#prince of stormwind

[jerek]

Wranduin: The Statutrolley Problem

[robin-games]

Update on that: I've defeated three of the 4 regional phenomena (Tulin, Riju, and Mineru's quests), and I'm moving on to the Sidon and Yunobo quests now! The bosses are even more fun a second time around, and I missed the Stormwind Ark challenge SO MUCH!

So you'll never guess who restarted Tears Of The Kingdom on an alternative account so they could do more with the sky Islands before going anywhere else but got wayyyyy too excited about getting down to Hyrule and ended up forgetting their own plan entirely😅

It me... I'm still having a lot of fun, though. Re-experiencing everything has kinda shown me the game under a new lense, and I'm even MORE emotional about the Zelda, Rauru arm, and dragon lore than ever before!!!

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (2)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The noise of the crowd was a constant, thunderous hum that filled the air as you prepared yourself for the joust. The tourney grounds were alive with color and movement, the banners of noble houses snapping in the wind, the smell of churned earth mixing with the scents of roasted meats and sweet wines. It was a spectacle that King’s Landing had not seen in years, and today, it was all in your honor.

Your squire, a young Tyrell boy with a mop of curly brown hair and a nervous energy about him, was busy readying your horse. The beast was a magnificent stallion, bred from the finest stock in the Reach. His coat was a deep chestnut, almost black, with a mane that shimmered like polished mahogany. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy coat as he pawed at the ground, eager for the upcoming challenge. His eyes, intelligent and bright, reflected the excitement of the day, mirroring your own anticipation.

"Steady, Stormwind," you murmured, running a hand down the stallion’s neck. The horse snorted, tossing its head as if in agreement, and you couldn’t help but smile. Stormwind was not only powerful but also fiercely loyal—a trait you valued deeply in your mount. 

The young Tyrell squire handed you your helmet, his hands trembling slightly as he did so. "Good luck, my prince," he stammered, eyes wide with awe as he looked up at you.

You gave him an encouraging nod, slipping the helmet under your arm for the moment. "Thank you, Ser Trystan," you said, using the title you knew the boy aspired to one day earn. "You’ve done well. Stormwind looks ready for anything."

The boy beamed at the praise, the nervousness in his eyes giving way to a spark of pride. "I’m glad to be of service, my prince."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind you. "Nephew!"

You turned to see your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, striding towards you. He was already clad in his own armor, the dark, polished metal reflecting the sun, the Targaryen dragon emblazoned boldly on his chest. His presence, as always, commanded attention—his confident gait, the slight smirk playing on his lips, the gleam in his eyes that spoke of both mischief and a thirst for glory.

"Uncle Daemon," you greeted him with a respectful nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s good to see you."

Daemon clapped you on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Happy nameday, Y/N. The years have treated you well, it seems. I hear you’ve become quite the capable dragonrider in your time away. Even the Dornish trembled at the sight of Silverwing."

You chuckled, shaking your head modestly. "Silverwing did most of the work. I just held on."

Daemon laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "Don’t be so humble, nephew. I’ve heard the stories. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Today, the court will see for themselves what you’re made of." He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing. "I expect you’ll give them a show they won’t soon forget."

You met his gaze, the challenge in his eyes clear. "I’ll do my best, Uncle. But I’m sure you’ll make your own impression out there."

Daemon’s smirk widened. "That, I can promise. But remember, it’s your nameday. I’m content to let you have the glory today." He gave you a final pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you on the field."

With that, Daemon strode off towards his own preparations, leaving you to focus on the task ahead. You turned back to Stormwind, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you mounted the stallion. The weight of your armor settled comfortably on your shoulders, the reins firm in your grasp as you guided the horse towards the starting line.

The cheers of the crowd grew louder as you approached, the anticipation in the air palpable. You could see the royal box from where you sat, your father standing at the forefront, his face lit with pride. Beside him, Rhaenyra and Alicent were already in their seats, their gazes fixed on you. Rhaenyra’s smile was bright, filled with a mixture of pride and affection, while Alicent’s expression held a softer, almost admiring quality. 

You raised your lance in salute, first to your father, then to the rest of the crowd. King Viserys waved back enthusiastically, his voice booming over the cheers. "Ride well, my son! Show them the strength of House Targaryen!"

Your heart swelled with determination at his words. This was your moment, a chance to show the realm that the Targaryens were as strong as ever, and that their future king was more than ready to lead.

As you took your position at the end of the lists, your opponent appeared on the other side—a knight clad in the colors of House Bracken. The red horse gleamed on his shield, his visor down, obscuring his face. He was a formidable opponent, well-known for his strength and skill, but today, you were confident in your abilities. 

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, signaling the start of the tilt. You spurred Stormwind forward, the stallion leaping into action with powerful strides that ate up the ground beneath you. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on the target ahead—the oncoming knight, his lance lowered, his intent clear.

You felt the familiar rush of the joust, the thunder of hooves, the wind whipping past your ears. Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, your aim precise, your focus unwavering. The distance closed rapidly, and just as the two of you met in the center of the field, you leaned into the strike.

Your lance struck true, slamming into your opponent’s shield with a resounding crack. The impact jolted through your arm, but you held firm, watching as the Barcken knight wavered. For a moment, it seemed he might recover, but the force of your blow was too strong. He was thrown from his horse, landing heavily in the dirt, his lance shattering into splinters beside him.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the roar of approval washing over you as you circled back to the starting line, victorious in your first tilt. Stormwind pranced beneath you, his energy undimmed, as if reveling in the glory alongside you.

In the royal box, King Viserys cheered loudly, his face beaming with pride. "That’s my boy!" he shouted, his voice carrying above the din. "Well done, Y/N! Well done!"

Beside him, Rhaenyra’s smile was radiant, her hands clapping enthusiastically as she shared in your triumph. Alicent, too, was applauding, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes shining as she watched you.

Further down the box, Lord Otto Hightower nodded approvingly, his expression calm but his eyes reflecting satisfaction. He leaned slightly towards Viserys, speaking just loud enough to be heard. "The prince has truly grown into his own, Your Grace. He will make a fine king one day."

Viserys nodded, his smile not fading for a moment. "Indeed, Otto. He’s everything I hoped he would be and more."

In another section of the stands, Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon exchanged a glance, their expressions more reserved. Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, watched you with a mixture of pride and something more complex—a recognition of the weight of the crown that would one day rest on your head.

"He’s impressive," Corlys commented, his voice low, but with an edge of admiration. "The boy has the makings of a true Targaryen king."

Rhaenys nodded, though her eyes remained thoughtful. "Yes, he does. But I wonder if he truly understands what it means to carry the weight of that legacy."

Corlys glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "He’ll have to, in time. But for now, let’s hope he enjoys his moment. The realm is watching."

As you completed your victory lap, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, you felt a surge of exhilaration and pride. The first tilt was yours, a testament to the skill and strength you had honed over the years. But more than that, it was a reminder to everyone watching that House Targaryen was still the mightiest in the realm.

You returned to the starting line, your gaze lifting once more to the royal box, where your father stood, his eyes full of love and pride. The next round awaited, but in that moment, you felt invincible. Today was your day, and nothing could diminish the glory of the Targaryen name.

As the next knight prepared to face you, you readied yourself for the challenge, determination burning bright within you. This was only the beginning, and you intended to make it a day to remember—for yourself, for your family, and for the realm.

The tourney grounds were abuzz with excitement as the next round of jousts was set to begin. The energy in the air crackled with anticipation, and the stands were filled with spectators eagerly watching every move of the knights and their steeds.

The knight who had just won, a Baratheon, called out to the stands, his voice strong and carrying easily over the crowd. "Lady Rhaenys Targaryen, Queen Who Never Was, I ask for your favor!"

A murmur spread through the audience as all eyes turned to the royal box where Rhaenys sat beside her husband, Corlys Velaryon. The Baratheon knight’s choice was a deliberate one—by choosing Rhaenys, he paid homage to her strength and legacy, but the title he used carried a certain sting, a reminder of the Iron Throne she had been denied.

Rhaenys, ever composed, allowed a small, knowing smile to grace her lips as she rose, acknowledging the knight with a nod. She lifted her hand and let a favor, a ribbon of deep blue, flutter down to him. The crowd erupted into applause, though there were those who caught the subtle tension in the exchange.

Beside her, Corlys shifted in his seat, a frown darkening his features. He leaned closer to his wife, his voice low but edged with irritation. "You shouldn’t allow him to call you that, Rhaenys. It’s a slight, a reminder of what was unjustly taken from you."

Rhaenys glanced at her husband, her expression calm, almost dismissive. "It’s just a title, Corlys," she replied, her tone measured. "Let them call me what they will. It doesn’t change who I am or what we’ve built together."

Corlys huffed quietly, clearly displeased but respecting his wife’s decision. "Still, I don’t like it. You deserve more than to be reminded of old wounds."

Rhaenys placed a hand over his, her gaze softening. "You’re a good husband, Corlys, but you mustn’t let such things bother you. We know our worth, and that’s what truly matters."

Before Corlys could respond, the attention of the crowd shifted as Daemon Targaryen prepared for his next tilt. He had chosen his opponent carefully, with a calculated intent that Rhaenyra recognized immediately. As she watched her uncle raise his lance and point it at Ser Gwayne Hightower, her brow furrowed in disapproval. This was not a random choice; it was a deliberate act of provocation aimed directly at the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.

Rhaenyra leaned closer to Alicent, who sat beside her, nervously picking at the skin around her fingers, her anxiety apparent. "He’s doing this to spite your father," Rhaenyra murmured, her tone edged with concern. "He knows exactly what he’s doing."

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering with worry as she watched her brother, Ser Gwayne, prepare for the tilt. "I know," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "I wish he wouldn’t."

The signal was given, and Daemon and Gwayne charged at each other, their horses thundering down the lists. The crowd leaned forward in their seats, the tension palpable. In a flash, Daemon’s lance struck Gwayne with such force that it shattered upon impact, the blow violently dismounting Gwayne and sending him crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed by a murmur of mixed reactions. Some cheered for Daemon’s prowess, while others whispered in concern for the fallen knight. Otto Hightower’s face drained of color, horror etched in his features as he watched his son struggle to rise, dazed and bruised.

Daemon, ever the showman, circled his horse back around with a triumphant air. But instead of immediately acknowledging his victory or his opponent, he rode directly toward the royal box where Alicent sat. The tension in the air thickened as Daemon approached, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Lady Alicent," Daemon called out, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "would you grant me your favor?"

Alicent froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was not what she had expected. She had hoped, in the quiet recesses of her heart, that if anyone were to ask for her favor today, it would be you. But now, with all eyes on her, she felt trapped.

Rhaenyra watched the scene unfold with a frown, understanding Daemon’s intent all too well. He was not only rubbing salt in the wound by asking for Alicent’s favor but was also making a pointed statement to Otto and the entire court.

Alicent hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the favor she had prepared. With a deep breath, she dropped the ribbon—a delicate piece of green silk—down to Daemon, who caught it with a flourish. The crowd erupted into applause, though the undercurrent of tension was undeniable.

Rhaenyra leaned toward her uncle as he passed by their box on his way back to the field. "Congratulations, Uncle," she said, her voice carrying both genuine admiration and a hint of reproach.

Daemon smirked, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you, dear niece. Let’s see if your brother can match me," he teased, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, dangerous light.

Rhaenyra forced a smile, but her eyes followed Daemon warily as he returned to the field. She knew her uncle well enough to recognize that his actions today were more than just about winning a tourney—they were about making a statement, and that statement had clearly unsettled more than a few members of the court.

As Daemon moved off, the focus of the tourney returned to you. The crowd, still buzzing from the previous tilt, quieted with anticipation as you prepared for your next round. You could feel the weight of their expectations, but you were undaunted. The lance in your hand felt like an extension of your own body, and Stormwind beneath you was eager for the challenge ahead.

The signal was given, and with a powerful kick, you spurred Stormwind forward. The earth trembled beneath his hooves as he charged down the lists, your focus narrowing on your opponent. You felt the wind whip past your face, the cheers of the crowd fading into the background as the world narrowed to this single, decisive moment.

As you and your opponent closed the distance, your lance lowered and your aim true. The impact, when it came, was a bone-jarring collision of wood and steel, but you held firm. Your lance struck your opponent’s shield squarely, and with a mighty effort, you felt the resistance give way.

Your opponent was sent flying from his horse, landing hard on the ground with a thud. The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the sound of your victory echoing through the tourney grounds. Your father, King Viserys, stood from his seat, clapping enthusiastically, his face a mixture of pride and joy.

Rhaenyra and Alicent joined the applause, though each had different emotions swirling within them. Rhaenyra was filled with pride, but also a renewed sense of possessiveness. Alicent, on the other hand, clapped politely, though her earlier anxiety had not entirely dissipated.

In the stands, Rhaenys watched you with a measured gaze, while Corlys, clearly impressed, leaned toward his wife. "The boy is exceptional," he murmured. "There’s no doubt about it. He’s everything a Targaryen prince should be."

Rhaenys nodded, though her expression remained contemplative. "Yes, but let’s hope he navigates the politics as deftly as he does the tourney field. Strength is one thing—wisdom is another."

As you circled back to the starting line, the crowd continued to cheer, and you raised your lance in acknowledgment. The day was far from over, and more challenges awaited, but for now, the Targaryen name had been upheld with honor and glory.

You prepared for the next tilt, your heart steady, your focus unwavering. The cheers of the crowd, the pride in your father’s eyes, and the knowledge that Rhaenyra and Alicent were watching—all of it spurred you on. This was your day, and you intended to make it one that would be remembered for years to come.

The opponent before you now was one of the Florent brothers, a knight known for his skill and speed on the field. His armor, decorated with the sun and fox emblem of House Florent, gleamed in the sunlight, and his stance on his horse was confident, almost cocky.

But you were not to be underestimated. The adrenaline of the previous tilts still coursed through your veins, and the roar of the crowd only fueled your determination. You glanced briefly towards the royal box, catching the eager gazes of Rhaenyra and Alicent, their eyes fixed on you. The sight of them watching spurred you on, a reminder of why you fought today—not just for glory, but for the pride of your house and the love of your family.

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, and with a powerful kick, you urged Stormwind into action. The stallion surged forward, his powerful hooves pounding the earth as you charged down the lists. Your lance was steady in your grip, your eyes locked on the Florent knight, who mirrored your movements on the opposite side.

The gap between you closed rapidly, the wind rushing past your ears as time seemed to slow. You could see the dare in your opponent’s eyes, but you did not waver. With a precise flick of your wrist, you adjusted your aim, your lance striking the Florent knight’s shield with a thunderous crack.

The impact was immediate and decisive. The force of your blow shattered your opponent’s defenses, and before he could recover, he was sent flying from his horse, crashing heavily to the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers, the victory swift and clear.

You circled back to the starting line, but instead of preparing for another tilt, you guided Stormwind towards the royal box. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as they realized where you were heading, the anticipation palpable in the air. Ladies in the stands leaned forward, their breaths held, hoping that you might stop before them, hoping that today they might catch the eye of the prince.

As you approached, the excitement among the ladies was almost tangible. You could see the hope in their eyes, the way they straightened their backs and smoothed their dresses as you passed. But your gaze was fixed ahead, your mind made up.

Instead of stopping before any of the noble ladies vying for your attention, you brought Stormwind to a halt directly below the royal box, where your sister Rhaenyra sat. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, surprised and intrigued by your choice, while Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what you intended.

You looked up at her, a soft smile playing on your lips as you raised your lance in salute. "Princess Rhaenyra," you called out, your voice clear and strong, "would you do me the honor of granting your favor?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled with delight, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. This was more than just a simple gesture—it was a public declaration of the bond you shared, a victory that she relished deeply. The attention of all the other ladies in the court paled in comparison to this moment, a reminder that she still held a special place in your heart.

With a graceful movement, Rhaenyra untied a ribbon from her sleeve, a delicate piece of Targaryen red silk, and leaned over the edge of the box to drop it into your waiting hand. "With all my heart, dear brother," she said, her voice filled with affection and pride.

You caught the ribbon with ease, tying it carefully around the tip of your lance before raising it high for all to see. The crowd erupted into applause, the gesture admired by all. It was not just a victory in the joust, but a victory in the hearts of the people—a symbol of the unity and strength of House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra’s eyes followed you as you rode back to the field, her heart swelling with pride and a sense of triumph. This was her victory, too—a small but meaningful reminder that, despite the attention you garnered from others, the bond between brother and sister was unbreakable.

Beside her, Alicent watched the exchange with a soft smile, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. It was clear that your relationship was something special, and Alicent was content to see her friend so happy.

As you returned to the field, ready to face your next opponent, the favor of Rhaenyra tied proudly to your lance, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Today was a day to be remembered—not just for the victories won on the field, but for the connections reaffirmed in the heart of your family.

The cheers of the crowd filled your ears as you took your position, the anticipation of the next tilt mounting. With the ribbon of your sister’s favor fluttering in the wind, you felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenge came at you.

The next knight approached, the crowd’s excitement building once more. As you prepared to charge, the weight of the day’s events settled comfortably on your shoulders. This was your day, your moment, and you intended to seize it with all the fire and fury of your house.

With a final glance at the royal box, where Rhaenyra’s smile still shone brightly, you lowered your lance and spurred Stormwind forward.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting its light over the tourney grounds as the final tilt of the day approached. The crowd was loud with excitement, their voices blending into a chorus of eager anticipation. This was the moment they had all been waiting for—the final showdown between the two most formidable competitors: Prince Daemon Targaryen and Prince Y/N Targaryen.

You sat atop Stormwind, the powerful stallion beneath you steady and poised, sensing the importance of the moment. Your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and resolve. The previous tilts had been challenging, but this was different. This was Daemon, your uncle, a man known for his skill, cunning, and unpredictability. The tension in the air was palpable as you both prepared for what would undoubtedly be a clash to remember.

Across the field, Daemon adjusted his helmet, his expression hidden but his demeanor unmistakably confident. His dark armor gleamed in the sunlight, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned boldly on his chest. He was already mounted on his dragon-black stallion, Caraxes, named after his own fearsome dragon. The horse, like its rider, was a creature of raw power and grace, snorting and pawing at the ground in anticipation.

The horn sounded, signaling the start of the final tilt, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence, their eyes glued to the two dragon princes facing off in the lists.

You took a deep breath, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. With a firm grip on your lance, you spurred Stormwind into a gallop. The stallion surged forward with powerful strides, his hooves pounding the earth in a rhythmic thunder. Across the field, Daemon did the same, his own mount racing towards you, the two of you closing the distance with alarming speed.

Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, aiming for the center of Daemon’s shield. The world around you faded, leaving only the blur of your uncle’s form charging towards you, the glint of his armor catching the sun, and the rush of wind in your ears. You tightened your grip, bracing for impact.

The collision, when it came, was fierce. Your lance struck Daemon’s shield with a resounding crack, but he met your blow with equal force. The impact jarred through your arm, but you held firm, refusing to yield. For a moment, it seemed like the strike had been a draw, both of you remaining in your saddles, but then Daemon leaned into his strike, his skill and experience showing as he directed the force of his lance just right.

Before you could fully adjust, you felt the world tilt beneath you. The force of Daemon’s strike, combined with the precise angle, knocked you off balance. Time seemed to stretch as you felt yourself falling, the ground rushing up to meet you. The impact was hard, the breath knocked from your lungs as you hit the dirt.

The crowd gasped collectively, the sound of your fall echoing in the stunned silence that followed. From the royal box, Viserys had already risen to his feet, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw you go down. "Gods, no!" he breathed, his voice tight with fear. But as you quickly pushed yourself up, shaking off the disorientation from the fall, he let out a long sigh of relief, his body sagging back into his seat.

Rhaenyra, who had been on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white from gripping the railing, exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her eyes were wide with worry, but as she saw you stand, a rush of relief and pride filled her. She could see you were unharmed, but the sight of you on the ground had shaken her deeply.

You rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your armor, your pride bruised but your spirit unbroken. You could feel the sting of defeat, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you had given everything in that tilt. Stormwind stood nearby, having stopped shortly after your fall, the loyal stallion snorting anxiously as if to say he was ready to try again.

Before you could fully gather your bearings, Daemon was there, dismounting with the fluid grace that came naturally to him. He approached you with a look that was half smirk, half respect. "Not bad, nephew," he said, his tone carrying both praise and a hint of playful mockery. "You almost had me there."

He extended a hand, offering to help you up. There was no malice in his gaze, just the familiar gleam of challenge that always seemed to light his eyes.

You took his hand, accepting the gesture, and he pulled you to your feet with a firm grip. "Almost," you replied, your voice steady, though there was a spark of competitiveness in your tone. "But you got me in the end."

Daemon patted you on the back, his smirk widening into a grin. "Today, perhaps. But don’t let it weigh too heavily on you. We’re both dragons, after all, and you fought well. The court will remember this day, not just for my victory, but for your strength and skill."

You nodded, appreciating the words, though the sting of defeat still lingered. "Thank you, Uncle. But next time, I won’t be so easy to dismount."

Daemon chuckled, clearly pleased by your response. "I wouldn’t expect anything less." He gave you a final nod of approval before turning to face the roaring crowd, raising his lance in acknowledgment of his victory. The people cheered loudly, celebrating the spectacle they had witnessed.

From the royal box, Viserys beamed with pride, his worry from moments before forgotten. "That was a fine match!" he declared, his voice booming over the noise of the crowd. "Both of you did House Targaryen proud today!"

Rhaenyra, still shaken by the sight of you on the ground, managed a smile, though her concern for you was evident in her eyes. She watched as you walked off the field with Daemon, your head held high despite the outcome. Alicent, sitting beside her, glanced at Rhaenyra and saw the worry that lingered beneath her composed exterior.

"Are you all right?" Alicent asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Rhaenyra nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave you. "I’m fine. It’s just… seeing him fall like that…"

Alicent placed a reassuring hand on Rhaenyra’s arm. "He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He’s always been strong. And you saw how he got back up. That’s what matters."

Rhaenyra finally tore her gaze away from the field to look at Alicent, offering her a grateful smile. "You’re right. He’s strong." But even as she said it, the image of you lying in the dirt lingered in her mind, a reminder of how much she cared for you, and how much she feared losing you.

As you and Daemon made your way off the field, the crowd continued to cheer, the happenings of the day’s events leaving everyone in high spirits. You may not have won the final tilt, but the respect you had earned was clear in the cheers and the admiring glances from the crowd.

Daemon, ever the warrior, clapped you on the back once more as you both approached the edge of the field. "Come, let’s find a drink and enjoy the rest of the day. You’ve earned it, and so have I."

You nodded, the tension of the tilt finally starting to ease as the prospect of celebrating with your uncle and the rest of your family took hold. "Lead the way, Uncle."

As the two of you walked off the field, the weight of the day’s events still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Though the final victory had eluded you, you had proven yourself today, not just to the court, but to your family. And in the end, that was worth more than any trophy or title.

Jugglers, dancers, and bards filled the air with music and laughter, while the smell of roasted meats and sweet treats wafted through the air. The day had been filled with adrenaline, and now, as evening approached, the court gathered for the grand feast that would conclude the festivities.

Inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep, long tables were laden with platters of food, and goblets of wine flowed freely. The room was alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware, the high vaulted ceilings amplifying the sounds of celebration. The lords and ladies of the realm, dressed in their finest, mingled and conversed, their faces flushed with the warmth of the firelight and the effects of the wine.

You found yourself seated at a table near the head of the hall, surrounded by some of the most powerful figures in the realm. To your right was Lord Tayland Lannister, his golden hair and fine clothes a clear testament to the wealth and influence of his house. Across from you sat Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, his eyes sharp and calculating as he sipped from his goblet, his mind clearly at work even amidst the festivities.

"Your accomplishments in Dorne have become the talk of the realm, my prince," Tayland said, his tone filled with admiration. "It's no small feat to have secured our borders against the Dornish. Your leadership has brought peace to lands that have known only strife for too long."

You inclined your head in thanks, though you remained humble in your response. "The credit belongs to the men who fought beside me, and to Silverwing. She was the true force that kept the Dornish at bay."

Lord Corlys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. "Don't sell yourself short, my prince. It takes more than just a dragon to win a war; it takes a leader who can command respect and inspire loyalty. You've shown that you have the makings of a true king."

You nodded, acknowledging his words. "I appreciate the compliment, Lord Corlys. But the work is never done. The realm is vast, and there are always new challenges to face."

A flicker of something passed through Corlys's eyes—perhaps ambition or a calculated desire. He chose his next words carefully. "Speaking of challenges, the situation in the Stepstones remains unresolved. The Triarchy grows bolder with each passing day, and their presence in those waters threatens the safety of our trade routes. The realm cannot afford to ignore this any longer."

Tayland Lannister nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The Sea Snake is right. The Stepstones are a vital passage for trade, and the Triarchy's control over them is a serious threat. The crown would do well to consider taking decisive action."

Corlys seized the moment, his tone subtle but insistent. "A leader of your experience and skill, my prince, could make all the difference in securing those waters for the realm. With your influence, perhaps the crown might be persuaded to take a more active role in the conflict."

It was clear what Corlys was suggesting—he wanted you to influence your father, King Viserys, to commit to a campaign in the Stepstones. The thought lingered in your mind, but you were well aware of the delicate nature of such matters. Viserys had been reluctant to engage in another conflict, especially after the long campaign in Dorne. He was a man who valued peace, and while he respected the needs of the realm, he was not easily swayed into war.

Before you could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a different sort of commotion. A group of lords, eager to ingratiate themselves with the crown, approached your father, each of them accompanied by their daughters, who were of marriageable age. They vied for Viserys's attention, each one eager to present their daughter as a potential bride for you.

"My daughter, Lady Elinor, is as wise as she is beautiful, Your Grace," one lord said, his voice oozing with pride. "She would make a fine match for the prince."

"Lady Alisanne is skilled in all the noble arts, Your Grace. She is well-versed in history, languages, and music," another lord chimed in, his daughter standing demurely beside him.

Viserys smiled politely, listening to their propositions, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He had waited years for this moment, to have his son by his side once more, and he was determined to enjoy the evening without being burdened by matters of marriage and alliances. He responded with a noncommittal nod, offering a few kind words but making no promises.

As the lords continued their attempts to press the matter, Otto Hightower, ever the strategist, nudged his daughter Alicent, who was seated beside him. He leaned in close, his voice low but firm. "Alicent, you should seize this moment. The prince is listening to all these offers, and if you wish to catch his attention, now is the time."

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering to where you were seated, engaged in conversation with Tayland and Corlys. She knew what her father was suggesting—she had seen the way the other ladies had looked at you during the tourney, the way they whispered among themselves, hoping to catch your eye. But before she could muster the courage to act, someone else stepped forward.

Rhaenyra, who had been watching the proceedings from a distance, sensed the moment and made her move. She approached you with a confident stride, her presence commanding immediate attention. The lords and ladies around you parted, making way for the princess as she reached your side.

"Brother," Rhaenyra said, her voice warm and filled with affection, "I've been looking for you. Surely you don't intend to spend the entire evening in conversation with the lords?"

You turned to her, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of your sister. "Of course not, Rhaenyra. I wouldn't miss the chance to spend time with you on a day like this."

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at the lords who had been vying for your attention. "I thought you might be in need of rescue," she teased, her voice carrying just enough playful humor to defuse the tension.

The lords who had been pressing their daughters as potential brides exchanged glances, recognizing that the moment had passed. With polite bows and murmured excuses, they withdrew, leaving you and Rhaenyra standing together. Viserys watched the exchange with a smile, pleased to see his children together, the connection between them as strong as ever.

Alicent, who had been about to rise from her seat, hesitated and then sat back down, her expression unreadable. Otto frowned slightly, but said nothing, his mind already working on another approach.

[thepalewolfhowls]

(I haven't written in a long time and I don't think I can write long pieces anymore, but I hope its enjoyable, at least! Always looking for feedback and I'll likely revise more before putting everything together!)

Art by the fantastic @teallinum!

Wandermere, Northern Elwynn - 10pm

Golden lights danced in the dimly lit room, small hung braziers glowing warmly against the sandy, gilded walls.  The air smelled of jasmine and dragon’s blood and the smoke wafting from the censers intermingled with the hazy flow from the hookahs nestled around the room.  In some aspects, one might see this as a gathering of powers across Azeroth.

Chieftain Thrall and his mate, Aggra, curled up together next to Lady Proudmoore and the Blue Aspect, Kalegos.  Each one wore a specially tailored silk robe akin to the garb they normally donned.  While the four kept in quiet conversation, smiles crossing their faces, there were more somber folks in attendance.

Monte Gazlowe, recently returned from the chaos of Undermine, talked only of business to his ruby-haired companion, the host of this particular little party.  A woman with violet eyes, typically full of mirth, was melancholic as they toasted lost friends.

One guest, however, strayed away from the group, quietly nursing a hookah of his own in the back corner of the room.  The formerly lost King of Stormwind laid back against the cool sheets of a plush bed, drawing in a deep pull before letting the smoke billow over his head.  He seemed content, at least, if not a little lonely.

Perhaps that’s why she made the call.

Gazlowe’s business partner was more than such, and the half-elf couldn’t bear to see the king isolating himself even after reconnecting with his friends.  Maybe it was the intimacy of the situation?  A warm, cozy room, everyone draped in expensive robes and lounging about the various settings…It must seem quite foreign to him.

The woman excused herself for a moment, sending a servant for more tea and stepping out of the room to place a call over a communications device.  It was only a few minutes before a portal opened nearby, and she was, truthfully, surprised he’d taken so long.

From the arcane glow stepped the Black Prince, dashing as always, though looking a bit caught off guard to those who knew him.  She explained the situation, and he changed his attire in a puff of smoke to match the robes of the others in the room, though he’d held them shut with his hand rather than a tie, tucking his arm across his torso as the pair made their way into the room.

The quartet of leaders regarded him softly, with only Kalegos rising to meet him as they spoke in hushed voices.  Even so, the Blue dragon could see his young friend’s gaze catching onto the reason he was there.  As he returned to the group, Wrathion crossed the room, realizing he had no idea what to say to his long lost friend.

Anduin hadn’t seemed to notice, or was too lost in thought to pay a newcomer any mind.  Which suited the Black dragon just fine.  It was easier to fall into conversation when he caught the other unaware.

Only when the hookah pipe was taken from his hand and the weight on the bed shifted did the king open his eyes.  And from the looks of them, Wrathion had been the last person he’d expected to see.

The younger man couldn’t help the coy smirk which curled itself into his lips, gazing down at the shocked blond with a playfully fond look.  It was a moment before either of them spoke, the dragon’s fiery eyes taking in the other man’s rough appearance.  Blue eyes, conversely, seemed to be calculating whether or not he was real.

Warm, tender notes passed between them as the darker man finally spoke.

“It’s been too long…old friend.”

[locuas642]

Legend of Vox Machina

OKAY. Draconia.

Okay, for those who do not know about Tiberius know the player was expelled from the show early on, and if you are curious as to the details please go read this, I am acknowledging this happened just for the sake of talking about the adaptation and I dont want to just bring up drama for the sake of it.

Okay so. To recap, in the original stream, there was a character, the Dragonborn Sorcerer Tiberius Stormwind who was part of Vox Machina, whose player was expelled from the show in the middle of the Briarwood story-arc. His backstory is that he was a prince from the kingdom of Draconia, a flying city ruled by Dragonborns in search for magical items but, once his player left, Matt sent him on his way to do his things.

In the original Chroma Conclave saga, when Vox Machina meets the sphynx Osysa to find a way to defeat the Chroma Conclave she... reveals Draconia was destroyed by the Chroma Conclave. Many episodes later we learn that the ruins of Draconia had become Vorugal's turf, and the party decides to scout the area which comes with a series of revelations.

Draconia, we learn... wasn't as nice a place as Tiberius believed. They had a class divide between Tailed Dragonborns and Tail-less Dragonborns, with the later being oppressed by the former. so the now freed Tail-less dragonborns living in huts, had welcomed Vorugal and the freedom he had brought initially, but they were willing to ally themselves with Vox Machina to get rid of him.

But the most important part is that the party discovers... Tiberius is dead.

The last appearence of Tiberius in the show, is as a frozen corpse the result of his battle against the Chroma Conclave. And the party decides to give him a funeral.

And it's an emotive scene. Regardless of the player being toxic, this was a character the rest of the cast had grown attached to since before the streams began. not the least that due to Orion Acaba no longer being welcome, this was as final a death as you could get.

And it was something that would be impossible for the animated series to adapt, since neither the show nor the fandom would ever want Orion Acaba anywhere near the project. There are people who legit still Love Tiberius, but who would throw up at the thought of that happening.

So here we have the best next thing the show could have: a new character in the form of Dohla who is legally distinct from him, her backstory is changed a lot and Draconia is altered to still exist in this version.

Because you know, the emotional connection to the place is no longer here. And instead we have Dohla sell everyone to Vorugal both because of wanting to save her people, but also because she was jealous and hurt by Kima and Allura.

This is to say, I absolutely loved that the show decided to have the Not!Tiberius Expy be mauled by Vorugal for finding her annoying

[renaultmograine]

I like that you can ask Dezco why don't we just murder the Prince of Stormwind as if you didn't unquestioningly catch venemous eels with your bare hands because Anduin politely asked you to that same expansion.

[commanderbragh]

Diplomatic Mission

February Daily Writing Challenge 2025

Day 5: Undersea

“And stay off my ship!”

Volute the imp went flying through the air. Helooked back to see the deck of the ship that he’d just been so unceremoniously removed from. Before he could say anything though, he crashed into the water with a fiery splash.

Voltuk kicked to the surface and looked around. Water didn’t hurt him so much, but he did find it an unpleasant sensation to not be able to touch the ground. He looked back at the docked boat and considered going back to continue his discussion with the captain about boiled fish. But ultimately the imp decided against it. 

“Probably just wants to eat it raw, anyways.”

Voltuk started kicking towards the docks. He’d always loved that Stormwind had one of these. Maybe one day I can convince my human to make one of these at his home, the imp thought to himself. Seeing all the workers moving about in the central areas of the docks, Voltuk decided to swim to the side where there were fewer people. Just as he pulled himself out of the water, two men appeared with fishing rods.

“Whoa! Who are you?” the first man exclaimed.

“What are you?” the second added.

“I’m Voltuk, a naga prince.”

“No you aren’t!”

“There aren’t any naga in Stormwind!”

“Sure I am. Didn’t you see me come up from there?”

“From where?”

“The undersea. It’s like the overland but better. It’s also wetter. You can just take it from me.”

“Why are you here?” the first fisherman asked skeptically. 

“I’m on a dip.. diplo… I’m here to talk with the humans. Even brought a feast to share.”

“A feast?” the second man repeated. “Where?”

“Oh it’s right over here,” Voltuk said, pointing to the water behind him. “Come see.”

The two men moved to the edge of the dock. “Where is it?”

“Look right down there.”

The two fishermen leaned over and peered below. Suddenly, a ball of fire appeared and flew straight down at the water. When it made contact, the surface exploded upwards, drenching the two. They sputtered as water rained down around them, and turned to face Voltuk, but the imp was gone. Above the sound of the waves, they could hear his voice echoing.

“Suckers.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[saltuary]

VERSES .

⪼ verse — the tower and the river

canon . A boy of Gondor, born to white stone and endless sky. His childhood passes between the stern halls of the Steward’s House and the wild gardens of Minas Tirith. From the high places he watches the river bend to the sea, and mourns his mother. He loves his brother Boromir with a fierce, silent devotion, even as their father’s favour falls like a blade. In the twilight of Gondor’s strength, Faramir grows – solemn-eyed, soft-spoken, kind beyond reason.

⪼ verse — among the shadows

canon . Faramir comes of age under gathering storm clouds. He bears sword and bow for Gondor, yet it is not in battle alone that he shines. From Gandalf he learns the hidden ways of wisdom – the worth of mercy, the power of hope. In the woods of Ithilien, among broken statues and ancient trees, he wages a gentler war, guarding the last green spaces of a dying world.

⪼ verse — i would not take this thing

canon . Deep in Ithilien, Faramir encounters Frodo Baggins, ring-bearer and unwilling herald of doom. The choice lies before him: seize the weapon that could save his city, win his father’s love at last, or let it pass beyond his reach. In the heart of ruin, Faramir chooses honour over power. He lays bare his soul, refusing the Ring, and earns no triumph for it, only silence. He returns to Minas Tirith a captain unsung, burdened by loss and his father’s continued scorn.

⪼ verse — the houses of healing

canon . Gravely wounded in the defence of Osgiliath, Faramir is dragged back to the White City, a broken standard in a broken war. In his fever-dreams he sees the ruin of Gondor, the long decline brought to its bitter end. His father, consumed by madness, would burn them both alive – but Faramir is saved from the flames by strangers and fate. In the Houses of Healing he meets Éowyn, a white flower bent by stormwinds, and between them stirs a deep and wordless recognition.

⪼ verse — prince of the green country

canon . After Sauron’s fall, as the King returns and Gondor rises from ash, Faramir is named Prince of Ithilien. With Éowyn at his side, he turns from war to renewal, from ruin to garden. In the woods and fields long shadowed by death, he plants seeds and builds havens, breathing life into the land. His house becomes a beacon, a living memory of what Gondor might yet become – not a kingdom of stone and sword alone, but of song, mercy, and green growing things.

⪼ verse — the last warden

canon . In time, Faramir’s hair silvered like the mists of Anduin, and the gardens he planted grew tall and wild. He walked often among the trees of Ithilien, hand in hand with Éowyn, speaking little, content to listen to the wind and the birds. When at last he passed beyond the circles of the world, it was not with fear, but as a steward laying down his charge at journey’s end.

⪼ verse — songs for quiet fields

modern . Faramir lives in a somewhat shabby but much-loved Victorian home near the old park gates, in a neighbourhood thick with pigeons and ivy. He keeps odd hours, drinks too much tea, and knows every wild path through the woodland. Sometimes, he has strange visions, some of which prove prophetic. He writes them down in a journal he never shows anyone. His career can vary, depending on what offers the most scope for plotting: he’s either a soft-spoken vet who never turns away an animal, a burns specialist in the city hospital, a university librarian with a side interest in folklore, a firefighter or a park ranger.

⪼ verse — between root and star

stardew valley . Faramir lives at the ranger’s post deep in Cindersap Forest. In spring, he sells herbs and wild honey. In autumn, preserves. He breeds horses with calm temperaments, trains them gently, and sells only when the match feels right. The mines call to him sometimes – not for gold, but to clear the shadows and reclaim what light he can. The villagers call him gentle, quiet, old-fashioned. Sometimes he disappears for days.

⪼ verse — wisdom in the wound

bloodborne . Once a scholar of healing and philosophy, Faramir turned hunter. He walks Yharnam’s streets with a hunter’s grace but a scholar’s sorrow, drawn to the Choir’s old libraries, the cloisters, the hidden archives of Byrgenwerth. He takes no pleasure in the hunt, but will do what must be done. His attire is modest and scorched. In the Orphanage, the children call him Gentle Fara. He reads to them between nights of blood and fire.

[dawnstorms]

ON THE THALASSIAN 'PRIESTHOOD'

(NAMELY: THOSE MAGISTERS WHICH HUMANS ASSUME TO BE PRIESTS, BUT WHICH ARE GENERALLY NOT)

Priests are most commonly utilized within Quel'thalas for their skills with mind-affecting magics. The city guardsmen often call upon them to soothe agitated crowds, disperse riots and other such violent gatherings peacefully rather than to permit harm done to any of our own kind or even our allies, and to sense the minds and intentions of those who would do Quel'thalas or its people harm, even if the intruding bodies are hidden from the watchful eyes of the guardians. (Source: [1] [2] Additionally, as another fun OOC note before we get started, Blood Elf priests are the only ones that start with a dagger in the entire game, not counting Allied Races that are obviously related to them such as Nightborne or Ren'dorei, who I admit I haven't checked on.)

Necessitating special delineation and discussion more than any other is perhaps the "priesthood" of the Sunfury Spire, as it was so named by the heavily theocratic Humans of Stormwind after their introduction to Silvermoon City some few years past and is even still so called abroad. To be brief, in the interests of education: though some magi study schools of magic and spellwork which may resemble--or even be genuinely originating from and/or identical to--the "holy" magics of other, foreign religions, these magi are not necessarily priests of those religions. The converse is also true. Most religious Sin'dorei are found among these ranks, and are in fact welcomed despite the generally secular nature of both Sin'dorei society and the Sunfury Spire, as their perspectives on and knowledge of these magics provide what would otherwise be missing or inaccurate information to the Spire and its archives. 

Some mages study what humans and other magic-users think of as divine or divine-adjacent magic. A significant minority of these mages are also genuine practitioners of one religion or another, ie. being literal 'priests' in the wider Azerothian sense. The remaining majority are magi or Magisters, not priests, and simply specialize in the relevant magical field of study. 

With that thusly established, in the Thalassian language as well as in terms of the organization of the Spire, those mages who do choose to specialize in these 'holy' schools of magic--particularly those who are explicitly not pursuing the rank of Magister/Magistrix but who instead study, labor, and otherwise contribute to the Spire without this total and explicit denial of the self in service of their country--are often given the title 'Priest' once they complete their education and join the ranks of their peers in labor. This title is nearly exclusively for male practitioners, with only few exceptions; female mages who pursue these arts are often given the title 'Matron'. Priests and Matrons are the relative equivalent of Magisters and Magistrixes, but with respect paid to their unique needs both in terms of education and potential personal beliefs, which might conflict with the oaths taken by Magi and thus explains their nearly complete non-existence within those ranks. Notable is the fact that the Matrons have historically always been at the head of the order, while priests tend to be mid- and high-level aides and state actors.

Priests and Matrons are also utilized more heavily by the Spire within Quel'thalas than their relative equals among the Magi, who are much more commonly either deployed without our great nation or else are sequestered in research facilities in its service. As priests' skillsets and magical knowledge were comparatively quite rare among the populace of Quel'thalas even before the Razing, and as they obviously so remain now in light of their added indispensability in both restraining the Naaru--and with great deference paid from this humble author to the Priests and Matrons whose knowledge and research was the only reason that His Most Radiant Highness, Prince Kael'thas, was able to make his own breakthrough in terms of the nature, control, and containment of these powerful creatures--their small but crucial order of mages forms the backbone of both Silvermoon's peacekeeping force. They are also healers alongside our more conventional military units, researchers aiding the Magi as well as even Horde druids and alchemists in everything from plagues and warfare to healing the Dead Scar, and can even be clandestine operatives abroad. 

Not to be understated is the priests' philosophical, literary, and even spiritual contribution to our great society: far be it from even the Sun-King to judge what an individual believes or finds comfort in, so long as it does not lead them to act against the homeland that had loved them so unquestioningly and supported them so generously, and so some religious priests do indeed lead sermons for even the most niche of spiritualities within the Spire. Many of our greatest philosophers throughout history have been spiritual leaders, from ancient Sun-worshippers to the liberal-minded few who took up the Human worship of the Light. Affecting our society and vaunted by our learned even today is the aggregate collection of philosophical, moral, and societal literature written by the Elune-worshipping Highborne magi and poets of old, who had themselves the intentions of guiding their own people just as the Magisters do for us today.

It is also through the efforts of the priesthood that the Sin'dorei have found common ground with, and achieved diplomatic successes among, not only those traitorous thieves we once forged with our own Alliance--which they have now stolen from us, having judged that our secrets and knowledge and compassion and land were all not enough, in true human fashion--but perhaps even moreso among our new allies within the Horde.

Darkspear diplomats even begin disclose to us now the nature of their barbarian but fascinating and previously undocumented beliefs, and in turn arm us well against the Amani through our mutually shared disdain for those cannibalistic invaders whose society is apparently even beneath the Darkspears' own slightly more advanced one. All of this would never have been discovered had we not reached out the hand of friendship through spirituality. Forsaken cultists of Shadow and Sin'dorei students of its power find great community between one another, and the Lightslayers of the Undercity have found great boons in both our knowledge of holy magic, doctrine, and particularly Stormwind beliefs as well as our ability to wield the magic now denied to even they who had been most devout in life.

The Tauren find agreeable our botanists and Sun priests, and begin to consort with our botanists in hopes of teaching them their own fascinating belief system surrounding druidism. The Spire hopes strongly that in time we will master their artform so as to improve upon it as our own and thus might even heal our torn lands; this goal the Tauren diplomats have already expressed interest in sharing, again as a consequence of our priesthoods' willingness to embrace the foreign, strange, and even the nonsensically barbaric. Even the Orcish shamans find our harmony with our land and its spirits to be worthy of study and perhaps can even be led to emulation.

The Horde's cultures may be undeveloped by some reckonings, and though this author humbly recuses himself from further such commentary by virtue of having failed his freshman anthropology courses twice, one may find it more suitable to conclude with the reckoning of the priesthood itself: 

"In undergoing this [generally speaking 'pre-societal' period of cultural development], the Horde at large is ripe for mutual education, societal cultivation and guidance as we might our own gardens, and in time may even be capable of establishing the long-term bonds and alliances which our people--Sin'dorei being generous, open to both teaching and learning, and generally communal by our basemost natures--so crave: ties of true friendship and even that of family, in that siblings are each vastly different but beloved by each other for it. 

These ties, if properly built and maintained in the way of our forefathers rather than those of mortal hands, can not be so easily broken as was the shallow bond that had been forged and destroyed with equal haste by the fecklessly impatient thrashing of other mortals that had thought themselves the masters of their planet. This time, we will not quietly await their realization of their hubris, but instead shall... correct them."

- Matron Ael'thissa

[ladypurplejanewrynn]

The Mother’s Day

(Author’s note: I know Mother’s Day was a few days ago. I started this earlier but unfortunately had writer’s block. Anyway, I hope you still can enjoy this short fic)

Anduin was walking around Stormwind city, holding both of his children by the hands. Prince Bolvar was already 8 years old and his younger sister, Princess Riona was 4. Today was an important day, the Mother’s Day. The two siblings wanted to get a gift for their mother on this special occasion, and their father came to help them find it beside being there to look out for them. Earlier, they told Purplejane to not come with them, as they wanted to share some father-children moments. So the Queen stayed in the Keep and looked for something to get herself busy with.

Meanwhile, the kids along with their father stormed around the city, checking out every shop. However they seemed troubled with finding her a gift. It had to be special. Not the first best thing that catches their eyes. "Finding a gift for mom is quite a challenge" said the young Prince Bolvar. Anduin giggled:"Well, you’re not wrong. Seeing so many incredible stuff, is quite hard to choose something for her." Both of the children glanced at their father. "Is not just that. The gift for mama has to be special. We want mama to be happy" said Riona. Anduin kneeled up in front of his daughter, gently smiling at her:"And she will be. No matter what you two are going to choose, I’m sure she’s gonna love it."

"And what if she doesn’t like it?" a sad face appearing on the little Princess’s face. "Yeah. What if mom won’t be happy with the gift?" Bolvar joined in. The King then embraced his children in a tight hug:"Oh, I’m sure she will be. She loves the two of you dearly. And the fact that you two remembered will matter to her more. She will know you’ve put all your efforts and love with choosing a gift." The two children cheered up. "Right. You are right dad" replied Bolvar. "You know mommy so well, daddy. It shows how much you love her" Riona giggled. Anduin chuckled slightly:"Well then. Shall we continue our "trip" you two?" The siblings grabbed their father by the hands and the three continued their little quest.

As they checked more shops on the way, they found lots of things that they could buy for their mother. The problem was that they couldn’t decide which one of those things to choose. So many choices to choose from. They couldn’t also buy everything at once as it would be way too much. All three made a small stop at a book store. Anduin was curious they added some new books he’d be interested in. While looking around, the two siblings got their attention picked by one of them. "Legends and Myths" the title of the book indicated. Riona immediately took the book in her hands and ran up to Anduin. "Riona, wait!" exclaimed Bolvar, chasing after his little sister. "Ugh, the little gremlin. How does she even run so fast?" The young Prince thought. As the Princess got close to her parent, she showed him the book. "Daddy, do you think this book would do? Do you think mommy would like it?" She showed the book to Anduin with enthusiasm in her voice.

"Mind if I take a look at it honey?" Anduin asked. Riona immediately handed him the book in his hands. The King inspected the book closely, a warm smile appearing o his face. "This should definitely do. Knowing your mother, she will be delighted. She loves these kind of books. Well, she enjoys many types of books." He replied. Bolvar joined them:"Geez. Riona I told you to wait for me." "Bolvar! Daddy says this book should be of mommy’s liking. Can we get it for her as the gift for Mother’s Day?" the young Princess asked. The boy thought for a moment. "You know that’s not a bad idea. And we could also get that bracelet with an amethyst we saw at the Jewelry Store earlier. It would fit mom so well. Especially with that new dress she got some months ago." The Prince replied. "Hmmmm… Okay" Riona agreed without hesitation.

Anduin smiled at his children coming to an agreement:"That’s an excellent idea. Your mother will be delighted." After they bought the gift, they returned to Stormwind Keep. The kids went to get the gift ready, while Anduin asked Purplejane to come with him. "You certainly took quite some time with the walk. Is there something I should know about, dear?" The Queen giggled. Anduin gave her a gentle and yet a mysterious smile:"Just come with me, and you’ll see it. You won’t be disappointed." Purplejane looked at her husband with curiosity. "I wonder what he and the kids are hiding." She thought, following Anduin to their children’s room. As they arrived, Anduin knocked at the door:"Bolvar. Riona. Are you two ready?" As the door opened, the royal couple saw both of their children in front of them, holding something behind their back together. Then the siblings handed the gift to Purplejane:"Happy Mother’s Day, mom."

The Queen was pleasantly surprised as she took the gift in her hands. "What are you waiting for? Open it. Mommy, open it." Riona said in excitement. Purplejane gently unwrapped the ribbon and opened the box, seeing a book and a beautiful bracelet. Tears of enjoy escaped her eyes and she hugged her children:"Oh my, these are amazing. You remembered." Bolvar and Riona hugged their mother tightly as well. "So, do you like the gift, mom?" The young Prince asked. Purplejane widened her eyes:"Like it? I love it! I really appreciate the thought you put into it. I’m so glad to have such thoughtful and kind kids." "If not for dad’s help, we would probably still run around looking for a gift" Bolvar turned around to face Anduin. The King chuckled:"No. You didn’t really need my assistance that much. In the end you two agreed on the gift." Riona ran up to Anduin for a hug:"But you still helped, daddy. That’s already enough." That caused Anduin’s smile to widen some more. After handing the gift, Bolvar and Riona went to play with their toys. Purplejane got the bracelet on her left wrist. She got closer to Anduin, placing a small kiss on his cheek:"Thank you, for being there for the kids. You are the father, they look up to and that they deserve." The King smiled warmly at her and got his wife into an embrace in his arms:"Oh please. You would do the same for them."

[khadgarbignaturals]

Ohh, we're doing lore questions, sweet! Can you give a timeline or something for when all the different elves came to be? There's so many running around I'm so confused

elf lore is really complicated but im gonna try to simplify it.

a fuckin really long time ago a bunch of dark trolls left the zandalari empire and settled next to the well of eternity. after a while, the magic of the well transforms them into the highborne, lead by queen azshara.

post sundering, the remaining highborne went off to live in kalimdor. a group of highborne that were indirectly responsible for the sundering were exiled by the other elves. they took a portion of the well of eternity to what is now the eastern kingdoms and created the sunwell, becoming the high elves.

much later, the sunwell was corrupted by arthas and most of the high elves were killed, including the king of the high elves. the prince, now king, kael'thas taught his people how to use fel magic to treat the magic withdrawals from the sunwell being corrupted and they start calling themselves blood elves. a small portion of high elves leave and join the alliance in stormwind.

back to post-sundering. the remaining highborne (now night elves) lead by tyrande whisperwind and malfurion stormrage grew a world tree (nordrassil) and lived there for a while. nordrassil was destroyed by the burning legion, so a guy took a seed and some well of eternity water and grew a new one (teldrassil) so the night elves move there. in bfa, warchief sylvanas windrunner destroys teldrassil, leaving the night elves without a home but now in dragonflight we are getting them a new tree to live on (amirdrassil). heres hoping this one doesnt get destroyed

nightborne are a group of highborne living in suramar that sealed themselves in a protective barrier for 10,000 years after the sundering. we find them again in legion and stop the burning legion from using the nightwell's (nightborne's version of the sunwell) power. we also kill their queen and now thalyssra leads them.

void elves are a group of blood elves who were exiled from silvermoon for researching void magic. they were transformed into ethereals but alleria windrunner (who was also void corrputed but could control it) taught them to control the void magic. they join her and subsequently join the alliance.

hhooo i think thats all of the elves. hope this isnt too rambly lol

[jerek]

Wrathion's letter, from the Isle of Aluel to the First Republic of Stormwind

My beloved children of the House of Wrynn,

I have known from the moment I heard a human's heart beat against my shell that a part of myself would always remain with mankind.

I once told your ancestor, dearest Anduin Wrynn himself, that he was too soft to wear his kingdom's crown. You may laugh, yes, but I believed it then. How little I knew of human resilience. How much he had already seen!

What takes many mortals their whole lives to learn about us black dragons is that we are not black for our love of the depths, nor our love of shadow, nor to hide from danger. Black is the planet without its star. Black is the dragon without its Titan. A fire, without the Sun.

Only time can make such beautiful things as stars. And the air passes beneath my scales, same as it passes through your hair, washing it of color before I can blink.

I fear the human part of me is left behind, without its weight on my back.

Please, if it is as turbulent as I hear, may the persecuted of the Republic take their solace on Aluel. My champions are all Azeroth's able hands, and far be it from the Black Prince to fuss over their history.

Aluel shall set for Stormwind Harbor, and arrive on the next full face of the White Lady. Watch for the turtle, my champions, every one.

Regards,

The Black Prince

[scourge-lover]

Strange Behavior

Wrathion thinks Sapphire is weird, even for a human. 

The outcome of the Horde and Alliance conflict did not seem to be any more obvious than it was months ago, which infuriated Wrathion to no end. All this petty violence paled in comparison to the horrors that awaited should the Burning Legion attack. 

Wrathion sat brooding at his reserved table in the corner of the tavern, looking over letters from adventurer’s and from his own spies. He had not eaten all day, but only noticed when his stomach rumbled loudly.

He looked up, determined to get the attention of Tong, the innkeeper, but someone else entirely grabbed Wrathion’s attention. 

She stood in the doorway, bouncing on one food to the other. As she looked around in curiosity, it seemed like she had never been in an inn before. Sapphire, the unique human girl with delicate antlers and deep blue eyes that hinted at her namesake. 

Their eyes met, and Sapphire stood there as if turned to stone. Something about her intrigued Wrathion. He did not know if it was her connection to Prince Stormwind, her strange appearance, or her interesting career choice. Maybe it was her antlers and timid act. Dragons eat deer. No wonder she seemed frightened of him.

Even for a druid, she was strange. Druids usually did not wear pelts of the animals they communed, yet she wore a pelt of a snow leopard over her thin shoulders. Instead of the typical flowers and leaves that druids liked to sport, Sapphire chose other natural things. Her arms and neck sported jewelry made of the bones of small animals.

The little doe had a stronger backbone than she showed, because after a deep breath, she strode over to Wrathion’s table. Left and Right, standing to either side of him, started to get between him and the girl, but Wrathion raised one hand. 

“She’s a friend of Anduin’s,” He said to them, then addressed Sapphire directly.

“How can I help you, Lady Sapphire?”

Sapphire blinked at the sudden honorific. The last time they spoke, Wrathion had compared her to venison. He had not meant to insult her, but merely to rouse up Anduin. He enjoyed getting Anduin riled up over the smallest of things. The Prince could argue for hours and it was vastly entertaining.

The girl then reached for her leather pack and pulled it over her shoulder. Left and Right both looked suspicious and started for their weapons when Sapphire proceeded to overturn her bag onto Wrathion’s table, including his many correspondences. 

A plethora of random food fell out of the bag. Wrathion recoiled in shock. Scavenged berries, roots, leaves, sticks, and even *rocks* scattered over the table. Even more so, a dead squirrel missing a head thumped onto the table. Blood oozed over a report. Left was not fazed, but Right curled her lip up in disgust. 

“Huh.” That was the only way Wrathion could react at this surprising turn of events.

Sapphire smiled, showing off teeth that appeared sharper than a human should have. “I noticed you hadn’t eaten all day. I don’t know what black dragons eat so I got you a bit of everything.”

Left picked up one of the rocks, raising one of her eyebrows. Wrathion still was shocked by this behavior, and Sapphire seemingly could sense it. Her face turned bright red. Without another word, she turned and fled. Again, like a deer she lithely sprinted up the stairs to her room.

Wrathion delicately picked up the dead squirrel with two of his fingers. He glanced over at Right.

“I might be young and inexperienced, but am I correct that was not normal human behavior?”

Right gave Wrathion a serious look. “I have to be completely honest. I am not entirely sure that girl is a human at all, my Prince.”

That was not a joke. Appearances were often deceiving. Wrathion was a walking example of that. Wrathion found a clean sheet of paper and wrote to one of his more talented Black Talon agents. He needed more information on “Lady Sapphire.” 

Some of the berries were blackberries, which were Wrathion’s favorite. He picked them out from the twigs and leaves. He was hungry after all. 

[lothirielswan]

BLUE MOON [2]

Read BEYOND THE STARS on AO3.

QUEST OBJECTIVE: Open the door.

Eona and Anduin broke apart. Varian Wrynn’s booming voice came from the other side of the double doors. A shiver ran through Eona’s body as she sprinted off the bed, looking around Anduin’s quarters awash in gold from the hearth. Everything was bright, illuminated. There weren't many shadows to hide in. And even if there were, Varian Wrynn wasn't an idiot. 

“Can you keep to the shadows?” Anduin whispered even as he stood inches away from her. His hands squeezed her shoulders.

“I’m not stealthing with your father in the room! He hunts — his bestie is Valeera Sanguinar!” Eona hissed. No. Hiding wasn't an option. Because if she was found…

“Anduin!” Varian called again, followed by two pounds of his fist against the door. The oak shuddered from the hit. 

Eona shot another glance at Anduin. She realized that his clothes were ever so slightly wrinkled. On anyone else, it wouldn't matter. But on a prince as regal and refined as Anduin, it was a bright red flag. And he still hasn't answered the door. That screams suspicious.  

Eona sighed. “Answer the door.”

“What?” Color had completely fled Anduin’s cheeks. 

“Go see him,” said Eona. 

Anduin didn't just lose his redness; his face paled, his expression nearly sickened, as if a plague was on the other side of the door. His fear easily summoned her own. She clenched her fists to avoid the tremors that racked her body. 

Anduin turned away from her and walked towards the entrance. 

Breath rushed past Eona’s lips as she snapped her eyes shut. She focused on her skin, like it was its own appendage — like an eye that could be opened or closed, a fist that could unfurl. 

The door groaned as it opened. 

“Yes?” said Anduin. He held one of the two doors halfway open, only revealing himself. 

There was a pause on the other side. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” 

“You look nervous,” said Varian.

“It’s called introvertism. You wished to discuss something with me? I could hear the urgency in your tone,” said Anduin.

For a moment, Eona listened to the silence. She felt her heartbeat in her palms. The steam had receded from her form, leaving her scalp awkwardly warm with humidity. 

“...It can wait.” The door was pushed open wide as the hulking king shouldered past his son, and into the room. 

Varian Wrynn was intimidating without the title of king. His physique could've been mistaken for a giant bear. Even in the plain attire of a linen shirt and trousers, the fabric seemed exhausted and taut from the muscle underneath. 

A messy, brown bun bounced on his head as Varian entered the room. As soon as his narrowed eyes fell upon Eona, his hair — along with the rest of him — froze. 

It was the bronze dragon, Chromie, who taught Eona how to change forms. Eona couldn't achieve dragon form (and probably never would), but dragons had the ability to warp their humanoid forms. A simple transformation from half-elf to human was uncomfortable, but doable. 

Sweat slickened Eona’s palms as she clasped them in front of her. It was difficult to tell whether Varian’s wordless gaze or the heat of changing forms was the cause. Turnip-pink skin turned a warm brown. Brown curls ending in rose-gold tips replaced straight, red hair. 

Eona would have to face Varian Wrynn eventually. Now that the moment finally came, she felt a little safer appearing as a human — even if it was a farce. It's one thing to walk in on Anduin with a human girl. It's another if he sees what I truly am: a member of the Horde. A sin’dorei. 

“Hi,” said Varian.

Eona waved at him, hoping the gesture — and the rest of her — appeared friendly and harmless. “Hi.” 

Varian looked back at Anduin. He was still at the door; he hadn't moved an inch. One would’ve mistaken him for a statue if it weren't for the blood that had rushed back to his face. Two Stormwind guards stationed outside peeked in, too, gaping beneath their helmets. 

Varian pointed at Eona. “Who’s this?” 

“Leaving?” Eona offered. She stepped back. Varian’s head snapped towards the movement, like a wolf regarding a rabbit. She stopped. 

“Good answer,” said Varian. “You must be the one who’s been giving our night watch such a workout.”

“Yep. That’s me,” she said. Eona didn't want to lie to him. It felt better to be truthful; Varian could’ve easily thrown her across the room with two fingers, and Eona didn't forget his strength, even when he stood so casually before her. 

She tried smiling. Weirdly enough, Varian smiled back at her.

“So, what do you have against doors?” Varian absently scratched at the large, messy bun on his head. 

“They’re, uh…a little crowded,” said Eona. She glanced back at Anduin. A servant had joined the two guards ogling the scene from the door. All three stared with the rapt attention of opera attendees.

Varian followed her gaze. The small party scattered with awkward coughs.

“You’re right. They are crowded,” said Varian. 

Anduin closed the door. Tension thickened the air when he did so. Eona felt more on edge without an audience, somehow. 

Anduin cleared his throat, “Father, I —”

Varian cut him off. “She seems fun.” 

Eona smiled a little wider. She had been aiming for please don't kill me , but fun was a pleasant surprise. 

Varian closed the distance between him and Eona in two strides. His height threw a shadow over her, blocking the golden tendrils of the lit hearth. An oaken spice with a hint of bourbon filled her lungs from his closeness.

“Let’s have a meal together sometime. Bring your father, too,” Varian said.

Eona blinked in surprise. “All right.” 

Varian nodded as if he were satisfied with the answer. He offered a massive, burly hand to Eona. She shook it. His grip was strong, but he didn't crush her fingers. Eona didn't use all of her strength, but enough so he could feel her presence. 

Varian’s brow rose before they broke apart, but he made no comment. 

The King of the Alliance turned away, and retreated to the door. As he did so, he clapped Anduin on the shoulder, “Raising you is a joy.”

“I’m so glad it pleases you,” said Anduin starkly. 

Varian paused at the doorway. His hand engulfed the entire golden knob, like it was a child’s toy in his hands. He tossed one last look at Eona, “You should use these from now on. They’re not that scary.” 

“Thank you. I will keep that in mind,” she said. 

Varian turned the knob. 

A flicker of recognition flashed across Anduin’s face. “Wait, you wished to speak with me —”

Varian shrugged. “There’s always tomorrow, son. Nice meeting you.”

Eona waved. To her delight, the towering king in a messy bun waved back. 

Varian left the room behind, casting a stern look at the guards as he passed. Anduin shut the door behind him, slouching against it. His hands pulled down his face as he processed the encounter. 

Eona dashed over to him. When he slouched, they were eye level. She could easily see the daze he was trapped in; he stared blankly in front of him, but didn't see her in front of him at all. 

“I think that could have gone a lot worse,” she said, fishing for some comment. A sign he was still alive in there. But Anduin didn't speak. 

“Andy?” she tapped his shoulder. No response. “Will I have to resuscitate you —? I know that’s your thing, but I think I’d be great at mouth-to-mouth.” 

When she bit her lip, Anduin stirred, his eyes following her lips. He looked her human form up and down. It wasn't the first time Anduin had seen it — Eona used it for their adventures outside the walls. He wore rags, she wore someone else’s skin, and they became no one together. 

Anduin finally spoke, “So…I suppose you should use the door from now on. Instead of the window.”

Eona patted his shoulder. “Yes. That is exactly what you should take from this conversation.” 

He nodded, looking as if he might slip back into the daze. His hand clasped hers, and squeezed hard. “You shouldn't have had to hide who you are.”

Eona shrugged. “Less questions this way. We can tell him more as we go.”

“He wouldn't have minded you looking like an elf — Valeera’s an old family friend. Father’s never questioned her once.” Anduin had mentioned Valeera Sanguinar in the past. Eona had yet to run into her  — she was relieved that that encounter had been saved for after Varian Wrynn knew of Eona’s existence. 

Eona glanced down. “I don't want to make anything harder for you than it needs to be.” 

It pained her to prolong telling Anduin everything, about who her parents really were, of how she could never walk beside him in the light — but, at least he would be with her. Even if they were always cloaked in shadow.

Anduin’s fingers caressed her chin, guiding her gaze back to his. “We should tell Khadgar, too. If Father wants to meet him.” 

Her heart spasmed. Khadgar was her only family member on Azeroth who didn't know she was dating Anduin Wrynn. She didn't know how he’d take it — she had been hiding the relationship from him for two years. 

Eona lowered her head, letting it rest against Anduin’s chest. “That is going to be one awkward dinner.”

Read BEYOND THE STARS on AO3.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Varian Wrynn snaps under stress at Garrosh Hellscream's trial, and decides to keep Prince Anduin confined to Stormwind, for the sake of his safety. Wrathion follows through on his preparations to break Anduin out. Now irreversably involved in Wrathion's plans and unsure how to proceed safely, Anduin makes the decision to follow him to Draenor.

Author: @bentclaw

Note from submitter: 10/10 fic, amazing warlords of draenor rewrite <3

[characterrevolvingdoors]

@kallecgos Liked my stupid comic of my throuple. So I figured I'd post some old pics and share some information:

Jolianne Marie Waycrest was the adopted daughter of the younger brother of Lord Waycrest in Drustvar. For a majority of her life, she was unaware that her birth parents were none other than Jaina Proudmoore and Arthas Menethil.

For most of her life, she was kept hidden away in Drustvar. She showed immense talent in both combat and harnessing the Light. Though she had no formal training, she's still considered one of the few Kul Tiran paladins.

However when the Fourth War broke out, she left her home in Drustvar, taking up the common name Julie Storm, and joined the war effort. She found herself in Goldshire where she met a priest named Jerek at the Lion's Rest Inn and eventually the two fell in love.

Joli had no idea that her lover was actually Anduin Wrynn, King of Stormwind, in disguise. It wasn't until Anduin had been kidnapped and Joli went into the Shadowlands that she found out this fact.

The reunion was short-lived, however, as Anduin remained in the Maw to give Joli a chance to escape. She swore herself to Bastion and worked to free Anduin and the others. However she didn't find herself alone, as Wrathion, hearing of his friend's abduction, came to the Shadowlands, as well. The pair worked closely and soon there was a spark between them.

Joli, ever the blunt one, insisted that they wait for Anduin to be freed before they see if anything could come from it. Wrathion agreed and once Anduin was freed from the Jailor's grasp and resting in Bastion, he approached Anduin with the idea that the three of them be together. Anduin, who had secretly loved Wrathion for years, agreed. While Anduin officially married Joli in a ceremony presided over by Uther, himself, both were claimed as the Consorts to the Black Prince.

Of course now Anduin has to deal with having not one...but two gremlin spouses who are quite apt at getting into some shenanigans that he normally gets dragged along for.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.