wouldn’t. Unlike some, I don’t find myself attracted to girls barely older than my daughter that I helped raise. I’m not a monster.”

Viserys rears back as if struck. Daemon grins, and his teeth seem sharper in the low light, bared and threatening.

“And I am to believe you have no ambition for my crown?” Viserys pivots quickly, grasping desperately at any topic at all to distract from being called out on his own misgivings. He’s good at that. “No intention for Rhaenyra’s hand?”

“Please,” Daemon scoffs. “She’s cantankerous and spoiled and more arrogant than us both combined on a good day, I can barely tolerate her in small doses. I got out of one miserable marriage, I’m in no hurry for another. And I’m certainly happier away from the responsibilities of ruling. Why do you think I didn’t crown myself King of Stepstones, or something equally idiotic? I could have. Corlys said I should have, but I have no patience for this nonsense and you should know this by now!”

“So you have no ambition for rule? For power?”

“I only have ambition for enough power to protect my daughter and punish those who’d seek to harm her,” Daemon snaps. “Which is exactly why I did what I did, and if I must, I will do it again until Rhaenyra’s reputation is shredded into nothing, because that, brother, is the best and most direct way I have to make you pay. To tarnish your precious, precious heir and force you to disinherit her. I can. And I will, if you keep pushing me, so step the fuck back while the situation is still salvageable, brother—because I did not start this, but I’m more than willing to end it.”

Viserys rears back, angry but helpless at the way Daemon looks at him, eyes bright and wide and so full of nothing but disdain. He may be consistent at failing his children, even the one he claims to care about, but Daemon isn’t, and the realization is a bitter pill to swallow now that it’s happening, before he shoves it in a box and pretends this conversation never happened.

Lyra flips him off on both hands when Viserys looks at her helplessly, and he winces. She only offers judgment, there’s no support to be found from her. Not for Viserys.

She is happy Daemon picked up on her very nonchalant way of speaking, though. Music for sore ears indeed, to hear him chew his brother the king out like that.

In the end, Viserys huffs and puffs and postures and tries and fails terribly at trying to take control of the situation but between the lack of sleep, Lyra coming off of a magic high, and Daemon’s hangover, they simply don’t give enough of a shit about it, and even Viserys catches on, too. That, or it’s their continued flippant, snappy comments that have him biting back tears at a certain point, because he knows he’s fucked up though he refuses to admit it, but it’s two on one. Especially after it comes to light that not only Daemon didn’t do anything to Rhaenyra—didn’t even think to, past making everyone see her be at the brothel—and Lyra on top of that made sure her cousin got safely back.

He doesn’t do much to either of them in the end. No banishment, not even a ban on seeing Rhaenyra for Daemon. Just a helpless and uncomfortable man being called out on his bullshit after being warned to not commit this very mistake and trying to shift blame when Daemon predictably did a very Daemon thing to drive the point home.

Lyra is so glad he’s on her side, her father is a force of nature. Same capacity to be reasoned with at times as a hurricane.

She hopes that this humiliation will make Viserys be even harsher on Otto later. He has to take it out on someone after all, and Daemon has just made himself an incredibly inconvenient scapegoat in his willingness to bite back where it hurts, and technically not doing anything wrong besides.

○

Alicent hunts Lyra down after the audience. She heard what happened, and wants the truth; Lyra gives it to her, and doesn’t mention things she shouldn’t know. 

Granted, she doesn’t actually know if Rhaenyra went and fucked Criston Cole after she returned, so she’s not even lying by omission. She just knows it could have happened.

Final puzzle piece is set.

○

She hears about it. She’s in the nursery with her cousins and the bored maids whisper of a displeased king and Hand who’s no longer a Hand.

Life’s—not good, not really, but better.

○

It’s by sheer chance that she runs into Otto as she returns from the nursery. He seems to be in a hurry. 

Lyra doesn’t think she’s seen the man up close before, at least not alone. He’s awfully unassuming for someone causing so much trouble for her family, though most importantly, he’s finally missing the Hand of the King golden pin that otherwise sat primly on his chest.

Lyra almost chokes on the giddy giggle that threatens to burst out.

“Good day to you, Ser Otto,” she says breezily as she passes him. “And a word of advice?”

He stops. He turns around. Lyra turns around, too. He’s taller than her, but it feels like they’re on equal ground, and she doesn’t cower under his disappointed stare that no doubt makes Alicent wilt every time.

“And what advice might you have for me, My Lady?” he asks. Lyra smiles.

“Daemon is not Viserys, and I’m not Rhaenyra,” she tells him simply. “And you’re not our old friend.”

“I’m not sure what you mean—” he interrupts.

“I’m not here to listen to you play dumb, Otto,” Lyra interrupts back, sharply, and his mouth clicks shut, maybe at the sheer shock of it. “I’m here to tell you that Viserys won’t protect you and take the fall for you forever if you insist on poking the sleeping dragon. While my father has the propensity to lash out at the surface threat he also listens to me, and I’m not blind to the underlying problem.”

“Is this a threat?”

“Actions have consequences, as you are so fond of reminding my father. Figured you could use a reminder yourself, too, is all.”

Lyra smiles at his grimace; and her smile widens further at the realization flashing suddenly in his eyes. The knowledge that a child, a little girl, played him like a fiddle. And yes, she followed what she knew, made sure to iron out a few kinks and ensure information flow is all… But him thinking it was all her master plan is infinitely funnier.

“Good day to you, Ser Otto,” she repeats herself with a small but perfect curtsy, voice just to the left of composed as some giddiness pierces through. “You played yourself beautifully.”

And then she’s gone.

[atopvisenyashill]

Do you think comparisons can be drawn between Targaryens sharing the same name? Aegon. Rhaenys. Aemon. Viserys. Daeron. Rhaena. Others?

YES! I think they’re very purposefully characters in conversation with each other actually. @transdimensional-void has this great meta here about all the rhae girlies and the way that relates to the themes in rhaegar's story. i also think there's a clear link between aemon the dragonknight, maester aemon, and jon snow (which is why i think jon was named aemon) and i've kinda talked about that here (although a bit angrily, haha) and I have a "jon and the aemons" tag as well for that reason.

then there's the daerons who i think are really interesting - Daeron the Young Dragon who started a violent war of conquest against Dorne without reason, who gets himself murdered under a peace banner because he bungles the whole thing so badly, and his younger brother has to do an entire religious penance walk barefoot through the desert lasting months just to sort everything out again. Then Daeron the Good, who helps end that war by refusing to play into the cronyism of his father's court - his father who only got the throne because of Daeron I's folly - and refusing to allow the disrespect of Naerys or Myriah, who settles everything by marrying Maron to Daenerys and doing this amazing PR campaign of praying to Baelor's statue with Maron and claiming he's doing Baelor's work, not Daeron's or Aegon's. Daeron I whose unnecessary death leads almost directly to a lifetime of reproductive abuse and spousal rape for Naerys, and Daeron II growing up in the shadow of this horrific life where he's the only protection his mother has and he's never enough, until she dies and suddenly he's the only thing standing in the way of Daenerys and an equally horrific end.

I think it's kind of a fandom joke that all Viserys' are flops and I do think that's a theme in the series - men trying to be Visenya by literally invoking her name but they simply do not have the juice. Viserys I with his inaction and his drive to feel Good Things Only, Viserys II keeping his eyes firmly shut to the follies of the younger Targaryens around him, Viserys III slowly losing his mind to grief until he turns all that anger out at poor Daenerys. Something to be said with how highly they're all linked to a younger relative they fail to care for, and the fact that those women are all linked narratively as well - Viserys and Rhaenyra, Viserys and Naerys, Viserys and Daenerys.

I think there's something incredible in how the names Rhaenys and Rhaena completely fall out of favor after the Dance and are replaced by Rhae, Rhaella, and Rhaelle in popularity. Rhaenys the Conqueror, her namesake Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was, but the Dance proves that there can never be a Rhaenys again because there can never be a woman sitting the Iron Throne again. Rhaena the Black Bride, named for her grandmother, a Queen because she's a consort and remembered for being a Queen in her own right (in a metaphorical sense), Rhaena of Pentos being a dragon rider who knows how to play the game in a smart but compassionate way, all leading to poor Septa Rhaena, locked up for a beauty she can't possibly understand when she is so young, driven to the Faith by the actions of the mad, lustful family members who would never see her as anything more than a pretty face and a convenient womb.

There's also the idea that Daena named Daemon Blackfyre after Daemon Targaryen, because she revered Rhaenyra and felt Rhaenyra was treated unfairly that I find very interesting. Daena's claim being put aside, and just like Aegon III (the beloved, "last" living son of Rhaenyra and Daemon), Daemon is forced to say his claim comes from a father who does not deserve his love instead of the mother he's really dedicated to.

This is also why I tag all the Aegon's with their epithets - I actually think Aegon VI is going to have some sort of "Aegon the U______" name because you have Aegon the Usurper, Aegon the Unlucky, Aegon the Unworthy, and Aegon the Unlikely. Then there's the play of Aegon the Dragon vs Aegon the Dragonbane as well there!

I could go on! There's so much here that's interesting and yes, I do think there are a lot of links between characters with the same name or similar names.

[science-lings]

You could combine the idea of Zelda’s dragon features spreading with the idea that not all the gloom was purged from link’s body? When he has a particularly bad episode, Zelda’s light powers are the only thing that can bring him comfort/lessen the pain. That also introduces moral conflict where Zelda doesn’t want to see link suffering but link doesn’t want Zelda to harm herself for his own benefit

ooooh tragic... bc i feel like the situation would be like, either she uses her magic to keep the gloom at bay so he can keep the use of his arm and not be in a whole lot of pain or he has to get his connection to the gloom severed, literally. So at first the decision is easy, with her secret stone, her light power comes so easily and at first there are no obvious downsides.

Then she starts gradually growing scales, and her teeth and nails get sharper and a little bit iridescent, and at some point little horns start to grow from her hairline. It's a little troubling but Zelda still thinks it's kind of fascinating and none of those are really much of an issue, but no matter how much they slow his treatments to get her own changes to slow, it only keeps progressing for both of them.

And while Link needs her light power to keep his sword arm, it gets to the point to where Zelda's more mental symptoms from her time as a dragon are getting worse, she's disassociating more, she's going into trances, her thoughts and memories are getting progressively foggier and who knows what could happen if it gets even worse. Would she start to lose her memory? Would she start to forget who she is? Would she forget where or when she is?

Even if it means sacrificing his sword arm, they have to put a stop to it before she hurts herself even more, and after some arguing, they both come to the conclusion that it needs to be amputated. It showed no signs of getting better the whole time she had been treating it, it would always return just as strong the next day.

Perhaps before it was Rauru's light power in his arm that kept the disease at bay, and each bit of pure light magic from the shrines weakened it's grip on him, but it was never enough, and there may not even be enough light magic in the world to combat it without consequences.

So at some point, they have to accept the arm as a loss. It's a small price to pay really, none of the sages died in the fight against Ganondorf, any other sacrifice was so minor that they're lucky the most debilitating thing lost was the swordsman's most essential arm.

[tequatls-favorite-spoon]

[@sunsrefuge] Re: your tags about Onyx & Aurene; it sounds like their relationship develops very slowly but interestingly!! reading your tags on Onyx’s conflicted feelings about her being a dragon but also so innocent was a super good read!! <3

would you maybe wanna share more on how their relationship develops over the course of the story?? 👉👈 Are there any moments you’ve written in for them to bond extra??

AH TYYYYY!!! i love thinking about onyx and aurene i love them sm

ok so ngl, i kinda. just came up with that stuff? like, as i was typing on that post lol. but anyway, i do have more thoughts to ramble about!!!

so first off i think onyx’s caution comes from her having seen the worst of the dragons so far. so many people died to mordremoth and zhaitan, and so she’s determined to destroy every last one, both as revenge and bc she’s lost people close to her, with trahearne being INCREDIBLY recent. (onyx was in love with him and i haven’t decided if they got together before he died) she doesn’t want anyone else to go through what she has.

so she has a lot of reservations and is currently going thru a lot, but also aurene is just a baby! she’s so little and curious and sweet, and onyx doesn’t really know what to think at first. like i think she was surprised when aurene hatched that she was so… little. so fragile. so innocent. mordremoth’s magic caused her to hatch, but how can something that’s so small be just like the monsters she’s faced?

she isnt like mean to her tho. she treats her like, cordially at first, bc she knows that having aurene on their side is good practically and strategically, but then she gets Attached. having the telepathic connection helped a lot too! i think onyx could feel aurene’s general emotions a lot, like when she was having fun or how much she cared about onyx

i think onyx stopped by to see aurene more than in canon? like i’m pretty sure you only go to do the tests and stuff in game, but i think onyx liked to go and just. be there with aurene. like holding her in her lap as aurene slept and stuff. she probably said that she wanted to keep a close eye on her just in case, but i think she used a lot of this time to process trahearne tbh.. she’d sit there petting aurene, and just thinking. (probably also crying tbh)

it didn’t take very long for onyx to think of herself and aurene as mother and daughter. like i think she realized that she felt that way before pof. but i don’t think that onyx has like. verbalized that to aurene? like i think aurene kinda knows cuz of the whole mental link thing, but i think onyx doesn’t want to overstep. like, glint is aurenes mom! absolutely! but. she didn’t get to raise her, onyx did. but at the same time, she doesn’t want aurene to like. forget glint? (kinda a side note, but now i’m just thinking about caithe telling aurene about glint and agh my heart ;-;)

still, onyx feels like aurene and her are family, no matter what. now, i haven’t actually finished eod yet (i am on the last bit i know i should just finish it but also i changed onyx’s hair to look accurate while i finally play lws1 and i don’t want to use my statuettes on more hair kits :/ ) but! i’ve seen some of aurene and soo-won’s dialogue after the dragons end meta! and i think aurene feels lonely? cuz she’s the last elder dragon, the last of her kind. onyx’s heart breaks when she feels that from aurene. because she can imagine how painful that must be! (and also feel it from aurene…) but at the same time, i think onyx is going to want to sit down with aurene for a bit, maybe hold her head in her lap as best she can, and tell her that she will never be alone as long as onyx can help it. onyx and caithe are her moms and they love her! and onyx really wants aurene to know that!!! she may be big and sparkly and powerful now, but she’s still onyx’s baby, her daughter, and onyx will do whatever she can to be there for her.

[reviewsthatburn]

The plot of THE REALMS OF THE GODS follows Daine and Numair almost dying before being transported to the Divine Realms, where Daine meets her father and sees her mother again. They find out that Chaos is helping Ozorne or someone in his army, and set out across various sections of the Divine Realms to see if Skysong’s dragon relatives will transport them back home so they can help in the war. Along the way, Daine and Numair end up acknowledging their love for each other and start to figure out the next steps in their relationship.

Full Review at Link.

[saiyef]

My Persona Headcanons:

FeMC and Shinjiro died together in the roof in their ending (FeMC from Nyx’s Seal and Shinjiro from Strega’s drugs).

Takemi treated Joker’s injuries after the interrogation.

Due to Orpheus’s heavy association with music, I headcanon that the P3 Protagonist had a musical background, explaining how he can play the violin if he picks the Music Club for Keisuke’s Social Link. And, based on that, that his parents were driving him home after a violin recital before their car crash and he gave up the violin due to his grief (similar to how Orpheus could only play sad songs after his wife’s death), and decided to try playing again because he found out Fuuka was in the Music Club.

Bebe became a famous fashion designer in France, naming his clothing line after the P3 Protagonist to honour him and Ann models his clothes.

Tanaka has actually been depressed for years by the P3MC’s death.

Yu Narukami got PTSD from Nanako getting kidnapped then temporarily dying and seeing his friends sacrifice themselves to protect him from Izanami during the final boss fight; coming into effect during Yu’s Story Mode in Persona 4 Arena, where General Teddie and the false illusions of his friends lied to him about Nanako being kidnapped inside the TV World again, and in Persona 4 Arena Ultimax’s P4 Story Mode when Minazuki kept targeting his attacks at Yosuke and Chie forcing Yu to shield them.

During Persona Q2, Joker tells the Male and Female P3 Protagonists about how he was blamed for a crime he didn’t commit and was sent away from home, reminding the two of them of Chihiro and Saori and how they were misblamed due to false rumours of things they didn’t do plus how Saori’s parents sent her away.

Akechi kept tabs and stalked Joker while he was ranking up his Confidants, figuring out that some of the Confidants knew that Joker was a Phantom Thief when Maxed Out. This made Akechi hate and envy Joker even more as Joker’s Confidants knew and accepted who Joker really was, while in comparison Akechi always had to keep his true self hidden from his fans and Shido and knew, that if either found out, his fans would scorn and reject him and Shido would kill him.

Due to P5’s theme of maintaining the facade of “living an honest student life”, I have a personal headcanon that Joker is a talented actor and that he used to be part of of his old school’s drama club and was so good he joined a theatre troupe before he was arrested. He was looking forward to joining Shujin’s drama club before Kamoshida leaked his criminal record online and gave up as being in school made him uncomfortable.

I headcanon that Shido ordered Kobayakawa to enrol Joker at Shujin specifically to leak Joker’s criminal record online (because, let’s face it, Shido devotes all his efforts to make to everyone’s lives miserable), and Kobayakawa then ordered Kamoshida to do it because he was too lazy to do it himself.

I headcanon that Joker planned to move away from his old hometown as soon as possible because he thought none of his family and friends gave statements to the police or testified in his trial that he isn’t a violent person, holding a grudge against them during his probation. One year later, Sae and Ohya tell him that they found out there were in fact statements from them that defended but the police covered them up on Shido’s orders. He is touched and wants to go back to see who defended him.

A jokey headcanon here, but I believe that Igor forbids the attendants from love, kissing and sex because he can’t do it due to his grotesque appearance.

Dojima and/or Chisato (Nanako’s Mother and Dojima’s wife) actually used to use the gardening plot next to the house before Nanako was born and/or when Nanako was too little to remember, but stopped at some point, and Yu and Nanako using the garden to grow vegetables made Dojima nostalgic for those days.

(Inspired by Ichiban Kasuga from a Yakuza: Like a Dragon) In response to Maruki, Joker responds by asking Maruki to start over again after losing everything, just like Joker did with his assault charge; saying how it felt like the person he was before going to Tokyo is dead and he started a living a brand new life as a completely different person and, after having his life and future stolen away from him, he wants to help Maruki start over like he did after having Rumi stolen away from him, even if it is painful. This touches all of the Phantom Thieves when they leave Maruki’s reality, thinking about how they have to start all over again now that the Metaverse is gone; in particular: Ryuji, after having his future in track taken away from him by Kamoshida, wanting to take physiotherapy to restart taking track; Sumire, now more determined to start over again with gymnastics; Futaba, now more determined to start living as a high school student; And Yusuke decides to visit Madarame in prison, wanting to start over again with him. 

[alexiethymia]

Jeanne Theories (but more like questions)

A dump for all my questions and theories about Jeanne. In the manga, the third chapter is named after her (Chapter 1 is Vanitas, while Chapter 2 is Noe). Arguably, you could say she’s the third most important character. Among all of the main characters, her past seems to be the one we know least about. This actually ties to my questions relating to vampires and their ages. 

I am a bit confused about how aging works with vampires and how that reflects physically. We have Noe and Dominique who are chronologically the same age as Vanitas. Assuming nothing goes wrong, human Vanitas would die of old age (except we know that isn’t the case), while Noe and Dominique would look physically the same how many years later. Jeanne’s age wasn’t intentionally revealed because I think it ties in with the plot, but we know she’s centuries older than the main cast. She’s been with Ruthven since before the betrayal, and grew up with Chloe. This is where it gets confusing for me. Chloe became a vampire at four, but physically stopped aging at eleven years old. Jean Jaques was also a hidden vampire changed by Babel but he ended up growing and looking older than Chloe (at least physically). Same with Jeanne. She and Chloe met when Jeanne was younger than her, but Jeanne grew up to look like a young woman. I’m curious as to the difference as to why it was only Chloe who stopped growing physically at around eleven years old, although she’s older than Ruthven.

Jeanne’s link to Luna of the Blue Moon

I don’t think the line above is a throw-away line. Jeanne was of Ruthven’s time, and we find out that Luna had also seen her, specifically during the time of the Great War. She left that big of an impact on Luna that they would retell the story to Vanitas (and I presume Mikhail too), which had that much of impact on him as well.

They removed this context from the anime which makes it as if Vanitas heard of Jeanne through stories, except we know from the manga that it was more personal since he heard it from Luna. 

Why exactly did Luna have admiration towards Jeanne? Was it because she was slaughtering Vampires of the Red Moon? But contrary to the rumors, recent chapters would show us that Luna didn’t seem to be a vengeful entity or hold ill-will toward Vampires of the Red Moon. 

Luna was also probably the reason why Vanitas felt an initial connection with Jeanne. Like with his hourglass earring, the name, the book, the gloves, etc., despite their complicated past, Vanitas seems to be (consciously or unconsciously) maintaining a link with Luna. 

Jeanne’s Slumber (possible connections with Sleeping Beauty)

Why was it necessary for Jeanne to sleep all this time? And why did she have to wake up now, at this exact moment in time? What exact thing does Ruthven need to use her for, and for what purpose? Because let’s admit it, Lord Ruthven is shady af. 

It’s also ironic how Jeanne reads Sleeping Beauty and places Vanitas in the princess’ position, when she has more in common with the fairytale. Having to sleep for a hundred years, her mark is that of a rose with thorns evoking the imagery of ‘Briar Rose’ and the spindle, while her epithet ‘Hellfire Witch’ evokes imagery of the evil fairy who could turn into a dragon and breathe fire (admittedly I may be focusing on the Disney version too much). 

We know she’s named after Jeanne d’Arc, a martyr who was burnt at the stake (please, please, let this not be foreshadowing of how she dies) hence the connection to her epithet ‘Hellfire Witch’, but even disregarding how vampires (and perhaps humans as well?) have true names, Vanitas says she was ‘bestowed’ a saintly name. We know she was adopted, and we don’t know the circumstances of her birth which are shrouded in mystery, but could Ruthven have been the one to grant the name ‘Jeanne’ to her? 

If not for the fact that we already had Florifel and Eglantine in the first chapter, I would have thought Jeanne’s true name and malnomen if she gets one later would be connected to the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty. 

Jeanne’s Malady

The vampires in Vanitas no Carte are different from the stereotypical portrayals of vampires, except for one - Jeanne. Jeanne has that uncontrollable desire to drink blood, and yet as of now, doesn’t appear to be a curse bearer. Based on her patchy memories, we can infer it was Ruthven who made her like this, is the one to supply her with her sketchy medicine, all the while forcing her to swear not to talk about it.

Is she in the same predicament as Loki, Luca’s older brother, forced to have the symptoms of a curse bearer and yet being prevented from being cured, by Ruthven? For what greater purpose? Why is it necessary for Loki to be a curse bearer? And more intriguing than that, why is he consenting to it? It all relates to the Queen somehow, something which no one is privy to except the Oriflamme Family. 

Sleeping Lions

Who could Marquis Machina be referring to? Everyone in the Oriflamme family, and by extension Jeanne, have connections with the imagery of lions and fire (they seem to have an elemental affinity like how Luca displayed, except that Ruthven’s is black fire, which makes me wonder what color Loki’s flames would be if ever). Jeanne can’t seem to manipulate the World Formula like Ruthven and Veronica though. The flames come out of her gauntlet, Carpe Diem. 

In relation to that, I think Misha’s patron is Marquis Machina. In the same way, Marquis Machina built Carpe Diem for Jeanne, I think he built Misha’s hand and dog for him. I mean Marquis Machina doesn’t seem to be working with Ruthven and Charlatan. His pieces seem to be the kin of the Blue Moon (Vanitas and Misha), the dhams, and the De Sade family. It could also be that the De Sade have their own agenda and are just using Marquis Machina or it’s just a mutual beneficial arrangement. If so, an eventually power struggle is bound to break out, possibly between the De Sade and the Oriflamme families, and poor Jeanne will be caught in the middle. Where then does the Shapeless One play into this? Perhaps a third faction? A silent observer? A loyalist to the queen? There’s still too little information to theorize. 

Who could the Sleeping Lion Marquis Machina wants to see wake up be? 

Jeanne, Faustina, Luna, and Naenia

It could just be a stylistic thing, but the long flowing light colored hair seem to be common among all of them. 

In relation to Pandora Hearts and its themes of will and what measure is a person, what if the Jeanne that we know now is just a consciousness inhabiting a body (kind of like Oz and Jack), specifically the queen’s body to be exact. It would certainly be foreshadowing to when she says ‘promise to kill me when I’m no longer myself anymore’.

Alternatively, the current Jeanne we know may just be a vessel or a golem to house the Queen whose body has deteriorated. It certainly would explain why she was treated as a doll even in her earliest memories. ‘Jeanne’ isn’t supposed to exist. 

Although it’s a long shot, since Ruthven has connections with Charlatan, and by extension Dr. Moreau, could ‘No. 70′ have been Jeanne? Again like I said, it’s a long shot. I think it’s likelier that No. 70 is a character we haven’t been introduced to yet. 

Jeanne’s Parents

This is a Mochizuki work. Of course, there’s got to be something to it. Why exactly did they side with the humans so suddenly in the war? What horrible thing did the vampires do to have over a thousand of their kind turn against them? And yet the way it reads, rather than betray Ruthven, I think Jeanne’s parents along with all of the vampires who were slaughtered were sacrificial pawns. Maybe I’m just really biased against Ruthven, but I think he was the one to lead the rebellion of his students, and like Chloe, although he presents himself to be an ally of the current Vampire Monarchy, perhaps he’s just biding his time to get revenge for his students. In working with Charlatan, it’s vampires who he’s harming.

What greater purpose could he have in wanting to assassinate his own nephew or ally himself with a known vampire extermination unit of the Chasseurs (Gano and his ilk) or in killing so many vampires by having their true names corrupted? 

Face to face with Noe, we see in their meeting that Noe says the exact same words Ruthven told Chloe when he was younger. Noe reminds Ruthven of his students, while Ruthven reminds Noe of his teacher. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this, but it seems like the Ruthven of now scorns his past self’s moderate and progressive ideals of vampires and humans living in harmony. He speaks of our side, your side, and Noe having to choose one or the other. And yet all of his collective actions at this point have served not to protect but rather harm vampire kind, which puts him in direct opposition to Vanitas who wants to save vampires. 

In relation to Jeanne, there will be a boiling point. She’s loyal to Luca and she’s loyal to Ruthven. She’s incredibly fond of Dominique. As of now, she also loves Vanitas. And yet down the line, inevitably Luca and Ruthven will be on opposing sides, so I am curious to see how the betrayals and conflicting loyalties will play out. 

[astradrifting]

GRRM really created so many parallels and foreshadow using the DoD characters that honestly we could just figure the asoiaf ending by analyzing it. My favorite is the Aegon III-D@ny parallels, the fact that one of his closest allies was a face-scarred Master of coin Lannister who ended as Hand to Bran' parallel character just make it so obvious its funny.

Oh my god I didn’t even realise Tyland Lannister was initially on the greens’ side! I’m not super fond of Tyrion ending up as Hand, but you’re right that it’s so obviously meant to reference him. There’s so many parallels that it’s a little crazy. I don’t want to say that the second Dance will end exactly as the first did, it’d be a little too neat if history repeated entirely, but you can see so many echoes of it even in the show’s bastardised ending.

“The broken, shattered realm suffered for a while yet, but the Dance of the Dragons was done. Now what awaited the realm was the False Dawn, the Hour of the Wolf, the rule of the regents, and the Broken King.”

(TWOIAF, Aegon II)

I’m not sure what the False Dawn is going to parallel to, it refers to the period of time after Aegon II’s death but before Lord Stark got to King’s Landing, when people thought that peace had finally come. It kind of brings to mind the War for the Dawn, though personally I think that the threat of the Others will be resolved before the Dance is over. The Hour of the Wolf is obviously about House Stark’s rise back to power, and the Broken King is Bran - though if he actually becomes known as Bran the Broken I might end up committing violence ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. 

The parts about Lord Corlys Velaryon are why I’m so hopeful that Jon’s book ending will be completely different from the show’s. He’s arrested for Aegon II’s death by Cregan Stark, even though Cregan had previously declared for Rhaenyra, because as TWOIAF puts it, “to kill a cruel and unjust king in lawful battle was one thing. But foul murder, and the use of poison, was a betrayal against the very gods who had anointed him.”

Corlys didn’t deny his guilt, and expressed no regret. “What I did, I did for the good of the realm. I would do the same again. The madness had to end.”

Cregan Stark declared him to be guilty of murder, regicide, and high treason, and he was sentenced to execution. But many spoke in his defence, even people who had fought against him in the Dance. Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, Corlys’ granddaughters and Aegon III’s half-sisters, convinced Aegon to issue an edict pardoning Lord Velaryon, which Alysanne Blackwood then convinced Cregan to let stand. Lord Velaryon was pardoned and even restored to his offices and honours, made one of the king’s regents and given a place on the small council.

Corlys’ words definitely could be Jon’s as well, a much more in-character declaration post-D@ny’s death than the drivel GoT tried to feed us. I was worried for a bit that this would be how Tyrion is let off scot-free, but Baela and Rhaena, who were vital to his release, are such obvious Arya and Sansa stand-ins, and they’re certainly not going to expend any effort in helping Tyrion. So Corlys’ circumstances more likely lays the groundwork for how Jon will be freed and remain in political power, while Tyland frankly inexplicably becoming Aegon III’s Hand after he was in favour of brutally killing him parallels Tyrion managing to fail up, as a way of reconciling the old regime with the new one.

This makes Tyrion becoming Hand more palatable IMO. Either Jon and Tyrion both should have been punished or neither should have been punished, not the travesty where Tyrion gets everything he’s ever wanted while Jon is exiled to a Watch with no purpose and a Wall that’s already half-collapsed, so what exactly can it protect against? I suppose they were afraid of seemingly rewarding Jon for killing d@ny, especially if pol!Jon had been revealed, but most people noticed how nonsensical his ending was, and it just led to ‘Bloodraven/Bran is the real villain’ takes anyway.

(Side note: Asha/Yara basically still being loyal to D at the end annoys me so much, and made no sense. Jon did more to help save her by giving Theon that pep talk than D@ny did. Maybe it was a leftover from her taking Victarion’s role in the story, but in no reasonable world is anyone going to listen to the Ironborn who brought the Fire threat over in the first place.)

Of course Tyland Lannister isn’t actually Hand for long, given that he dies barely two years later from Winter Fever, feared and hated, alone except for a maester and King Aegon. It might be an indication that Tyrion will face a similar fate, that he’ll die after he’s seemingly won, exactly what he threatened Cersei with:

“A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."

(ACOK, Tyrion XII)

So that I can stop talking about Tyrion, here’s some facts about Rhaena and Baela that are obviously meant to reference Sansa and Arya, so much so that it feels a little bit like GRRM is winking and going “See what I did there? Huh? Huh? Did you see??”:

- their descriptions: “Rhaena was slender and graceful; Baela was lean and quick; Rhaena loved to dance; Baela lived to ride...” + “Baela was wild and willful”, “more boyish than ladylike”, and kept her hair cropped short as a boy’s

- Rhaena spent most of the Dance in the Vale, where she lived in relative comfort as the ward of Lady Jeyne Arryn. Baela was a dragonrider and so moved between Dragonstone and Driftmark, but was captured on Dragonstone when Aegon II descended upon it

- Rhaena was favoured to be queen after her brother, considered more qualified than her wild sister

- Baela liked to spend time with “unsuitable companions” she would bring to the Red Keep - including a comely juggler, a blacksmith’s apprentice whose muscles she admired (!!!), a legless beggar, a pair of twin girls from a brothel, an entire troupe of mummers once

- After her brother’s regents tried to marry her to a lord 40 years older than her, Baela escaped the Red Keep by climbing out of a window, trading clothes with a washerwoman, then walking right out of the front gate. She ran away to Driftmark and married her supposed cousin (though more likely he was her half-uncle), the legitimised bastard Alyn Velaryon, which might have had me worried about j0nrya if Alyn weren’t best known for being a daring sailor who went on many voyages, including sailing the Sunset Sea, until he was finally lost at sea during Aegon IV’s reign. Alyn’s mother was also called Mouse, for being “small, quick, and always underfoot.”

- another fun fact about Alyn: he’s a bad haggler, and had to agree to a high ransom and many concessions in order to get Prince Viserys returned to Westeros. This automatically disqualifies him as a Jon stand-in, because as we all know, Jon Snow can haggle like the best of fishwives.

- My absolutely favourite detail that has my jonsa heart singing - Rhaena was more dutiful than her sister and would have married a man that the king and council chose, saying that as long as he was “kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.” She was able to marry her first choice, whom the regents didn’t immediately approve of but that they ultimately accepted  - Ser Corwyn Corbray, the brother of the Lord Protector of the Realm, a second son (!) whose late father had gifted him the Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn (!!!)

And as a treat for @istumpysk, some similarities between Rickon and Viserys II!

- the youngest child of their family

- separated from their older brother after they were forced to flee their home, trying to get to safety while their other brothers and mother were at war

- worshipped their oldest (half-)brothers, but were closer to the brother nearest their age

- spends the war stuck on an island, populated by people closely linked to their family’s origins - Skagosi are descended mostly from the First Men, while Viserys was on Lys, where the blood of Old Valyria still runs strong

- sought by/held hostage by a powerful and wealthy family, who will treat them well but whose intentions are dubious

- will be brought back from exile by an upjumped bastard/commoner from a port town who was raised to lordship and became their monarch’s chief admiral

- after they are returned, long after the wars and crises, is happily welcomed as the heir to their older brother’s throne (shhhhh just let me have this, let the baby live)

Thanks for the ask!

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin goes missing, and they find him in chains, looking blank:

Stories of the great power of Emrys have been spreading. But Merlin is still young, and though powerful, control alludes him, from time to time. What happens when those who crave power for themselves take that control from him? By force?

Part 2(final part)

TW: Graphic ish descriptions of violence/blood.

(This was requested a while ago, mind control being broken by the power of friendship)

Merlin was meant to be on a three day trip to gather some rare herbs for Gaius.

The former manservant thought that it was quite ironic, how “herb picking” had been one of his most often used excuses (after “the tavern”) for where he disappeared to when he was still hiding his magic, but now he was Court Sorcerer, Gaius actually made him do it.

This just meant that no one immediately panicked when he wasn’t back by sundown on the third day.

All knew how capable Merlin was. None of the Druid advisors had been sent a message through the link, and an irate dragon hadn’t shown up asking for help.

Meaning he probably just got lost or distracted; lost track of time. He’d be home by noon the next day, prattling on about something he’d seen, or someone he’d spoken to.

Gaius would give him a raised eyebrow and Arthur would punch him in the arm and he’d be all indignant, insisting that “I can look after myself, and honestly Arthur, I was only gone an extra half day, no need to be so panicked.” with a smirk.

When he still wasn’t back before sundown on the fifth day, The Gang started to really worry. They gather in the council room, just the nine of them (the five knights, Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana) to try to come up with some sort of explanation, or if needed, a plan.

Morgana speaks first, and the uncertainty on her face heightens the anxiety in everyone:

“I’ve tried looking for him, sensing him, but I can’t feel him at all. Like he’s completely disappeared from the world-”

At that, Arthur interrupts her, panic showing on his face, and his voice shaking:

“You don’t mean?-”

Morgana widens her eyes at the meaning the others had taken from her words:

“NO! No, not that, if he were... dead, I would feel that. I would be able to find his… I would be able to find him, and feel a sort of echo, feel the recent effects he’s had on the world around him. But I don’t, I just feel…. nothing. Like he never existed in the first place.”

Everyone looks extremely troubled at that. Morgana wasn’t nearly as powerful as Merlin, but he had been teaching her, and she was getting stronger. If this feeling of absence worried her, then it worried all of them.

Gaius speaks up after a few moments of silence:

“We could ask the Druids? They have a strong, permanent bond to him. It may help in finding him. If not…”

Arthur nods firmly as he replies to the room:

“If not, we track him down the old fashioned way. We managed before, we might just have to manage again now.”

The others nod at that, determined to not let Merlin down.

(Not let Merlin down again. None of them (other than Gaius, Lancelot, and Morgana of course) had reacted all that well to Merlin’s magic when they first learned the truth. And whilst that was years ago, and Merlin claimed to have forgiven them all immediately, they still felt guilty for the way they’d treated him in those first few hours/days.)

As it turns out, the three Druid advisors were equally worried, and had been in the process of hurrying to the council room to inform The King of the severed tie between themselves and Emrys, just as Arthur had decided to call for their presence.

The whole gang had to quell their panic, and remind themselves of Arthur’s words. They’d managed before, they would manage now.

At first light the next day, Arthur and the knights rode out. Morgana was left with the crown, with Gwen and Gaius as advisors to stay and support her.

The King tried to insist on leaving one or two of the knights behind as well, just in case, but they weren’t having it, and Morgana’s reminder of:

“Merlin is incredibly powerful, Arthur. If someone has been strong enough to subdue or hurt him, then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

-he reluctantly allowed all five of them to come.

Gaius had provided them with the directions, so they could start their search where Merlin was supposed to be, and go from there.

After a full day’s journey, they arrive at the first of two clearings, just before nightfall. After a thorough look around, they found that Merlin had in fact been there, but he left peacefully, and they found no sign that anyone else had travelled through recently.

So he hadn’t been taken from the first clearing. Arthur and Gwaine had wanted to push on through the night, the second of the two clearings was only a few hours away, but Leon gave them a stern look, and with support from the others, insisted that they rest for the night.

They could wake early and continue in the morning, but the horses (and the knights) were starving, and tired, and needed rest. They would be no use to Merlin at all if they turned up dead on their feet.

Elyan tried to volunteer for the first watch, but Arthur insisted he take it. No one really argued with him, they knew he wouldn’t sleep well anyway, not with Merlin missing, and potentially hurt.

Elyan did however wake up a few hours later (a pure coincidence, it definitely wasn’t because he asked Percival to cast a low-level enchantment that would wake him (I like to imagine that once things had settled, Merlin tries to teach the lads a little sorcery. Arthur is hopeless, as are Lancelot and Elyan, but Leon and Gwaine aren’t toooo bad, and Percival is fairly alright)) and insisted that The King get some sleep.

He didn’t like to do it often (Arthur’s head was already big enough) but Elyan did use a little flattery to his advantage:

“Come now, My Lord. You’re the strongest of all of us, and it’s your orders we follow, how can we expect to win if our leader can’t walk or think straight?”

Arthur mumbles something about how “Flattery won’t get you anywhere in court, Sir Elyan.” But dutifully allows himself to slip into a fitful rest.

As promised, they rise and pack up just before first light, choosing to eat whilst they ride out just as the sun rises over the horizon.

The second clearing they reach, tells a much different story to the first. The knights slow their horses down, and stare on in barely concealed horror at the scene laid out before them.

Merlin’s horse lay dead to the side of the clearing. They had clearly killed her deliberately so that Merlin couldn’t escape if he freed himself. That could be the only explanation. She wasn’t wearing her saddle, and was still tied to the tree: Merlin wasn’t riding her when the arrow was fired.

The ground was scorched almost entirely, and a few trees had been uprooted, with the remaining standing ones bearing scorch marks and sword scars higher than naturally possible.

Merlin had obviously fought back, but the small puddle of blood next to his dropped herb bag tells them that he had been injured before the fight even began. Whoever took him? Knew who he was.

After a moment of shocked silence, Arthur starts barking orders:

“Percival, check the horse and the herbs, try and figure out how long ago this happened. Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot, have a good look around, try to find anything discarded by his attackers; we need to figure out who took him. See if you can learn how many there were, and how they attacked, we need to know if they themselves are magic, or if they just know how to fight magic. Me and Leon will check the surrounding areas to find out where they went. Leave your horses at the edge, we don’t want to muddy up any tracks.”

Everyone wordlessly nods, and they go about their tasks quickly but thoroughly. No wants to make any mistakes here, Merlin is incredibly important to them, and they couldn’t risk going in to this blind.

They work in silence, and once Arthur and Leon return from their scouting ahead thirty minutes or so later, they gather the horses once more and huddle at the edge of the clearing.

Arthur looks to Percival expectantly, and he reports his findings quickly:

“Going by the carcass and the herbs Merlin had already cut, this happened maybe four or five days ago? Considering he was obviously still picking, and not just dawdling-”

(he gestures to the bag that he had picked up and attached to his saddlebags)

“-I’d say he was taken in the afternoon of the second day.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at that, that was five days ago. Hopefully they hadn’t travelled too far, and weren’t still travelling, otherwise it would take far too long to track them down.

He looks to Lancelot next:

“We found two bodies, average, plain armour, and it didn’t look like anything had been taken from them after they died. One of them did have this in his pocket-”

He looks grim as he says this, and hands over a very crumpled piece of parchment. On it, there was a rough sketch of Merlin’s face, and the Pendragon crest. It was rough, old, clearly drawn from memory, but there could be no mistaking who it was.

Arthur looks angry at that, but tucks it into his saddlebag before gesturing for Lancelot to continue:

“I don’t think they used magic, at least not combative magic-”

He gestures around the clearing, at the scorch marks:

“All of the blows seem to be extending out from the middle, from where Merlin was stood: he fought back with magic, but they used normal weapons.”

Lancelot looks to Gwaine, and he wastes no time in telling the group what he found:

“There was a broken off arrow shaft next to Merlin’s bag, someone shot him. I couldn’t find the head, so it’s still in him most likely, we need to be prepared to clean an infection when we find him-”

Percival interrupts him:

“I had a look through his bag, there’s a lot of useful stuff in here, so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

Gwaine nods and lets out a sigh of relief before continuing:

“The arrow shaft stunk, and his blood was funky. I’m guessing they soaked it in mandrake or something to knock him out. Otherwise he would’ve decimated this lot. They would’ve only had to avoid his attacks for two or three minutes at most before he passed out. And even then, he wouldn’t have been all that coordinated.”

Everyone worries at this. Every new bit of information just tells them that whoever took Merlin knew exactly who he was, and what he was capable of.

Elyan speaks up next:

“Going from the tracks, I’d say there was six or seven others, not including our two corpses. They were spread evenly around the clearing so he could only attack at one at a time, all they had to do was aim one good shot, and wait it out. They may not have used magic to attack, but they must have hidden themselves somehow: there’s no way that Merlin wouldn’t have felt them coming, we’re in the middle of a forest, this is his domain.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully and nods, before speaking to the group:

“I agree with your assessment of seven other attackers. Me and Leon found a large group of tracks, from multiple people, coming from the North, but they split up and spread around the clearing about a quarter of a mile out. No has any idea who they were?”

Everyone shakes their heads, and Lancelot speaks once again:

“No. The armour was non-descript, the weapons left behind were nothing special. They had no tattoos, nothing of value on them, no defining marks, sigils, or crests. Nothing. Either they were randomly hired mercenaries, or they were clever enough to not carry anything that could identify them, or their masters.”

Arthur growls in annoyance and nods once again. The Knights all gather their horses and follow Arthur and Leon’s quick pace out of the clearing, towards the tracks they had found.

At Arthur’s instruction, they split into two groups, one following along about 10 feet to the left of the tracks, the other, the same to the right.

They needed to be careful, the group who had taken Merlin were obviously well informed professionals, and would know that it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking. They didn’t want to run into any traps or ambushes by following the exact same path the kidnappers had.

~

The Knights follow the trail for another couple of days, taking few breaks, and spending the majority of it in silence; not even Gwaine is being talkative.

A few hours into their tracking, there was another battle arena (though much smaller than the last).

They didn’t stick around for long, it was likely that the mandrake had worn off quicker than expected, and Merlin had tried to escape. Once they saw Lancelot turn pale as he picked up a bloody rock, they hurried their horses along the trail even faster than before.

It was around noon on the third day since they left the second clearing, that they notice the tracks getting significantly fresher: the kidnappers (who had been on foot, meaning the knights were making good time anyway) had slowed down; they must almost be there.

That evening, they finally came across what appeared to be a rundown farm. The roof of the house was caved in, and there wasn’t even one fully intact fence in the whole property. A large barn further to the back of the area however, was in good condition.

The tracks went all over the overgrown farm, but focused mainly around the barn (going no further than the edge of the property) and the Knights could see the flickering light of a fire glow through the gaps between planks of woods.

They tied their horses up a few metres in to the treeline. Normally having horses during the attack would be useful, but they were at least a four days journey from the capital (on horses, closer to two weeks on foot), and depending on the state Merlin is in, he may not be able to walk it. They needed to leave the horses undamaged and with energy enough to flee if they had to.

Arthur sends everyone off to scout the area, learn what they could, and they gather once more about five minutes later, hidden behind the rundown house to avoid being spotted.

Leon speaks first:

“I got as close as I could without being seen, there are about twenty-five men in there. I didn’t recognise any of them, and none of them had any identifying marks, but there was one man who was clearly in charge. Larger than the rest, had nicer clothes, a large key on a chain around his neck.”

Arthur perks up at that:

“Might unlock whatever is holding Merlin. Did you see him?”

Leon sighed and shook his head grimly:

“No, but the fire lit only the middle of the room, I couldn’t see in the corners or along the edges.”

Percival speaks next, quickly adding what he had learnt:

“There’s no one else in any of the other buildings, and no fresh tracks leading away from the area. Merlin must be in there with them.”

Leon hums in agreement before continuing:

“They weren’t... drunk. But they are drinking. It might be worth it to wait for a few more hours so we have more of an advantage. There’s only six of us remember, we-.”

Gwaine shakes his head roughly, interrupting:

“We can’t wait. Who knows what they’ve done to Merlin, but if they’re celebrating, and he isn’t fighting back, then it’s bad. We need to get him out of there as quickly as possible.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully as he thought through their options. Both of them had valid points, but the attackers wouldn’t go through all of this trouble just to kill Merlin, so he shouldn’t be in any imminent danger, and as much as he wanted to rescue him as soon as possible, they had to be careful.

He looks up at the group and replies confidently:

“We wait until the sun has disappeared completely. It should be no more than half an hour. That gives us the cover of darkness, and gives them time to lose a little more of their wits.”

Gwaine seems like he wants to argue, but a pointed look from Lancelot calms him, and the group go through the motions of checking their armour and weapons, preparing themselves fully for a difficult fight.

~

After spending the time preparing, and discussing their options, the group decided that the best plan was for them to split in to two.

Arthur, Elyan, and Gwaine were to rush through the large door at the front, and Leon, Percival, and Lancelot would sneak in through the small door at the back.

There was no way they would be able to hold on to the element of surprise for long, and it would be a difficult fight, but hopefully the first group would be distraction enough to allow the second group to kill at least a few people before they realised what was happening.

That, unfortunately, is not how things go.

After one last firm nod from Arthur, the group splits and heads as quietly as they can to their designated entrance. The King takes a deep breath before gesturing at Elyan, who pushes the door open with force, allowing Gwaine and Arthur to rush in without hesitation.

Elyan joins them, and they make a point to look at the enemy, so as not to draw attention to the other three sneaking in behind them.

It takes only a few seconds before Arthur realises something is wrong. None of the men seem angry, or even worried in the slightest, and as he spies Leon step silently forward to slit the throat of the man closest to him, he understands why.

Leon takes three steps fine, but on his fourth, he hits an invisible barrier, and is thrown back violently. He hits the wall with a crash, and falls to the floor, unconscious from the blow to his head.

The leader of the group glances briefly behind him before looking back to Arthur, amusement on his face. Arthur covers his confusion with anger, but before he can demand an explanation, the leader begins to speak:

“Looky here, boys! Kidnap one sorcerer, get six of Camelot’s finest knights free! That’s a pretty good deal if I do say so myself!”

The rooms breaks out into laughter, and Elyan takes a step forward, speaking in a dangerous tone:

“Well unfortunately, our sorcerer was not for sale. So if you would, we’d like him back.”

The leader chuckles once again, and the knights have to stop themselves going for an attack. Leon was just about starting to stir, and Lancelot stands protectively in front of him, waiting for the knight to right himself again.

“I’m not so sure he wants to be returned, good sir. I think you’ll find that he’s quite enjoying being under my service-”

He raises one hand and grips the ancient looking key that’s hanging around his neck, and looks to a darkened corner of the room before speaking again, louder this time:

“Isn’t that right, oh sorcerer of mine? Come here.”

The knights have to hold in a shudder at what they see.

Merlin, or what looks to be Merlin, judderingly walks out of the dark corner towards the key-holder. His left shoulder hangs oddly, and they can see the blood staining his clothes and dripping from his hand, leaving a trail on the floor. His feet drag across the ground, and his head nods and sways, like he is desperately trying not to collapse into unconsciousness. A wound on his temple still slowly seeps blood, and his hands shake.

He had a thick, metal collar around his neck, and two matching circlets around his wrists. Thick chains, the length of his arms, attach the cuffs to the collar (so that he still had full mobility, but all three circles of iron were connected), and as his body sways, the knights can see the skin beneath the metal has been rubbed raw, to the point of bleeding in some places.

But what was most striking, was the permanent golden glow of Merlin’s eyes, and the blank look on his face.

The golden colour didn’t quite match up to it’s normal hue, and seemed duller, sickly, somehow.

The knights stare on in horror as their friend, clearly not in control of his own actions, finishes his disjointed journey to his new master.

Arthur glares viciously at the man as he growls out:

“What have you done to-”

But before he can finish, a resounding thwack echoes around the room as a gauntleted hand connects with the side of Merlin’s face. 

The other bandits laugh as Merlin’s head rocks violently sideways. His head is angled towards the floor for just a moment before he looks back up at the leader, the blank look not having left his face, despite the blood now dribbling from his mouth and the dark bruise already forming on his cheek and jaw.

Gwaine lets out a growl, but before he can take a step forward, the leader speaks once again, a horrid grin on his face:

“Be a dear and subdue our new guests, sorcerer.”

Without hesitation, Merlin sidesteps the leader, giving him a direct line of sight to Lancelot, Leon, and Percival. He waves his hand at them, muttering something under his breath, and the three of them gasp as they lift off the floor, and go flying across the room towards the other knights.

Arthur only manages to widen his eyes in surprise before he’s bowled over by Percival, and before the group can react, they find themselves unarmed, and kneeling side by side; lined up in front of the leader, with Merlin’s hand extended towards them.

The bandits begin laughing once again, the leader the most uproarious of them all, as the knights struggle to break free from Merlin’s grasp.

Arthur is the only one who holds still, not resisting, as he tries to get Merlin to look at him, but the sorcerer isn’t paying any attention. It almost seemed like Merlin just... wasn’t present.  His body was stood in the barn, but his mind, his soul, were elsewhere, not even looking upon this earth, let alone stood in it.

Merlin’s blank face looks to the leader, and he doesn’t react at all as Arthur yells at him:

“Merlin! This isn’t you, he’s controlling you! You have to take back con-”

The leader interrupts him, his hand still gripping the slightly glowing key, as he directs himself to Merlin:

“Oh do shut them up, sorcerer.”

Merlin looks to the group once more, twisting his outstretched hand slightly. The knight’s voices are ripped form them suddenly, and silence permeates the barn for only a second before the bandits continue their laughter.

After a few minutes of the knights being unable to move or make any noise, the leader speaks up again:

“You know, sir knights,-”

He smacks Merlin again, in the same place as before, and the knights tense even more at their friend’s non-reaction:

“-I had thought, that the most fun part of having a pet sorcerer, would be the magic, and don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but-”

This time he aims a punch to Merlin’s abdomen. The Warlock bends over slightly, and takes a step back, before righting himself again, and returning to his original position:

“-I have discovered, in fact, that the most fun part is actually having a living punching bag, who can’t die as easy as the normal peasants and commoners I lay my hands on.”

He grins wickedly once more as he takes out a small dagger. The knight’s eyes all widen and they begin struggling even more against their magical bounds, as the leader drags the blade along Merlin’s outstretched arm.

The cut isn’t too deep, but it’s long, and bleeds enough for infection to be a definite worry.

Merlin’s head wavers slightly and his lip twitches, but he otherwise doesn’t move.

The leader looks to an almost tearful Arthur, and slowly, ever so slowly, pushes the blade into Merlin’s uninjured shoulder, as he grins:

“I wonder, sir knights, how much he can take.”

Arthur looks back to Merlin and sees him flinch, his face seeming more strained. Arthur hates himself for thinking it, but the more pain this jackass inflicts... the more aware Merlin seems to be becoming.

The glow in his eyes flickers, but only momentarily, and Arthur feels the ability to speak come back to him. He holds his breath for a moment, hoping that it’s just him (or that the others had the same idea as him). He lets it out a moment later when none of the knights make any noise.

He needs to pick his moment, wait until Merlin is most aware of his surroundings, before he tries to reach out to him.

It’s a difficult situation, a mix of not wanting Merlin to have to suffer, but also knowing that there is no way the knights could take him on. Not even with no other attackers to worry about. Not even with Merlin at partial strength. The only way for them to win this, is to get Merlin to come back to them.

The Knights watch on with horror, glares painted on their faces, as the leader removes the knife and steps away. He wipes the blood off the blade on Merlin’s clothes harshly, the pressure on his wound making the glow of his eyes flicker once again.

The arsehole looks to the rest of the grinning bandits, and yells:

“So, boys! Shall we see what our new pet can do? We have some lovely new test subjects after all!” A cheer goes up around the room, and the knights take in nervous breaths. They know what Merlin is capable of, and though he doesn’t show off his magic regularly, they’ve seen him angry, seen him when he has the least control of his magic; and right now, he has zero control. The only thing they could do is hope that this mercenary didn’t have a very vivid imagination.

At the bandit’s cheer, the leader turns around to sweep an assessing gaze over the knights. He hums thoughtfully, before waving his arm in Percival’s direction:

“He looks like a big guy, looks like he can take a lot. Break his arm for me, sorcerer.”

The others look to Percival in fear, but his only reaction is to take a deep breath, and clench his jaw.

Merlin tilts his head slightly, and moves his outstretched arm to be pointed at Percival. Arthur sees him swallow, and his hand shake slightly. He’s fighting it. The sorcerer stands still for just a moment, staring at a resolute Percival, but at the leader’s yell:

“DO IT!!”

-he closes his fist, quick as lightening, and a snap sounds out. Percival makes a pained face, but makes no noise as his arm hangs at his side.

Arthur casts a quick look at him, and is grateful for the lack of blood and odd angles. Merlin had managed to break his arm in the least damaging way possible.

Percival’s breath evens out, and he shakes the daze from his head before looking right at Merlin and saying:

“It’s alright, Merlin.” Arthur tenses slightly at that, but the bandit’s seem to be too drunk to notice the broken silence.

The leader bellows out again:

“Aw, well that was a little anti-climactic. Hmm... what about him-”

He gestures at Leon, who is now only slightly dazed, before continuing:

“-knock him out. Properly, this time.”

Merlin’s outstretched hand moves once again, pointing at Leon. Merlin hesitates for even longer this time. His hand shakes violently, and the glow in his eyes dulls (only slightly, but permanently this time) as Leon gives him a small smile, and nods at him.

The leader snarls before aiming a violent punch to Merlin’s side, before screaming:

“YOU ARE MINE!! STOP HESITATING YOU BEAST!″

This time, Merlin pulls his hand towards himself quickly, and Leon’s body tips forward. His head smacks off the floor with a sickening thud, and he doesn’t move from his place crumpled on the floor.

The others panic slightly at this, not being able to see Leon properly, but Arthur holds in a grin. He’s seen enough knights be knocked out to know that Leon was still conscious. Merlin had deliberately held back, cushioned his blow. There was no question that if he had really tried, Leon most certainly would have passed out, which means that Merlin is somewhat in control of his strength, if not his actions.

Arthur is grateful that Leon has the sense to lie still and keep his eyes closed. In order to remain convincing, The King plasters a sufficiently horrified look on his face as he looks from Leon to the Leader.

The man gives a satisfied hum, and turns to Lancelot, a loathsome smirk on his face:

“You, my friend, are far too calm for my liking. Let’s change that, shall we?”

The bandits let out yet another cheer (And Arthur is pleased to see that the majority of them are incredibly drunk at this point. He just needs Merlin to focus long enough for Arthur to grab the key) before he continues:

“Choke. Him. Out. I want to watch the life drain from his pathetically noble eyes. I want to see him panic as his breath is stolen from him. DO IT!”

Fear flash across Lancelot’s face, before he schools his features again. Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan do not manage to hide their panic at all, and Leon takes in an unnoticed deep breath from his place on the floor.

Arthur looks a tad worried, but this has got to be it. He knows how close Merlin and Lancelot are, there will be no better chance to try and break him from this pig’s control, he only needs a moment, and he can see Leon subtly preparing to pounce as well.

Merlin moves his arm to be pointed at Lancelot, and the knights can see their Warlock flinch slightly as Lancelot speaks a shaky smile on his face:

“It’s ok, Merlin, it’s not your fault.”

Merlin’s hesitation earns him a smack on the back of the head, and a second later, he turns his open hand to the ceiling. With that motion, Lancelot raises from the floor.

His hands go to his throat and his eyes widen a fraction as his feet kick, looking for purchase, but finding nothing.

Arthur gulps as he looks between Lancelot and Merlin, waiting for the last possible moment before he jumps into action.

The knights, thrash slightly trying to reach Lancelot as he begins to audibly choke. His legs kick more violently, and his face turns red, his eyes shut tight.

He manages to opens his eyes just a fraction, looking to Merlin and letting out a choked, barely audible:

“I... trust you... Merlin.”

Lancelot’s eyes close once again as his thrashing slows and he loses the last of the air in his lungs.

Arthur stares at Merlin intensely, and the moment a tear falls from his eye, he yells:

“Merlin, look at ME!”

The leader lets out an outraged yelp as Merlin drops his hand to his side, whipping his head around to stare at Arthur. Lancelot drops to the floor with a thud, and begins taking in sudden, deep breaths. The glow disappears briefly from Merlin’s eyes, and in that moment, he lifts a hand to his head, whispering “30 seconds”. The moment his fingers touch his temple, he crumples gracelessly to the floor.

Leon finally moves, jumping to catch Merlin before his heads makes contact with the floor and at the same time, Arthur leaps at the outraged Leader, tackling him to the floor roughly.

Percival moves to Lancelot, and quickly drags him, using his good arm, to the side of the room so that he can catch his breath. Gwaine and Elyan tackle the men who had been standing closest to them, and take their weapons, before moving quickly to stand above Arthur and The Arsehole (still wrestling on the floor).

Both of them hold their blades to his throat, and at his momentary hesitation, Arthur finally lands a good punch to his jaw, properly dazing him.

Arthur rips the chain from his neck and staggers back, leaving Gwaine and Elyan in front of him, not moving their weapons from the man’s neck.

All of this had happened in around five seconds, the knights following Arthur’s signal smoothly and in tandem (exactly like he had trusted they would), and the rest of the bandits too drunk to react quick enough.

The bandits had finally gathered themselves, and have their swords out and pointed at the gang, but before they could move forward, Elyan speaks:

“Take another step, and we’ll cut his throat.”

Arthur knew that that wouldn’t hold them for long. No honour among thieves, they didn’t care if he died because it just gave way for a power struggle, allowing one of them to come out on top as the new leader.

He glanced down at Merlin and Leon again before looking behind him to check on Lancelot and Percival. He counted in his head. Twelve seconds to go.

Elyan and Gwaine pulled the stuttering leader up by his clothes and drag him back. Gwaine stands behind him, his sword held across his throat, as Elyan takes his weapons from him and then moves to stand by Gwaine’s side.

Six seconds to go. Arthur isn’t really sure what he’s counting down to, but he trusts Merlin.

The bandits begin taking slow, drunken steps towards the gang once again. They may be pissed, but they also still vastly outnumber the knights, especially with Lancelot coughing his lungs out, Leon with at least a minor concussion, and Percival with a broken arm.

Three seconds... Two... One.

As the Arthur’s mental countdown reaches zero, he turns his head to check on Merlin, at the same time as the sorcerer opens his eyes once again.

His eyes shine bright golden once again (though still not quite normally), so brightly that Leon and Arthur have to shield their eyes for a moment. That moment is all it takes for the bandits to take action, and they surge towards the gang.

Gwaine pushes their leader into them, and his large form knocks two of them over. Gwaine and Elyan are the only ones who have weapons, so they hold off the first of the attackers as best they can. Percival picks up a still struggling Lancelot, and Leon and Arthur grab an arm each of Merlin. The five of them rush outside, and once Arthur yells back at them, Gwaine and Elyan turn and follow them. They shut the door quickly behind them, and Lancelot is dropped the floor, Merlin left standing blankly, as the rest of them throw their collective weight against the door. Percival speaks first, holding his broken arm to his chest, and bracing his shoulder against the middle of the door:

“Why isn’t... ugh... why isn’t he doing anything??”

Lancelot looks up from his place on the floor, and staggers to his feet, leaning on (a still blank) Merlin for support. He taps his face slightly and squeezes his hand, but still the sorcerer doesn’t react. His hand brushes against the cold metal of one of the cuffs, and he looks back to Arthur, still coughing lightly:

“He’s still bound! Please tell me you managed to hold on to that key?!”

Arthur nods, and Lancelot stumbles over, pressing his weight against the door with the others as another shove is felt from the other side. They wouldn’t be able to do this for long, the bandits were becoming more and more coordinated.

Elyan speaks up:

“We don’t have... no time to uncuff him, you’re in control Arthur just tell him to kill them or knock... or knock them out!”

Arthur looks angry at that, and shakes his head violently:

“No, I won’t take that control from him. I won’t.”

Leon yells next, his words slightly slurred, but understandable:

“You have no choice, Arthur. Just something simple!”

Arthur growls, and huffs as another, much harder shove hits the door. The gang almost stumbles back, but they brace themselves against the door once more, and Arthur shouts:

“Fine! Merlin, protect us!”

Without even a second’s hesitation, Merlin raises his hand towards them, and then pulls towards him. The knights all find themselves flying away from the barn, but land on their feet a few feet behind Merlin. 

The barn door opens with a crash, the first three men falling forward, but quickly being trampled on by their... co-workers... as they escape the building. Before they can make it far however, Merlin throws up his other hand, muttering something under his breath, and all of them are stopped, frozen in place.

Merlin keeps his hand stretched out towards them, and the knights hear one of them go “oh shit” under their breath, as the realisation crosses their faces.

The Warlock’s face remains blank, and after a few moments of the knights catching their breath, Arthur steps forward hesitatingly:

“Merlin?-”

Merlin tilts his head slightly, but doesn’t turn to look at him and Arthur gulps, and moves around to stand in front of him. He holds the key in one hand, and grips Merlin’s arm with the other, he speaks over Merlin’s shoulder to the others:

“I don’t see a keyhole or anything. How do I get this thing off him?!”

The knights shrug and move forward, examining the iron from a distance. Gwaine speaks first:

“Well, Merlin would know, right? Ask him.”

Arthur frowns slightly, he is really not liking this, but none of them have seen anything even slightly similar to this before:

“Merlin, do you know how to release yourself from this?” as he speaks, he shakes one of the chains, and hears the bandits behind him begin squeaking in fear.

Merlin still doesn’t look directly at him, staring straight ahead, eyes still glowing, one hand still outstretched, but he does give a slow nod.

Arthur gulps once more, and takes Merlin’s lowered hand. He presses the key into his palm, holding his hand over it and quietly says:

“Do it. Take it off.”

Merlin mutters something else, forcing the barrier he had placed around the bandits to stay in place. He closes his hand around the key, and without looking, touches the end of the key to the cuff on his other wrist. A hole opens up in the metal, and he pushes the key in, twisting only slightly before the cuff falls off his wrist entirely, still dangling by the chain attached to the collar.

The glow in his eyes instantly dims a bit, and he takes a staggered step back. He shakes his head slightly, and the key swaps hands. He does the same to the other cuff.

He falls to his knees, shaking, and the knights step forward to support him. He slowly lifts the key to the collar, and the same thing happens a third time. As the collar falls to the floor, the glow in his eyes flashes it’s normal, healthy colour, before disappearing entirely.

His blue eyes find Arthur’s momentarily, just long enough for Arthur to smile at him and nod. That’s all the convincing that “everything is ok” Merlin needs, and he promptly passes out, slumping forward.

Arthur just about catches him, and looks over his own shoulder panicked, thinking that with Merlin unconscious, the barrier would disappear.

It would appear that Merlin had thought of that, even in his state, and the barrier stayed in place, leaving Arthur and the knights to let out breaths of relief.

Now everyone has had time to catch their breath, and Merlin was free, they had a moment to realise how furious they were.

Gwaine looks ready to slaughter every man there, and every person they’ve ever spoken to, and even Lancelot looks pissed.

Arthur gathers Merlin up in his arms, carrying him bridal style and looks to the others:

“Grab our weapons from inside, quickly, we need to get out of here, I don’t know how long that's going to hold, or how long Merlin will be out. We need to get him to Gaius, and bring that... thing.”

He gestures to the set of cuffs still sat in the grass, and Leon steps forward to pick them up. Elyan and Gwaine stand guard in front of Arthur and Merlin, (still being the only ones who are actually armed) and Lancelot and Percival rush around the group of bandits, still frozen in place, and through the door into the barn.

They come out not even a minute later with everyone’s swords, and hand them out. Merlin begins to stir, and Arthur spares him a quick glance before gesturing back towards where they left the horses.

The group huddles together, Arthur with Merlin protected at the back, pointing their weapons at the bandits as they shuffle back, moving as quickly as they could, not daring to move their gazes from the kidnappers.

Merlin stirs once more, but settles quickly, probably still a while from waking up, and the group reaches the treeline before they begin to pick up the pace.

They finally reach their horses, and Gwaine quickly helps Arthur load Merlin up in front of The King, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder. 

Leon wraps the cuffs in a spare tunic before shoving them into a saddlebag, and the group takes one last look behind them, before galloping back in the direction of Camelot.

If they went by the crow flies, instead of detouring to those clearings, they could be back in three days, instead of the four and a half it had taken them to get here.

~

They ride through the night, trying to get as far away as possible, not taking any breaks, and only stopping to make camp a few hours after midnight.

Elyan splints and wraps Percival’s arm, Leon drinks plenty of water and tries not to pass out, and Lancelot coughs the whole journey, but other than that, there seems to be no lasting damage or serious injuries.

They have little food left, but (despite no one being willing to admit it) they were all a little shaken, and none were prepared to leave camp to hunt or forage for anything more substantial.

Merlin had stirred a few more times, and opened his eyes briefly when Arthur laid him on his bedroll, but it didn’t last long, and he was passed out again shortly after.

The King massages some water down his throat, has Elyan help him with digging out the arrowhead, and follows Percival’s instructions on which of the herbs Merlin had gathered would help best with pain, infections, and larger wounds. The arrow and stab wounds were stitched and thoroughly cleaned, before Arthur moved on to the less serious wounds: checking his jaw to see if it was broken (it wasn’t, thank the Gods), and dressing the burns and bruises on his neck and wrists. The head wound wasn’t serious thankfully, only requiring a thorough cleaning, and two stiches.

Leon takes the first watch with Arthur, on account of not being allowed to fall asleep just yet, but there isn’t much conversation as they watch their friends toss and turn, obviously not sleeping too well.

Gwaine takes over from Leon around two hours before sunrise, before informing Arthur that:

“If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll put you to sleep. And then we’d have to double-ride two horses. And that would slow us down even more. So. What’s it gonna be, princess?”

Arthur grumbles minimally, but he knows Gwaine is right. He doesn’t move from his spot however, choosing to lay down right next to Merlin.

Gwaine simply raises an eyebrow, (and wakes him before everyone else in the morning) at The King’s position.

Arthur has one hand gripping Merlin’s wrist, and the other splayed out against Merlin’s chest, his Warlock’s pulse, and breath, just under his fingertips whilst he slept.

~

They get back to Camelot when expected, around three days later, just before noon.

Leon’s concussion had cleared up completely by the time they had got there, and Lancelot’s throat wasn’t quite so irritated. Percival’s arm was still broken of course, but with the help of some medication they had brought with them, the pain hadn’t been too bad.

Merlin had woken up a few more times across the journey, but was far too exhausted to stay awake for more than an hour at a time, and despite his grumbling, he admitted that it would be best for him to continue sharing a horse.

He managed to get some food in him as well, which the knights were relieved at, and the herbs must’ve been very special, because the infection in the arrow wound was almost gone by the time they got him to Gaius, and they had managed to avoid infection in the stab wound entirely.

Speaking of Gaius, he fussed to the extreme when Merlin hobbled in to the infirmary, supported by The King. After double checking all of his wounds, and forcing a mixture of gross tasting potions down his throat, he had him asleep on one of the patient pallets whilst he checked over the others.

He set Percival’s arm with magic, gave Leon a potion for the headaches he would be having for the next week or so, and gave Lancelot a special tea mix to help with his throat.

The moment Gaius relaxed, Arthur did too, trusting the physicians assessment of his friends. Elyan had scurried off to find Gwen and the Lady Morgana, before joining Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Lancelot, for much needed naps in their own quarters.

Once everything slowed down a bit, Arthur presented Gaius with the chains and key, and explained to him what had happened.

It was late in the evening at this point, so they spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb Gwen or Morgana, who had both fallen asleep in their chairs at Merlin’s bedside.

“His eyes were bright gold, but they looked... wrong? Like slightly the wrong colour. He was almost completely blank, barely reacted to pain, and just.... stared. Into the distance. Like he had no awareness of his physical surroundings.”

Gaius looked concerned, but not so much so that it worried Arthur:

“Ah. That would explain the severed connections with Morgana and the Druids, his consciousness was locked away, pushed far too deep for anyone to find him. What else?”

Arthur looked uncomfortable and shuffled his feet as he continued, recalling memories from the previous days that he was sure would haunt him as he slept:

“Well... he hesitated a few times, when he was told to... hurt us. Like he was fighting it. But when he was hit or yelled at, it looked like he sort of... re-set? And he would do whatever he was told.”

Gaius nodded:

“Yes. Merlin is incredibly powerful, but so are the enchantments on these chains. He would have fought against it viciously, but the sudden noise, or pain, would’ve have shocked his system into obeying without hesitation. I’m guessing that’s how you broke him free?”

Arthur glanced briefly towards Merlin, before nodding, and replying even quieter than before:

“Hmm. I waited until he looked most... unsure, most hesitant, then yelled at him to look at me. His eyes cleared for just a moment, he whispered “30 seconds” , then knocked himself out somehow. We got the key thing, held off the bandits for 30 seconds, then he woke up and I...-”

He clenches his jaw and looks away at this, letting out a harsh breath at the memory. Gaius pats his hand a few times consolably as he speaks:

“You did what you had to my boy, you didn’t take advantage, or force him to do anything he wouldn’t have willingly done anyway. If anything, from the sounds of it, you were far more merciful and forgiving than Merlin would’ve been.”

Arthur huffs a weak laugh at that, and Gaius smiles, before saying:

“I’m hesitant to analyse these chains until I know more. I’ll talk to the Druids tomorrow, and wait until Merlin’s strength returns before doing anything. You best get some sleep, My Lord.”

Arthur looks up sheepishly, and bites his lip not quite meeting Gaius’ eyes. The old physician raises an eyebrow, prompting him to speak:

“Would you mind if I... stayed here for the night? I can just pull out a pallet but I...-”

Gaius picks up where Arthur hesitates:

“Don’t want to leave him?-”

Gaius smiles once again at Arthur’s infinitesimal nod:

“That’s fine by me, though you’ll have to leave this room to talk to the council eventually.”

Without waiting for a response, Gaius gets up and walks away. He checks Merlin’s bandages briefly before shuffling off to what had been The Court Sorcerer’s previous room, before he had been given his own chambers.

Arthur sighs, and walks over to Merlin, standing above him. The colour has returned to his cheeks, and he looks much healthier now he was no longer covered in his own blood and was wearing clean clothes. 

He sweeps the hair away from his forehead, and leans down to place a gentle kiss where his hand had been. He looks up to see Gwen looking at him sleepily, a fond smile on her face as she stares at Arthur’s blushing face.

She stands and stretches, before whispering:

“Why don’t you take my chair, Arthur? I should probably get back to Lancelot anyway, and I doubt you want to leave his side?”

Arthur nods slightly, and whispers his gratitude as Gwen gives him a quick hug, before sneaking out the door.

Arthur settles in the chair, finding a comfortable (or as comfortable as possible in a wooden chair with wonky legs) position, as he once again wraps one hand around Merlin’s wrist, and places the other over his chest.

He falls asleep after only minutes, and rests easier than he had in a week, satisfied with the knowledge that Merlin was safe and on the mend, and returned to the position Arthur thought he belonged in most: next to him.

~

THE END! 

I dunno, I might write a part two, about the psychological effects on Merlin? Of having his magic controlled, AND of having to watch from behind his own eyes as he hurts his friends? Let me know if y’all wanna see something like that :)

EDIT: Part 2 is up! Link at the top

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out properly with paragraphs and descriptions and shit, go for it, but credit and tag me ✌

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S5 Ep 21: Joey Takes A Snack at that Cray Sauce

Hey guys! The 17 yo cat with kidney disease I was out of town watching lived to see another week (she was a very good girl). Which means now I can get back to the good stuff. This episode is brought to you by the colors red and orange, and I hope you like this color, and I hope you like this after effects they CGId onto this volcano.

Anyways, they first have to do this familiar ledge fall, because, it’s Yugioh, and if there’s a bunch of lava, Tristan wants

in

that.

And then Joey decides...hey you know what? I’m gonna jet. And...it’s not the first time he’s pulled a wild card and been unpredictable, I mean none of us can really forget that time he decided to get murdered by Mai instead of going in a straight line towards the end boss last season, but this time it was kind of funny how it was hastily composed.

And off he goes, folks.

As he left, Tristan was like “Ya dummy!” and Tea was like “nono, we gotta encourage him--run Joey! You can do it! See? Now he’s gone.” and it’s like...Tea is either trying to kill Joey with her support or honestly thinks that’s good support and I can’t fully tell which she is.

(read more under the cut)

It’s at this point that Grandpa has the gall to say “Did any of you happen to catch the lore? I fell asleep during that part.” Just like my Dad when we watch any movie as a family.

Meanwhile, maybe 100 ft away from them, Joey is in mortal peril but it’s Joey, so he’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.

In fact, this episode seems like it would have been a better arc if it stretched out more episodes because the Joey neglect happens so quickly and out of nowhere that it’s...less organic than your average children’s show. Honestly it’s kind of funny how fast the fall of Joey Wheeler happens this episode. And I think it could have been a fun interesting time if it was handled better but youknow...it’s crammed into one single episode and you’ll se what happens.

As Yugi ruminates a cool thing that would have been really interesting this season--like running into more rando’s from other periods of time than just Alexander--Tea looks across the lava highway and was like “found it.”

Back at the dragon situation, Joey starts opening his heart to this dragon and it’s like...did they originally intend for Seto Kaiba to be here? Because I guess Joey uses Red Eyes a lot, but I also skip a lot of the card games, so when I think “who likes the dragon card?” Joey is not the first one I think of.

That and like he got over his Atlantis dragon card like hella fast, right? Like totally already over that?

And also if you thought Joey would pull out his other dragon to try and communicate or get a hold of this dragon like...nah.

Back at the fort, these guys decided to ditch Joey to get to this sword at the top of a volcano to solve the riddle, and what follows is some weird ass canon.

As I’m pulling up my Google Doc with my deathcount on it, Tristan decides this is the time he won’t freakin die and turn into a robot monkey for 15 episodes.

And he makes a huge ass green dragon. You’d think this MASSIVE dragon would do more in this episode, but nah. Although he pulls out Massive Dragon, it’s like kind of worthless, so he mostly puts it back in his pocket.

And then Tea pulls this elf chick out and it’s freakin hilarious because look at her giant elf.

Like Tea is not a small person! Are Yugioh monsters all 12 ft tall???

Yugi is also all ham about fusing with his dude now. It knocked him out a couple episodes ago, but Yugi is so keen on destroying his body that he’s back in clown town. And like...took his Grandpa for a ride, I guess, although I’m pretty sure Summoned Skull has wings.

Course, Summoned Skulls insides are his outsides...and I dunno if you’d want Summoned Skull to give you a big hug and carry you around. Summoned Skull just seems like he’s sticky.

And, once they make it to the top of the volcano where the plot sword lives, we first have to visit this plot twist of the century.

YEAH.

OUT OF NOWHERE.

THIS EPISODE IS NOT LONG.

Aaaaaaand now Joey is going to try and kill everyone here. I did not skip anything, PS, Joey dipped off-screen.

PS, everyone’s reaction to “I will kill you!” was a whole lot of rolling their eyes at first being like “Joey, stawp.”

So, now that Joey’s randomly possessed by this dragon, we get a peek into what Joey’s brain zone looks like. It’s a whole lot of nothing in between his ears.

Consistent to S1 actually, when we had a bit of a Joey Brain Zone moment. It was a blank void there, too.

So apparently Joey decided, back when he was confessing his love to Red Eyes Black Dragon, that he would jump on it’s back to calm it down--and it just...fused with him. So...now he’s a dragon.

Sure, I guess. I mean...there’s really no limit on what a Duel monster can’t do, so I’ll allow it.

The team tries to just say “ah screw it” and pull up this sword themselves (you can kind of see it in this shot) and the sword just slurps into the dirt even more out of spite. Seeing that there’s a bit of a time limit, Grandpa pulls this one out of his back pocket.

Yo, Grandpa’s not even possessed. Hey, remember that time that Grandpa nearly died giving Arthur Hawkins the last of his water back in Egypt? Remember that?

Like uh, you can definitely tell this was made by a different team that may not have gotten that cue card. It may have been lost in the mail. Either way, kind of a hilarious heel turn on Grandpa’s personality here, although it does make logical sense to save most of the kids from sacrificing one kid. It’s just...that kid is Joey...so...that’s like his adopted Grandson, right?

So Yugi does something very on brand for Yugi and invades a brain.

And like...obviously Yami and Yugi would say no to this. They would never do this. Not after all the dozens and dozens of times they have sacrificed the world and everything for their best friends.

But...maybe just this one time we can kill Joey? As a treat?

So uh...Yami hella vaporizes Joey with his new powers. Luckily, Joey Wheeler has Shaggy Doo energy and just...he survives it for some reason. I don’t know why he isn’t dead, maybe because the dragon made him stronger? Eh, don’t do the math (on any part of this episode).

So Joey gets up and is like “I know the answer to the riddle!” As the sword kinda melts into the volcano and Gramps is like “Well we’re dead, actually, so no one cares!”

And Joey’s like “Look!” and he hops onto the back of the Red Eyes Black dragon and reveals this random thing:

Because it turns out, that the dragon was the real problem and not this volcano with a sword in it.

Which youknow...could have been cool if this episode wasn’t so many insane plot points so quickly. Kind of a lot of episode here. This episode could have been a whole season of a show.

Like how long was Joey Possessed by Marik in S2? Like 5 or 6 episodes? And you can see how much more successful it was at selling the story although it was a lot of the same themes and ideas. Pacing is important.

And then Joey passes out from the suit juice.

Which is when we get one more Alexander cameo, just kinda watching them leave and onto the next arc of their little journey.

They sure did put a lot of eyeliner on Alexander the great, and, being real...he may have actually been wearing a hell ton of dope eyeliner when he was alive, so this could be historically accurate, for all we know. Those old marble statues used to be painted, after all. Maybe they had dope Yugioh eyeliner down to his cheekbones? One can wish.

And like if you ever get the time--seeing what those marble statues looked like with paint on it is so freakin goofy and fun, I love it. I love that for 600 years we thought those marble statues were supposed to be naked and white but it’s like, nah man--this guy’s just wearing a skin tight breast plate and when you paint it, it’s so garish it’s like a freakin clown outfit.

But anyway, that’s all for now! Hope y’all have a good weekend, and as always, here’s a link to read these in chrono order, if you just got here!

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono