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Melisandre of Asshai
red, and terrible, and red <3
#melisandre#melisandre of asshai#valyrianscrolls#valyrian scrolls#asoiaf art#asoiaf#asoiaf fanart#a song of ice and fire#red priestess#i h8 complimenting myself but i kinda love this one#shes soooo shiny. my otherworldly goddess#didnt color in her necklace/choker thing bc im trying to limit accessories but i couldnt draw her w/out it bc like. im p sure her appearanc#would not be the same if she wasnt wearing it? perhaps?
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acotar & asoiaf au collection || Vassa, Amarantha, Clythia & Amren as Red Priestesses of R’hllor.
Vassa of Volantis, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom and First Servant of the Lord of Light.
ft. Amarantha of Asshai, Lady Amarantha, Red Priestess of R’hllor, the Red Woman, the Red Witch, a Shadowbinder.
ft. Clythia of Asshai, Lady Clythia, Red Priestess of R’hllor, a Shadowbinder.
ft. Amren of Volantis, Lady Amren, Advisor to Rhysand Arryn of the Eyrie, Red Priestess of R'hllor (formerly).
#vassa#queen vassa#amren#amarantha#clythia#red priestess#acotar#asoiaf#acotaredit#acotarasoiafedit#each one of them fit into the red priestess mold for different reasons#vassa as the high priestess because she's a queen and the firebird curse is giving me 'lord of light' and fire as a weapon#amarantha and clythia as red priestesses from asshai for the shadow abilities which hybern could find value in and use to usurp the throne#amren as the only non-red haired priestess and really this came from that one scene where melisandre takes off her necklace#and she's shown to be much older than she is which reminded me of amren and her otherworldliness
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It really grinds my gears when people try to insist that Jon never really loved Dany because he undeniably canonically loved her even after she torched King’s Landing. This isn’t me reading between the lines or theorizing. It’s in the script of episode 8 which is publicly available.
We all know season 8 was shit and hope the books do things dramatically differently. And I personally think that Emilia and Kitt had poor on-screen chemistry, so they struggled to convey love. But it is unquestionably canon that Jon and Dany loved each other to the end. Jon feels he has nothing left worth living for once she’s dead. He really truly did not want the throne. He was ready to die right along with her. He was going to let Drogon kill him. Honestly it could’ve been an incredibly tragic scene had it been better written and had Jon and Dany shared more screen time with better actor chemistry. Always a Jonerys truther here
#asoiaf#got#jonerys#got meta#game of thrones#in my heart Drogon flew her to Asshai where she was resurrected by a red priestess#and Jon will eventually say fuck Westeros and will go searching for the dragon lords of Asshai#and they will meet again and discover that the 3ER had taken control of her the entire time and dying had freed her from that control#and she’s been researching how to defeat him while in the shadowlands#but maybe they just say fuck Westeros together and go explore the shadowlands and Ulthos
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𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝓐𝓠𝓤𝓘𝓛𝓐 of Pentos
first appearing in✒️ ɪᴛ's ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ ⚔️ I apologize for the 720 quality -.-
a big shout out and thank you to some outstanding creators for inspiring me to follow my OC heart!! ♡ @samwilsonns, @kingsroad, @fragilestorm, @zoyazenik, @prosemoireia, @fleetwoodmcs, @stachedocs, @toilandtroubled, @richitozier, @elmunson @millie-55
#I'm officially uploading things here now!#although leaving the original posts from before on my other account#fyeahgotocs#fyeahasoiafocs#fyhotdocs#my hotd ocs#hotdocs#hotd ocs#got ocs#got oc#my ocs#red priestess#melisandre of asshai#melisandre
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From the Ashes Pt. 38
Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister
Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, MC POV, departure to Asshai!,
Words: 3,007
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37
Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)
Dritan’s cheek stung from where Rhiannon’s hand had slapped him. Away from the prying eyes of party goers, even in the dark archway the Fiery Hand soldier could feel the intensity of Rhiannon’s glare.
“I don’t want to hear you ever speak ill against (y/n), let alone my sister.” She growls out her warning. So much did she remind Dritan of her older sister Thalina. From her gold hued eyes to her hefty soft brown hair, but the sisters were so different. “If you know what's good for you.”
Her words brought up the memory of when Dritan last encountered Thalina.
Clenching his fists, he found the bitterness inside of him grow and fester. “She will lead you to your death as she did with Thalina. All of you will perish in Asshai for trusting that darkin. She is too young, too naive. The moment she allowed the darkin to live was the moment she condemned us all!”
“Do you desire another slap?” Hissed Rhiannon, prepping her right hand if need be.
Like many others in the temple, Rhiannon was blinded by the miracles (y/n) had performed during her time in Volantis. Dritan alone could see earth swirling around the Westerosi girl, the one Thalina had forsaken him for. When word of Thalina’s ultimate fate was leaked, Dritan had done his best to persuade her to stay for in his heart Thalina reigned supreme. Hard did he fall in love with the clumsy red priestess. Within the first few months of his service to the temple, Dritan knew that he wanted Thalina as a wife. He had even gone so far to confess his love, hoping it would be enough to stop her. Nothing could change her mind, not even the potential of romance. Thalina broke his heart in the same breath she used to scold him. This was her duty and she was happy to follow out the flame’s divine plan. How content she was to go to her death!
Rhiannon was following in the footsteps of her sister. Stubborn and polluted by the faith of R’hllor. There was no talking her out of it.
They were all sheep.
Not having anything else to say to Rhiannon, Dritan stormed to the barracks that housed the temple’s warriors. Rhiannon watched his departure with narrowed eyes. She debated on going after him or even alerting a priest of his blasphemous speech. Disparaging her sister’s memory by condemning (y/n), uneasiness produced a lump in Rhiannon’s throat. It made her worry about leaving. What would Dritan’s resentment lead him to do?
“That one has always been filled with unquenchable anger, I’m afraid.” Dreamy voiced Alizah walks out from the shadows, her traveling cloak around her shoulders and hood pulled over her head. Behind were the quiet figures of Haakon and Kafele who possessed hair like flames.
“You are leaving so soon?”
Her pale face grows sad as she nods. “Yes. If I am to get there in a timely manner, I must leave at once.”
Pursing her lips, Rhiannon tentatively asks “Are you allowed to divulge where you’re going?”
Alizah pauses for a moment before Kafele whispers into her ear. Whatever he had told her makes Alizah’s features alert once more. “In due time. We must be off. Remember your lessons, Rhiannon. The night is dark and full of terrors.”
The trio hurries past Rhiannon leaving her alone. Her destination must be important if they were in such a rush to leave. To herself, Rhiannon finishes the verse that Alizah had left her with. “The day is bright and beautiful and full of hope.” That’s what (y/n) represents for the future. No matter what Dritan had to say.
You swore your brain had a pulse as your head ached from the night before. Taking everything in you to start getting ready for your long journey, thankfully Rhiannon and Inanna had arrived to help you gather at least your necessities. Every now and then though you were seized with the need to throw up.
Small Inanna, although still terrified of the small dragon curled up in your sheets, hurried to your side with a tonic Siofra had produced. “This should help you. Siofra worried about this last night.”
The thought that people were looking out for you warmed your heart and just that was enough to make you feel better. “Thank you, Inanna.” Her dark eyes sparkle at your gratitude before she laughs at the face you make. Unbearably bitter, you were sure that it was meant to truly make you vomit but in a few minutes your nausea all but disappeared.
“It will definitely be quiet while you are gone.” Inanna admits a little sadly as she folds her hands in front of her. “I’m sure Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion will offer some entertainment to those who will miss you.”
“Is it really okay for Weles to be leaving the Fiery Hand for so long? He is the captain afterall.”
“Iyan is second in command, capable of doing all that Weles does.” she informs you. “The others respect him as much as they do Weles.”
Rhiannon snaps your leather trunk closed, having finished gathering all that you may need. “Besides, that’s the least of your worries. Where we are going is a place hardly anyone has ever ventured. Stygai is the territory of the darkin and other shadow creatures. Things that shouldn’t be alive dwell there.”
Entering your chambers with a plate of cooked meat, Siofra sets it down on the bed next to a dozing Latilth who promptly wakes up at the smell. Crawling on her belly, she begins to toss back her breakfast with delight. You and Rhiannon chuckle at what a messy eater she was.
While helping you dress, Siofra comments “I wonder how big Latilth will be when you come back.”
Inanna nods. “She’ll certainly be a sight to see.”
At hearing her name, Latilth hobbles away from her plate and stretches her wings in an attempt to fly to you. Her wing strength was still weak, only being two days old, and was unable to pick up any air. Upset, she squawks unhappily until you go to her and allow her to scramble onto your shoulder. Her nails certainly scratched up your skin but it was a small price to pay.
Sirvart is called upon as are Ilta and Vidarr to help with your two personal trunks and one of Rhiannon’s.
During your trek through the temple to the docks that were below the cliff, red priests and priestesses alike joined your entourage silently to see you off. Even a handful of temple slaves sneaked away to add themselves to your retainers. Some sang hymns and others prayed for R’hllor to watch over you and your companions.
The sun was barely an hour into the sky when you made your way down the wooden staircase that curled up to the training ground. The Red Temple had their own section of docks for personal use. Nippy winds brushed your short hair away from your face and made you cling tightly to the little furnace that was Latilth. You could make out moving dots on the boardwalk leading to what assumed was your ship. They carried large crates up to the side of the ship where they would hoist it up with ropes up on the deck.
At the base of the cliff, you turn to Inanna and Siofra who had joined you up until that point. The rest of your group that you had accumulated on your way, watched up top. Dozens of figures clothed in various shades of red and orange.
“We all wish you great fortune on your journey, nuha kosh.” Siofra bows low, her tight curls on her head springing when she rises back up.
Inanna offers a small smile as she too bows. “Please be careful. All of you. We will make sure your brothers are taken care of.”
“Thank you. Both of you.” You take each by the hand and give them a small squeeze.
Rhiannon gives each of them a hug, lingering a few seconds longer with Siofra as she whispers something. When she pulls away, Siofra gives her a firm nod. “Don’t worry about us here. Take care of nuha kosh.”
You and Rhiannon depart from your group and follow Sirvart, Vidarr and Ilta to the wooden platform that leads up to the awaiting ship. Already your brothers were there speaking with Weles. Tyrion’s face was set in a stoic facade until he spotted you. One green and one black eye deceived how he was truly feeling. The breaking of your heart was definite at such a face. You were leaving him again. There was no worse thing than that knowledge and you half consider taking him with you.
You couldn’t be that selfish. Who knew what perils there were in Asshai. Tyrion was safer here with Jaime and the rest of the temple’s residences. They would protect him and raise him in your stead. Asshai was no place for children let alone one like Tyrion. Ture that the myths you had been told about the darkin were false, but Inniros himself had verified the validity of the myths about his homeland. One could not tread safely in the Shadowlands. Many who iced there wore masks for belief that it protected them against such evils that lurked.
Tyrion gets Weles and Jaime’s attention, pointing to you and Rhiannon who were fast approaching. The three Fiery Hands move around them, briefly giving a salute to their captain before passing them to drop off the trunks.
Gloom settled above your brothers now that the time had come. This was really happening.
Tyrion clears his voice and quietly asks “Do you have everything?”
“Everything except for my brothers.” You sigh and bend down to gather a stiff Tyrion in your arms. Close to the side of his face, Latilth preens his unruly curls. Eventually Tyrions does melt into your embrace. “I’ll bring you a souvenir.”
He shakes his head, face buried in your chest. “Just come back safely and soon.”
Tears brimmed your eyes and with great reluctance, you release Tyrion and quickly wiped your eyes. You’re faced with Jaime now.
Jaime. . .
Vague memories of last night dance in your head but you couldn’t quite put everything together yet.
Conflicting emotions waged war inside of you. Since leaving Westeros it had only ever been the two of you. How would you survive without his reassuring presence? Your relationship with Jaime has come a long way. Through childhood he had been a complete stranger. Now he was the one person in the world you were closest to.
You throw your arms around his waist and hide your face in his robes. Jaime’s powerful arms encircle around you. Yes, this felt familiar. Did you hug him last night as well? The two of you were never really a physical pair, but you couldn’t help yourself now that you were leaving him.
Where did you even begin to tell him how much you loved him? How important his presence was in your life. You had grown to cherish Jaime. Your younger self would have never considered Jaime an important figure in your life.
You bite your lip and simply tighten your hold. Words could never describe the loneliness you would feel without him. Your tears were enough to tell Jaime.
Abruptly, Jaime lets go and takes a step back. Understanding his action, you gently smile at him. He tries to hide his face by looking away from you. Warming your heart was the knowledge that Jaime would miss you just as much.
“Both of you behave while I’m gone.” You sniffle, barely able to maintain even a small smile.
Tyrion nods and gives your hand one last squeeze. “Next time you leave for another far off land, I’ll be ready to go with you.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Tyrion was proving to be a man of his word. Next time he will be ready. The next journey you plan on making will be back to Westeros. Once Latilth was big enough to carry you and your brothers.
Weles turns around to wave at the approaching Melisandre, Inniros and the red priest who must have been Rayzer. The priest had long, dirty blonde hair and the telltale fire priest flames tattooed on his olive skin. He carried only a burlap sack and a leather pouch hanging from his sash.
“Good, looks like those who need to be here are present. And no one else.” Just to make sure, her red eyes scan the docks. Sirvart and the other two Hands were walking back up but other than that is was your small group. A few yards away were fishermen going about their daily lives, unaware of the dark destination your ship was routed for.
The red priest smiles at you and bows. “It’s a pleasure to actually meet you, nuha kosh. I am Rayzer, but you may call me Ray.” Smile lines crinkled around his brown eyes and mouth as he spoke. Most of his hair was gathered in a top know while the rest easily flowed on to his shoulders.
“The other red priests were just briefing Ray on his duties for this trip. Of course Iomhar put in his piece on how Ray should behave.” Rhiannon rolled her eyes and gave Latilth a scratch under her chin. Evidently she enjoyed such attention for it made her normally unblinking eyes closes with content.
Ray’s eyes sparkle when his gaze lands on Latilth. “Extraordinary! I had seen glimpses of the dragon last night but I didn’t get the chance to actually approach you.”
You notice how precise his Common Tongue was. Many of the hands and priests you have met had heavy accents. Ray didn’t seem to have one. His speech was that of a native to Westeros.
With a smile, you show Ray the honor he bestowed upon you with a small curtsy akin to what you would see in the Seven Kingdoms. “Thank you for coming with us. Our journey will be safer with you in attendance.”
He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “I will do my best, nuha kosh.”
Melisandre turns to look at a very quiet Inniros. “Shall we board then?”
Stiffly, Inniros nods and makes his way for the ship, brushing past you in the process but not before shooting Jaime a suspicious glance. Jaime’s demeanor changed to almost one of hostility.
Not phasing Inniros, he continues his stride; Melisandre feet behind him.
This was it.
One last group hug with your brothers, you turned to follow them. While your stomach performed acrobatic tricks inside of you, you breathe deeply and place your foot securely on the first rung of the dangling ladder. Latilth peeks over your shoulder, pressing her body closer to your neck to prevent herself from falling over. Men waited above once you reached the edge of the deck. They helped you onboard, making sure your feet were planted firmly on the creaking wood floors. Your brothers were so small on the docks yet your eyes held onto them for as long as you could. Siofra’s tonic, working its way through you, prevented the wave of nausea that would have swept you up from being on the sea again.
The wind air exciting her, Latilth clambers off of you and jumps onto the much taller Inniros who had just been pulled up. Inniros eyes the dragon on his shoulders, stoic as ever. In a soft tone, he starts speaking to her in a language you had never heard before. Having traveled through most of Essos, you had thought you had experienced all the languages out there.
A breeze tickles the back of your neck sending a chill through you. You close your eyes and pray to whoever would listen:
Please take care of Jaime and Tyrion.
Rhiannon’s cheek lands on your shoulder but did not startle you. “They will be okay. Trust in Ser Jaime.”
You press your head against her’s. “I do. That does nothing to alleviate how lonely I will be without them.”
“You may not have your brothers, but you have your sister.” She smiles.
You hug Rhiannon. That was right. Rhiannon was your sister; blood be damned. You weren’t accustomed to having a decent sister, this would be a good change.
“Ladies, will you join me in a small prayer for safe travels?” Rayzer bumps in, separating you and Rhiannon.
Nodding, you grab his hand with your left and Rhiannon with your right. Melisandre and Weles joined the small circle, leaving Inniros as the odd man out. He stood off to the side, making sure not to get in any sailor’s way while also scratching Latilth atop her head.
Letting go of Rayzer’s hand, you hold your now free one out to Inniros, beckoning him to join.
Hesitantly, Inniros leaves his spot to awkwardly situate himself in between you and Rayzer. The fire priest smiles and offers his hand to Inniros. “You don’t have to do anything. Just being in this very spot is good enough.”
Inniros tilts his face down, wanting to avoid any eye contact with the others in your circle. You hadn’t missed the sharp stare that Melisandre fixed on him nor the twitch in Weles’ sword arm. There was still unfriendly air swirling around them.
You grab his hand, surprised at how warm his palm was. His frame went rigid at your touch but you simply offered him a smile. From the angle you had of him, you could only see the eye patch that hid his missing orb. Slowly his fingers curl around your's, reciprocating your offer. Latilth hopped from Inniros' shoulder to your's and in an odd way, she bowed her head as if listening to Rayzer's impromptu sermon.
Rayzer’s prayers in the Valyrian tongue was more beautiful than any poem and reassured you that you would return to Volantis soon.
Taglist:
@boywivlove
@esposadomd
@domoron
@yentroucnagol
@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan
@bregarc
#from the ashes#a song of ice and fire#a song of ice and fire x you#a song of ice and fire x reader#a song of ice and fire fanfic#a song of ice and fire fanfiction#asoiaf reader insert#asoiaf fic#asoiaf fanfic#asoiaf fanfiction#asoiaf fandom#reader insert fanfic#reader insert fanfiction#reader insert#x reader#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones reader insert#game of thrones fanfic#game of thrones fanfiction#got#got x reader#got fandom#got fanfic#got fanfiction
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Alternative AU for the Iron Lady
Imagine if… Jahaerys instead of arranging a marriage between Viserys and Aemma Arryn, he come to the conclusion that his family was fracturing rapidly (cof cof because of him) so strengthening family ties will be for the best, and what is best than a marriage between siblings! At that time our Iron Lady was seventeen and Visery’s recently turned thirteen years old. Baelon I was entirely against it, he wanted his children ( as far as possible) to marry for love and not by obligation, but his father was the king and no one couldn’t go against a king wishes.
In the year 93 d.c the marriage was celebrated, it was a large festivity with immeasurable riches and nobles from every part of the reign. A noble lady would be joyous that her wedding will be the talking of the court for years to pass, but the older daughter of Baleon I was not happy nor sad, her usual stoic face was more unreadable than ever, not letting a single emotion visible reflected in her features. On the other hand, the groom couldn’t stop looking at how the beauty of her sister was enhanced by the soft lights, with a look of idiotic foolishness in his eyes.
Rhaenyra came shortly after in the year 97 dc, the labor happened without a fuss, but her loud and strong cries were heard all along the castle making her presence known. During Rhaenyra’s pregnancy the queen secluded herself in Maegor’s tower until delivery, at the expense of Visery’s pleads, with only the company of her lady’s in waiting; two women of hair as red as blood and a rather strange attitude, nobody saw them ever spoke a word, the only information about them is that they came from Asshai and were some type of priestesses back there. They’re called the Red maidens, because that was the only color that they would use on the every day.
Some years later, the queen fell pregnant again, and prince Baelor second of his name was born, being the first son of the queen and king, celebration of his birth didn’t took long to arrive.
In the first years of reign the king was not seen without his sister-queen, even at the meetings with the council she was there, always observing. Visery’s couldn’t end a phrase without looking first at his sister for approval. Some complained about the young king being manipulated by his wife, specially Otto Hightower, but complaints were silenced rapidly by Visery’s himself.
More children came later; Aegon II, their second daughter Healena, Aemon I, and lastly their last son, Daeron I Targaryen. The children were not quiet ones, making a fuss everywhere they went, specially Aegon and his jealous tantrums when her mother will pay attention to his other brothers more than him. But the severity of her mother teaching, reigning them with an iron fist, was enough to keep them in line.
As the years passed in Viserys reign more power his sister started to have, but when Otto Hightower was chosen as hand of the king (much to the iron lady's chagrin, she noticed how her grip on his husband was starting to loosen due to Otto’s schemes) began to occupy more and more space. Introducing himself as Visery’s utmost confident and pushing his younger daughter, Alice Hightower, to influence Rhaenyra through a hollow friendship (in the queen opinion).
Her Brother Daemon although being her strongest ally, his constant rash behaviour was leading him to always be away from the Red Keep, making him not much reliable.
Everything that the Iron Lady painstakingly built, was slowly crumbling in front of her eyes, And she would do ANYTHING not to see it collapse.
#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#fanfic#reader x daemon#yandere house of the dragon#house targaryen#daemon targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen#viserys targaryen#sister reader x daemon targaryen#sister reader x viserys targaryen#imagine if#asioaf#theironlady
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For a Red Priestess of Asshai - Stephane Rolland Haute Couture Spring 2022
#asshai#faith of the red god#stephane rolland#Haute Couture#headwear#jewellery#A Song of Ice and Fire#Game of Thrones
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Flames
Chapter 1 | word count: 3.3k | The Priestess series
Synopsis: Upon arriving in the politically charged environment of King’s Landing, you navigate the complexities of loyalty and ambition, drawing attention as a mysterious figure. Your prophecies attract the interest of King Jaehaerys Targaryen, where you reveal the threats facing his house, fostering an alliance with Queen Alysanne, who sees the value of collaboration amidst ambition.
༺☆༻_☾✧ ✩ ✧☽_༺☆༻
You were a red priestess, hailing from the shadowy realm of Asshai, a place steeped in mystery and whispers of ancient sorcery. Born from a lineage that traces its roots back to the fabled city of Old Valyria, your blood pulses with the remnants of dragons and fire.
In your early years, you were immersed in the arcane traditions of your ancestors, the flickering flame of the sacred pyres became your first tutor. The flickering shadows whispered secrets only the most devoted could grasp, revealing the divine knowledge of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. The crimson robes you donned were not just garments, they were symbols of the weighty responsibility you bore as a vessel of flames and prophecies.
As you matured, your visions grew more intense, flashes of a world on the brink of chaos and a cycle of rebirth that echoed through the ages. You perceived the dance of fate as a tapestry woven from the threads of passion, ambition, and despair, with each moment pregnant with possibility. You understood that your destiny was not merely to serve the flame but to guide it, to forge paths for the lost and illuminate the shadows of doubt.
Often, you would stand upon the shores of the Shadow Lands, gazing into the swirling mists that concealed whispers of the past. Tales of dragons rising once again and ancient powers stirring from their slumber filled your thoughts. Many sought you out for guidance, hoping to uncover their own destinies or to find the strength to confront their fears. Each encounter strengthens your resolve, birthing an understanding that knowledge came not without sacrifice.
In a world plagued by darkness and treachery, you ventured beyond the borders of Asshai, journeying to distant lands where your teachings and prophecies could also flourish. You stood before lords and ladies, armies and peasants alike, offering insights that rattled their very foundations. Each flame you kindled ignited the hearts of the faithful and ignited fear in the hearts of those who sought power for themselves.
Driven by visions of both hope and despair, you walked a fine line between light and shadow, wielding your influence with a deft touch.
Would you herald a renaissance of hope, or would you usher in a tempest that would consume all in its path? The weight of choice bore down upon you, a constant reminder that even the fiercest fire could burn those who could not command it.
In your heart, you harbored the knowledge that the shadows do not merely conceal, they reveal. For within the veils of night lay secrets long forgotten, waiting for a brave soul to unearth them and shape the world's fate anew.
As a red priestess, the flame was not just power, it was a legacy, a chain that connected you to both the past and the future, waiting for the right moment to unleash its fire upon the world anew.
You had been chosen by the esteemed Red Council of Priests, a revered assembly of spiritual leaders and mystics, to undertake a momentous journey across the turbulent seas to the lands of Westeros.
Your mission is of the utmost importance: to safeguard the growing Targaryen dynasty, for destruction. The flames had whispered to you, revealing haunting visions of destruction and despair that would soon loom over the mighty house. The Targaryens, a lineage ruled by the fire and blood of the dragons, were one of the very few families that had escaped the great destruction of Valyria.
Their now growing legacy will be jeopardized by betrayal, war, and the relentless pursuit of power by rivals within the castle walls. The Council has foreseen another doom lurking in the shadows, and believed that only you possessed the wisdom, guidance, and determination necessary to steer the Targaryens away from annihilation.
To start your journey, you caught a merchant boat that swayed gently upon the waves, its course set firmly towards the bustling heart of Westeros, King’s Landing. The salty breeze whipped through your hair, a reminder of the journey ahead, and of the weighty purpose that drove you forth.
As the boat crested a wave, the silhouette of the Red Keep began to emerge on the horizon, its tall spires piercing the sky, a symbol of both majesty and turmoil. King’s Landing was a city alive with ambition and treachery, where the very air crackled with intrigue.
A place where alliances were forged in shadows, and the clinking of gold coins echoed louder than the songs of bards.
You understood the risks that awaited you.
তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
As the boat docked at the bustling port, the scents of spices, smoke, and sea salt wrapped around you like a cloak. The noise of merchants hawking their wares, the shouts of sailors unloading cargo, and the distant calls of gulls created a chaotic symphony that heralded the arrival of yet another day in the capital.
Stepping ashore, you felt the ground firm beneath your feet. Here, amidst the throngs of people, was your opportunity to weave the threads of destiny.
The deep crimson dress you wore cascaded around you like a flowing river of blood, its rich fabric a bold statement amidst the muted colors of King’s Landing. Hood drawn low over your face, you became a figure cloaked in shadows, an enigmatic presence that sparked curiosity and speculation among those who passed.
As you navigated the bustling streets, the vibrant market square filled with vendors, mercenaries, and common folk, you could sense eyes upon you. Whispers rumbled through the crowd, casting curious glances your way, mingling with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of animal hooves against cobblestones. Your attire, the hue of sunset in a world often dulled by despair, drew attention, but it was the air of authority and determination in your posture that truly captivated those nearby.
As you approached the towering gates of the Red Keep, your heart raced with a blend of anticipation and trepidation. The air inside was thick with history, the stone walls whispering secrets of those who had sat upon the Iron Throne before, kings, conquerors and usurpers. Your crimson dress brushed against the polished marble floors, each step echoing with the gravity of your purpose.
তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
The throne room stood vast and imposing, the high ceiling adorned with banners of House Targaryen, the three headed dragon depicted in vibrant shade of red on a field of black, an ever-present reminder of the legacy claimed by Aegon the Conqueror and his two sisters.
The throne itself loomed ahead, a twisted monument of swords, embodying both power and peril.
You knelt before the Iron Throne, allowing a moment of stillness to wash over you as the guards looked on, their faces inscrutable.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and the heartbeat of the room shifted as King Jaehaerys Targaryen entered, his presence commanding and dignified. He wore a crown of gold, and his long, silver hair fell gracefully about his shoulders, illuminating the regal yet weary expression etched upon his face.
As he took his place on the Iron Throne, the air seemed to thrum with anticipation, as if the very stones of the castle knew the gravity of the moment. The throne, a jagged mountain of swords forged in the fires of Balerion after the conquest, stood as a testament to both the glory and the burden of Targaryen rule.
“Rise, my lady,” he spoke, his voice resonating through the expansive hall. You stood, lifting your chin defiantly while keeping your hood lowered, casting your face in shadows to maintain an air of mystery.
“Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady despite the intensity of the moment. “I come before you not just as another subject of your realm but as a distant ember of House Targaryen,”
The king’s brow furrowed, his keen eyes scrutinizing the figure cloaked in crimson shadows before him. A hint of curiosity crept into his expression as he pondered the mysteries hidden beneath the fabric of your hood. The throne room, with its echoing silence and the weight of history in the air, became a backdrop for the unspoken questions swirling in his mind.
“What lies beneath your hood, my lady?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “You present yourself as a foe, yet your countenance remains concealed.”
You felt the intensity of his gaze as though it could pierce through the layers of fabric and reveal your innermost thoughts. This was a moment of vulnerability; the king understood the significance of identity and the power it held in the realm. Sensing the gravity of his question, you reached for the cord of your hood, allowing it to fall back and reveal your face.
The fabric unveiled your features,the violet eyes of yours caught the flames of the torchlights, dancing with an ethereal glow. The shroud of mystery gave way to the authenticity of your presence, transforming the atmosphere in the throne room.
Your silvery hair, a hallmark of Valyrian blood, was intricately styled, woven into an elegant updo that crowned your head like a delicate masterpiece.
Your lips parted slightly as you took a breath, allowing the king to drink in the sight of you, a descendant of the dragon. You met his gaze with a steely resolve, intent on conveying the depth of your aspirations.
“In truth, Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady. "I have seen the destruction of House Targaryen, in the flames," you began, your voice steady but laced with the weight of history. The memories of the past, of loss and chaos, flickered in your mind like the shadows playing against the throne room's stone walls. "I witnessed the aftermath of betrayal and the devastation wrought by your own kin. The fires that will consume your house but of ambition, jealousy, and bloodshed, elements that threaten to eclipse your legacy."
King Jaehaerys, wise and just, regarded you with the discerning gaze of a leader keenly aware of the currents of fate that swirled around those with your lineage. His eyes, sharp and penetrating as the finest Valyrian steel, seemed to pierce through the facade of nobility and ambition to the raw strength that lay beneath.
There was a weight to his scrutiny, a recognition not just of your bloodline, but of the potential that simmered within you, waiting to be harnessed. In that moment, you felt both exposed and empowered, aware that Targaryen history was not merely a burden but a crucible from which powerful leaders had once emerged.
The king's brow furrowed ever so slightly, as if weighing the implications of your ambitions. "Bold words, indeed"
With a wave of his hand, he summoned a nearby servant. "See to her needs," he instructed. "Ensure she has a comfortable space to stay and recover."
As you followed the servant out of the room, a smirk grew on your lips, for you knew the old king did not wish to speak of destruction in a chamber so vast, where whispers danced like shadows and echoes traveled far beyond the stone walls. Jaehaerys, despite his wisdom and authority, was acutely aware that the walls of the Red Keep had ears, and tonight, those ears would not bear witness to the weighty burdens of the future or the fires of ambition.
In the hallways of the Keep, adorned with banners of dragons and adorned with the art of long-forgotten battles, you felt a spark of exhilaration. Here, amidst the grandeur of your ancestral home, you could feel the pulse of power running through your veins. The scent of history was thick in the air, mingling with the coolness of stone and the flicker of torchlight.
The servant led you through serpentine corridors, each step a reminder of the court's intricate web of alliances and rivalries. You relished at the thought that you were stepping into this world, a tapestry rich with potential. The king's caution only ignited your resolve.
But his admonitions about the fires of your lineage lingered in your mind, both a burden and a beacon. You would navigate these dangerous waters with care, for you understood that true power did not come from flame and fury alone but from the ability to inspire hope and unity amidst uncertainty.
As you reached your new chambers, the servant gestured for you to enter. The room was modest yet elegant, its windows framing a view of the sprawling gardens below, a reminder that even in the heart of power there was beauty to be found. You took a deep breath, allowing the scents of blooming roses and the distant call of songbirds to soothe your spirit.
With a determined smile, you turned to the servant. "Thank you," you said, feeling a surge of gratitude. "It is a lovely room."
He nodded, bowing respectfully. "If there is anything else you require, my lady, do not hesitate to ask."
Once alone, you moved to the window, peering out at the darkening sky. The sun was setting, casting hues of gold and crimson across the horizon, a fitting reflection of the Targaryen colors that flowed in your veins. As the last rays of light slipped away, revealing the twinkling stars overhead, you felt a sense of purpose ignite within you.
You would honor the legacy of your ancestors, but you would carve your own path, tempered by the wisdom of Jaehaerys and forged from your visions of a brighter future. You would wield your power not as a weapon, but as a flame to light the way, a beacon in the shadows, guiding those who wished to follow.
In that moment, with the weight of history behind you and a world of possibility before you, you knew that the old king's hesitations would not deter you. Rather, they would fuel your resolve to show that strength could be both fierce and compassionate, a force for unity rather than division. The winds of change were at your back, and you were ready to face whatever storms awaited.
তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
The night was dark, the moon hanging high in the sky, your room illuminated by the flickering flames of candles. Suddenly, a knock at the door broke the silence, sending a ripple of unease through the quiet atmosphere.
You hesitated for a moment, curiosity and apprehension battling within you. Who could it be at this late hour? Gathering your courage, you moved toward the door, heart racing as you reached for the handle.
With a cautious turn of the knob, the door creaked open, revealing a silhouette against the dim light. The figure stood there, shrouded in shadow, their eyes glinting like embers. “I’ve been looking for you,” they said softly, their voice barely above a whisper.
Your eyes scanned the face before you, and you realized it was Queen Alysanne, the wife of King Jaehaerys. Her presence was both regal and unsettling, the flickering candlelight casting an ethereal glow around her figure.
“Your Grace,” you stammered, instinctively lowering your head in respect. The queen, however, raised a hand, signaling a dismissal.
“Please,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, “I need your help.” The urgency in her tone was palpable.
You stepped back, allowing her to enter the room, the door creaking shut behind her. “Why are you here, my queen? It’s ill-advised for you to be out at this hour.”
“Jaehaerys has told me of your whispers, of how House Targaryen will falter,” Queen Alysanne said, her voice trembling with a mix of resolve and fear. “But he does not wish to believe it. He thinks that these are mere tales spun by jealousy and bitterness.”
“What I say is true, believe it or not, but my only purpose here is to try and stop it,” you said, your voice steady as you both settled into chairs by the dim glow of the flickering candles. The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, and you could see the tension in Alysanne’s shoulders ease slightly as she listened.
She analyzed your face carefully, a flicker of concern etching itself into her expression. “They whispered in court,” she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, “they all spoke of how you resemble one of my daughters. Dressed in that crimson cloak, it is no wonder Jaehaerys himself remarked upon it. He even said he thought you might be a Targaryen, one of our own.”
You leaned back in your chair, absorbing the gravity of her statement. “But I am not a Targaryen. I am loyal to you and your family. I have no claim to the throne, nor do I wish to grasp at the opportunity.”
“His Grace will make mistakes, and his descendants will too,” you said, your tone measured as you leaned forward, sensing the weight of the conversation pressing upon both of you. “I cannot say what those mistakes will be, but I can offer my guidance, like a flame guiding one through the dark.”
Alysanne’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she absorbed your words. “Every ruler is bound to stumble at times; it’s the nature of power and ambition. What matters most is how one learns from those missteps and whether they have the wisdom to heed the guidance of others.”
You tried to keep your calm, striving to choose your words carefully to avoid offending Queen Alysanne. Her poised demeanor and regal presence commanded respect, and you understood the weight of your words in this delicate moment. "Your Majesty," you began,and took a breath, trying to convey your thoughts without a hint of disrespect.
"The consequences of those missteps may not emerge until he has departed from his crown. How can he truly learn from them if he is not here to witness the ramifications of his decisions?" You paused, gauging her reaction, knowing that the truth of the matter could be uncomfortable but necessary
"And how do I know that what you speak of is true?" she questioned, her voice a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Her gaze searched your face for signs of insincerity, challenging you to substantiate your claims.
"I do not seek power, and will be your loyal and humble guide, if you'll have me, Your Grace," you said, your voice steady and resolute. You could feel the weight of the words as they fell into the silence that hung between you.
Her expression softened slightly, the skepticism giving way to intrigue. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her tone more inquisitive now, as if she were trying to peel back the layers of your intention.
"I understand the allure of power," you replied, choosing your words carefully. "It can corrupt, blind, and lead even the noblest of hearts astray. My desire is not for authority or dominion, but rather to serve, to guide you,the King, with sincerity and wisdom. I believe that true strength lies in partnership and collaboration, not in one person wielding all the influence."
"Very well," she stated, rising from her seat, her demeanor underscoring the weight of her decision. You soon followed, standing with a mixture of hope and determination. "You may stay here for as long as you need," she added, her words both an invitation and a charge.
You made your way to the large wooden door, opening it with a graceful motion, allowing her to pass through first. As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, a soft glow illuminated her features, highlighting the resolve etched in her expression.
"Thank you," you replied, your voice steady yet warm. "I hope you sleep well." The sincerity in your tone held the weight of your promise, a promise to support and guide her as she navigated the complexities of her reign.
As you walked out of the room, the flickering flames from the torches lining the corridor seemed to dance in tune with the intensity in your eyes. You felt a fire igniting within you, a mixture of purpose and determination that surged through your veins. Each step away from her chambers felt significant, imbued with the weight of your shared commitment.
༺☆༻_☾✧ ✩ ✧☽_༺☆༻
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#asoiaf fanfic#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon#reader x#fanfiction#hotd x reader#house of the dragon fanfiction#a song of ice and fire#house targaryen
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The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife
Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character
Chapter 2: Civility
MASTERLIST
Summary: Naera finally learns of her father's reason for summoning her to King's Landing, and she is NOT happy about it.
Word count: 3.4k
Warnings: nothing, really
Naera hated Aegon.
From the first word the boy spoke to her, she knew that she wasn’t going to stand him for long. “Do they even knight women?” He had asked, and Naera had been civil. It was a frequent question. His second question, however, had been out of line.
“Did you really fuck a savage war lord?” Viserys and Alicent roared at his impudent words, but it wasn’t ire that hit Naera, but reminiscence. Khal Roq’ko had been a passionate lover. Savage, yes, but never to her…eh…usually, not to her. She chuckled at the memory. No.
Civility. “I did not,” she denied, “that was my friend, the Khaleesi Freya.” She wasn’t lying in completion. Freya had, on being the wife of Roq’ko, laid with him often for pleasure and heirship. Everyone had gone silent at that, looking unto Naera with expectance. She continued, “We had met in Volantis, and she wanted to run from her life, so we fled into the Great Grass Sea.”
“Why did you go with her?” Aemond asked. He was a small child, something of loneliness lingering in his voice. Aegon rolled his eyes at his younger brother, reprimanding him to quiet down.
Naera smiled again, her mind travelling back to those locks of obsidian hair and golden skin. She had reminded her of Raiden, in more ways than one—the same love of poetry. No.
Civility. Civility. Civility. “I didn’t really have a choice,” Naera laughed. Lies. “She stole something of mine ‘n I needed to get it back. I followed her to the land of the Dothraki, and we…got lost.” Yes, she stole her heart, and a prided dagger. She had followed for the dagger. “We were taken by Khal Roq’ko’s khalasar, and they fell in love and married. I happened to display particular strength in battle, and wasn’t sold as a slave. Freya pleaded for my leave and Roq’ko agreed.” Lies. Lies. Lies. She wanted to weep. That was not all there was—there had been passion, and love, and heat. There had been so much more, but she needed to be proper. She needed to be appropriate, for Rhaenyra, for her family, so that the Hightower filth that had infested it wouldn’t gain the upper hand.
“That’s it?” Aegon was disappointed. “I don’t see what the grand deal is with you and the Dothraki, then.” Oh, that child. Naera’s stomach churned. You know nothing. Naera remembered, and recalled, and relived in her mind, those shallow brown eyes and expanses of bronze-gold skin in the twilight hours of the day, as their blood pooled to the ground, one ounce at a time until all life had fled them. She had to.
“I did defeat two bloodriders in combat on my first day,” she smiled, gaining words of praise. Her father grasped her hand with affection, serene and content. Lie again. She had defeated three bloodriders in single combat on her first day, and Roq’ko himself in single combat on her second day, the very ordeal that found her not dead. Freya had only come in weeks later. “After that,” she changed the subject, trying her best to forget those nights, “I lived with the Red Priestesses in Asshai.” Naera immediately regretted her words, as memories of deathly pale skin and blood-red lips refreshed themselves in her mind. R’hllor, no.
“What did you do there?” Laenor, Rhaenyra’s consort, questioned with a smile.
“I learned about their religion and mythology, their miracles also,” A summary, at best. Naera took a sip of her wine, cursing its shade of red. It reminded her of so much. It reminded her of the woman in red, the Red Woman, of her words and her eyes, the mischievous twinkle in them as she did the bidding of her god, the Lord of Light. It reminded her of Melisandre, and her--She shook her head, “I haven’t converted, do not worry,” that earned her a round of chuckles, most loudly by her father, but she couldn’t care to listen. They were lies. She had converted, in whatever conversion into the Faith of Light meant. She had prayed to the Lord of Light and had received its fruits. She had done it all. Thoughts of the Red Woman wouldn’t leave her early—her practised laughter, her ominous words, her magic—her magic that brought them delightful justice. Oh…no. Civility.
There was an empty seat beside him, the plate and wine fully laid out. Was his Hand joining the dinner?
“Where after?” Rhaenyra asked, glad that you kept your composure.
“Lys, and then Naath, where I learned ways of healing and treatments faster than I’ve seen in Westeros, but I wasn’t there long before you summoned me,” she turned to her father, and all the calm and colour had fled his face. He sweated and glanced off, pulling his hand away from yours. What is it?
“Naera, we have…” he began, “it has been years since Prince Raiden…” he saw the way your face lost its colour also, and he could imagine it, surely, he could imagine and remember the pain of losing a lover. A spouse, by all means, other than in name. “I am afraid…I…I believe it is time for you to consider marriage, and we have a match.” He exchanged glances with Alicent, who was not at all discouraged by your negative reaction. She had planned this.
Naera chuckled. They didn’t realise it. They didn’t understand her yet.
If they wed her to a Lannister, she would squander his wealth. If they wed her to an Arryn, or a Northener, or a Baratheon, she would kill them before they could lay their honourable fingers on her body. If they tried anyone else, she would run. She would fly.
“Well? Who is it?” Which kingdom did they want to sell her to this time? “Lannister or Tyrell? Or is it someone else?” Her eyes were wide with ire, her breathing now bated, her heart hammering in her chest. A part of her wanted to declare her pride, to list out the titles she had earned in Essos—Red Priestess of Asshai, one of the thirteen of Quarth, the Master of the Mereenese pits, the Bane of the Unsullied, and so much more. Yet, she couldn’t. For Rhaenyra, she reminded herself. For your House. For Fire and Blood.
“Prince Daemon,” Naera looked up. Had her uncle joined them for supper? She eyed the empty spot next to the King. He wasn’t there—he hadn’t just arrived. He doesn’t mean—“I believe that you would make a good match, and, uh…” he looked to Alicent again, and said, “and,”
“Is that what you think?” Or, is it what that whore has been whispering in your ears? She didn’t say those last words. She didn’t need to. Naera stood, turned, and left.
It is uncertain what went through Princess Naera after she learned that her father, King Viserys, encouraged by Queen Alicent, had decided to wed her to her uncle, Prince Daemon. It was partially a reward for his recent calm and collection, and partially a way of restricting and subduing the princess herself.
It is significant to recall that Prince Daemon had earlier sought Princess Rhaenyra’ss hand in marriage and that he had never known Princess Naera well. For a man of his character, being a rough and determined man, to be refused the hand he sought was one thing, but for another marriage to be forced upon him after the death of Lady Rhea, was not going to leave him in a very agreeable state.
According to the Court’s fool, Mushroom, Prince Daemon had learned of his marriage three weeks prior to the Princess’ arrival in the city, and the Kingsguards had been forced to hold him back for the intensity of his anger. Following that, he had taken to liquor and nightly visits to the Street of Silk, where he “deflowered a maiden every night” and also “pounded her until she wept”, if Mushroom were to be believed.
Princess Naera, according to some witnesses, was seen to mount Wisestone after storming off the dinner and was seen to fly off towards the east an hour before night. She returned Wisestone to the Dragonpits half a week afterwards, calm and collected.
A series of rumours followed, most properly illustrated by Mushroom, in his poorly lyricised songs, of Prince Daemon and Princess Naera having “midnight trysts” and an “unspoken rendezvous”, but the evidence is scarce. The Princess’ personal comments on the event are noted hastily in her journals, explaining that she had travelled back to Essos, to Asshai, and spent time there with the Red Priestesses of Old. She had referred to a few by name, in particular, Lady Melisandre of Asshai, writing in her private journals that “Melisandre told me to follow the light, but I see no visions in her flames;” and, “only in dragonfire, I see truth, but help me, R’hllor, for I have no answer where to flee this while.”
This would all suggest that she intended to sever this union before it flowered and that she had no intention of wedding Prince Daemon, her sister’s position be damned, but it is not so. A fortnight after her ‘outburst’ at the dinner, the Princess agreed to the marriage, almost definitely for the sake of protecting her sister, Princess Rhaenyra’s reputation.
Just because she needed to wed Prince Daemon, the Princess didn’t consider it important to actually get to know him. She was quite sure of it ending up a loveless marriage at best, and an abusive one, at worst. She wanted nothing of attachment to her uncle, who was nothing better than a stranger to her. Prince Daemon, when he returned to the reality of his situation, apparently tried his best to court his niece and make something of their matrimony other than hollow promises, but she wasn’t complicit.
There are many retellings of the Princess sword-fighting until dawn against the most brutal guards and soldiers, and then disappearing after breakfast for hours, until nightfall. She trapezed around the city streets after dusk, making friends of whores and blacksmiths alike, and would be back in the Keep to try her lance or her sword before light.
- An excerpt from ‘The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife’
by Maester Creyolin of the Citadel
Naera. She didn’t like her name that well. It sounded broken, halfway, as though only a segment of the full name had survived. Naera. She had first learned how to spell it in Westerosi when she had been five, and her mother had sat her down and taught her, letter by letter.
She couldn’t ever forget her way of teaching it—It went: N, as in Naath, A, as in Aegon, and Naera would always interrupt with, ‘or, as in Aemma,’ and her mother, Queen Aemma, would smile. Then, there was an E, as in Essos, R, as in Rhaenys, and another A, as in Aegon, or Aemma, or Astapor. Two places in a name. Maybe she was meant to travel the world, after all.
Princess Naera would change her name if she could. She would change it to something that sounded fuller on the tongue, that didn’t leave the Westerosi mouth halfway through with an uncomfortable taste, or to something that simply did not fit into her sister’s name as a lopsided puzzle piece. Something like Rhaenerys, or Aemmeyra, or maybe just Rhaenys, or Rhaella, or Daenys, Daenerys, and on it went.
Naera sighed. It was too late for that. She liked her given name better—The Silver Knight, or any of the other things the common citizens of Essos had named her. They felt chosen by her, in a way—she chose to be the Silver Knight. She did not choose to be Princess Naera of the House Targaryen, no longer Second in Line to the Iron Throne, Second Daughter of King Viserys of the House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. She didn’t choose it, and she no longer wanted it.
She liked being in the Godswood, not for the Old Gods, or the New, or those of Old Valyria, or even for the God of Light. She loved it for the Silence. She loved it for the isolation, and the calm, and the freedom. Naera had found a nice spot there, between two tall hedges near a stream. None dared venture there, because it was too far from the entrances, and the rumours of a ‘flaming panther’ crawling the back hedges had steered them all away definitively. She didn’t create the rumours of the panther, of course. Why would she? She created the panther. That was different, and a lot harder than the rumours.
Now, half the days, she would gather her journals there, working on the manuscripts, adding or removing anything of significance or the lack thereof, and reading through her personal journals for any crossovers, missteps, or anything like. Her works were important—they were knowledge of a brisk, informative nature—she couldn’t afford a single phrase of ‘inappropriate’ weight.
Naera. She was reading an entry in her journal, months and years old, from her days in Asshai. Melisandre had taken her to stare into flames for hours at a time, but she hadn’t seen anything, at least, not at first. She had heard. A chill ran down her spine at the memory, the image of the encircling flames in the darkness, the sting of sweat running down her skin, down her neck, and her chest, and her forehead, and her eyes burning from the light. The smell of soot and coal and the dusty ash of the fires were up in the air, but it didn’t matter. She had heard. She had heard a woman’s voice, confident and loud, speaking in Valyrian. She referred to the entry she had scribbled in haste immediately afterwards—
It was distorted at first, as though heard through a wall of water, or the border of a realm. It was low and slow, but then I heard, clear as I heard Melisandre’s chants—
Eli Astaprot istan. dohaertrossa sir yno inkot iorzi, daeri. First, I went to Astapor. Those who were slaves in Astapor, now stand behind me, free. And then, I saw. I saw, within the flames and the flicker, saw a woman with hair as white as mine, and I heard, Hembar Yunkaihot istan. Yunkaihi dohaertrossa sir yno inkot iorzi, daeri. Next, I went to Yunkai. Those who were slaves in Yunkai now stand behind me, free.
Sesir Mirinot mastan. Now, I have come to Mereen.
Naera?
But there had been more—there had been another vision, another image in the flames, of leather collars and chains, of people with sunburnt skins and overworked stamina. There were slaves. There was a woman, in blue. A woman with the blood of the Dragon. A liberator. The Breaker of Chains.
“Jevy qrinuntys ikson daor,” I am not your enemy, Naera spoke, Naera remembered. “Jevy qrinuntys jemo paktot issa,” Your enemy is beside you.
“Jevy qrinuntys jevor riñar laodissis ossenis. Jevy qrinuntys jemo syt meri belma se boteri se udrazmi ezi.” Your enemy steals and murders your children. Your enemy has nothing for you but chains, and suffering, and commands…
Naera froze. The manuscripts ended there. But…she remembered. She remembered more, she remembered seeing, and hearing more. Had Melisandre dragged her away before she could write it all down?
Naera?
She gathered her quill and ink on the grassy floor, and spoke, and wrote, “Udrazmi jemot maghon daor.” I bring you no commands. “Iderennon maghan.” I bring you a choice, “Se jevo qrinuntoti pojor gurotriri maghan,”
“And I bring your enemies what they deserve,” her quill snapped against the parchment. What?
Naera glanced up, frantic, confused, and afraid.
“Didn’t know that my intended wrote stories,” Naera cringed at the word when she finally turned to face her ‘intended’. The Rogue Prince stared down from the high fence hedges, a smirk settled at his lips. It made her feel as though something tugged a thread down the inside of her throat. Intended. It made her skin crawl.
She stood hastily with her books, her journals, her truths. “I don’t know much about her at all, really,” he went on, as Naera crossed the hedges through a winding pathway, well within his line of sight. When she finally reached the winding road, by his side, she quickened her steps. She didn’t need this today. Or ever, really.
Daemon didn’t let her leave, however, apparently making no note of her downset eyes, furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips, and grasped her elbow before she could slip away. “She’s been refusing to see me.” He yanked her elbow gently, forcing her to face him. She tightened her jaw, eyes set on the books in her arms.
“She’s been disappearing for hours all day,” he continued, “even her maids don’t know where she saunters off.” Daemon raised her chin with her thumb, forcing her to meet his lilac eyes and what she saw was strange. His long silver-white hair was untidy and unkept, unusually so. He wasn’t angry, for all he’s worth, and he certainly wasn’t not confused, but he was sad, almost. Her frown deepened.
“I did not see it of any consequence,” she spoke curtly and shook his hands off. “Nothing you say, or do, can change anything. You are of no consequence.”
He laughed, hoarse, empty, mocking, angry, “I am of no consequence? Udra sylvie, ābrazyrys,” Naera’s face contorted at his words. He was doing it to hurt her, to make her hate him, to make her say anything at all, and she knew. ‘Wise words, wife.’ She took a step back, and another, and another, teeming disgust and boiling hatred brewing a difficult amalgamation within her. The lengths she went to for her sister, but she had to. For Rhaenyra.
“And are you of greater consequence, then? Skoros emagon ao gaomagon? What have you done, other than running circles around the Dothraki and drawing plants in Naath?” Civility. Civility. Civility. He caught her wrist, pulling her close, threatening.
Did it really matter? It wasn’t just Alicent Hightower, was it? Everyone knew that they would be at each other’s throats, and she knew it better than anyone else. She needed to be calm. She needed to be temperate. For Rhaenyra.
“Udligon issa, timpa azantys. Skoros emagon ao gaomagon naejot gūrogon bona?” Ha. What was this, now? Answer me, Silver Knight. What have you done to earn that?
Ha.
Naera laughed, dry and loud, and hoarse.
Oh.
“You know nothing of me, or mine.” She spoke, as loud as she could—damn the worlds that hear it. He knew nothing. None of them did. None of them could ever understand, and she saw no point in trying. There was no consequence in trying, other than her failure and disappointment.
Daemon was taken aback, at least, and didn’t question her, or stop her, when she walked away, arms heavy with journals and ink staining her skin. He saw her silver-white locks disappear in the bushes of the Godswood, her heavy breathing resonating.
A question loomed his mind, certainly.
Had he fucked up?
At the very least, he knew the answer.
It is said that the Princess had refused to meet with Prince Daemon after her father had suggested their marriage, wanting to make it a blind union for both of them. Prince Daemon did not take her terms well and was seen at the doors to her chambers multiple times, asking her maids about her whereabouts.
The Princess would take to the Godswood after breakfast, allegedly hiding between some lone high bushes, and working on the scrapping and rewritings of her manuscripts of Times in Essos. She wrote once, in near dismay, that “He has found my safety—well, fuck,” probably referring to Prince Daemon discovering her hiding place in the Godswood.
The Princess consulted her sister, who had known Prince Daemon for much longer, who suggested that she treat the prince with the civility she would appreciate he treated her with if her journals are to be taken for truth. Princess Naera then tried her best and beyond to appreciate her uncle’s attempts at courting.
- An excerpt from ‘The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife’
by Maester Creyolin of the Citadel
MASTERLIST
#daemon targeryan#original female character#house targaryen#house of the dragon#daemon x oc#daemon smut#daemon targaryen smut#team black#house martell#dance of dragons#melisandre of asshai#melisandre#daemon x y/n#daenerys targeryan#azor ahai#dreams#fanfiction#archive of our own
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Bran Stark exploring paradox (or, a free case study on the Night's King & Melisandre of Asshai!)
I am thinking about Old Nan telling Bran stories of the mythical Night's King, the 13th Lord Commander of the Watch who she insists was a (Brandon) Stark, a man who began his tale as a warrior with no fear. 'And that was the fault in him,' she would add, 'for all men must know fear.' I am thinking about this vis-à-vis Ned telling Bran in AGOT Bran I that a man can only be brave when he is afraid, immediately placing in young Bran's storyline the idea of yin yang relationships, and then I am thinking about that in relation to Melisandre's R'hllorian fire magic which is powered (or at least strengthened) by fear. I don't believe that last one's a controversial claim, but if it is, then as proof I would point to a) Davos remembering Lord Florent being burned alive and how Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea--that is, Melisandre tells them and they all believe that the screams of fear made the ritual successful; and b) Varamyr Sixskins' eagle death, how when he tried to fly from it, his terror fanned the flames and made them burn hotter. If that's not scary enough, remember: there's not even an employee discount. Melisandre's visions prey on her own body and mind. When she stays awake to tend her fire, she bleeds black smoke, finds herself weeping, and her tears were flame. And still she drank it in. But at the same time, she can't sleep because she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night.
So, on one hand we have the terrible figure of the Night's King, absolutely fearless, ruling the night, with an obvious thematic connection to ice while on the other we have Melisandre, crusader against the night, whose (fire)power requires fear. Ice preserves while fire consumes. Additionally, both of them are involved in human sacrifice, and have their supernatural experiences connected to a devil-esque "lover" figure in the Corpse Queen & R'hllor himself (with whom Mel shares a special intimacy unlike even other red priests/priestesses). Old Nan says that the Night's King gave the Corpse Queen his soul when he gave her his seed; beyond having sex with Stannis and literally giving birth in service to her God, Melisandre also deprives herself of needed sleep because she would sooner sit bathed in the ruddy glow of her red lord's blessed flames, her cheeks flushed by the wash of heat as if by a lover's kisses. 'Oh that's just George's writing style--' well if it's just turn of phrase then WHY does Mance Rayder describe Mel's ruby glamor charm as being warm against my skin, even through the iron. Soft as a woman's kiss. Your kiss. But sometimes in my dreams it starts to burn, and your lips turn into teeth. Well?? Sure, GRRM can be romantic sometimes but that's not my point, my point is highlighting parallels in these seemingly opposite human/horror relationships. The Night's King fell in love with the Corpse Queen because he had no fear, while Melisandre found R'hllor because as a child slave all she had was fear & she needed to be able to locate dangers against her person. One brave, one afraid.
Now this has to do with Bran because of ASOIAF's general ice/fire dichotomy that throughout the text functions as metaphor for a dozen other dichotomies. The concept of dichotomous balance (presented in the harmonic title a song of ice and fire) is explicitly presented in the convergence Ned teaches Bran about: bravery or fear? Bravery and fear. Now a song of bravery and fear doesn't quite roll off the tongue but regardless, I bring this up because there's a lot of Dany = fire, Starks = ice, Jon = [redacted] going on which is absolutely a Thing and Important. Thematically crucial. Let it not be said that I said otherwise! Rather, I am tying it into what I see as the specific philosophical underpinning of BRAN. Of HIS motivations, which began forming in his very first scene which is the execution of a Night's Watch deserter, presented in it's social context as proper and civilized, but nonetheless being a ritual human sacrifice (to law & order). Bran has always had an element of defying exactitudes, which is why I personally don't think his TWOW storyline will be as simple as ally with my (good) siblings against our (bad) enemies. The wight called Coldhands is a Bran B-plot, and he is another case of complicating black and white--literally, he's black and white. Coldhands' extremities and eyes are "black as pudding" but the rest of him is "white as milk." He kills members of the Night's Watch who are technically his brothers in oath, except readers know they're the mutineers that murdered their commander which makes it okay. When Bran reduces him to being "[a] monster," Coldhands counters that he is "your monster, Brandon Stark." Jojen and Meera's oaths to Bran highlight dichotomies that converge as well: by earth and water, bronze and iron, ice and fire. The risk is yours Bran, as is the gift. The choice should be yours, too.
Speaking of Meera. She does this post the favor of connecting the importance of lessons in paradox Bran was taught in Winterfell with his future plotline:
"Remember Old Nan's stories, Bran. Remember the way she told them, the sound of her voice. So long as you do that, part of her will always be alive in you."
"I'll remember," he promised.
#bran stark#the night's king#melisandre of asshai#asoiaf#valyrianscrolls#asoiaf meta#text#a search of ice and fire hasn't been working for me btw so all these quotes are from my random notes sorry for no cites#q
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❝ the lord of light can fuck off along with his bunch of uptight cunts of proselytizers ❞
𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟⧸𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑒 : talia, the dark priestess ▸ neutral ▸ anya chalotra.
❛❛ aesthetic . ❜❜ ⸻ ◜ ❏ . ⸻ turning her back on religion , the woman is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma , she knew what it was like to be used ; to believe in something that gave her false hope , darkness does not always equate to evil , just as light does not always bring good ⸻
BASICS ⸻
birth name : talia.
title / s : the dark priestess , the dark witch , heathen cunt .
region of origin : asshai.
sworn allegiance : herself / the common people.
age : twenty-eight / unknown.
orientation : cis - woman / bisexual.
status : unmarried / no children.
religion : n/a
spoken languages : versatile / all of it
other abilities : talia possessed a very wide and impressive range of magical abilities, making her a very powerful and formidable witch. .
PERSONALITY ⸻
positive : aware , self-assured.
negative : enigmatic , morally-questionable.
moral alignment : chaotic good.
deadly sin : lust.
element : darkness.
emotional stability : its there .
alcohol use : socially .
prone to violence? : when provoked .
drives / motivations : herself / children .
PHYSICALITY ⸻
hair color : black.
eye color : hazel.
height : 5′6.
weight : 121lbs.
build : slim and toned .
distinguishing marks : locks of curly, raven black hair fragrant with lilac and gooseberry perfume. with eyes so cold and sparkling with a remarkable hazel penetrating gaze, in anger blazing with livid, blue-gray fire. Those very eyes also concealed wisdom and imperiousness .
HISTORY ⸻
Originally from the city of Asshai, located in the far east of Essos, Talia had a rough childhood from the moment she was born. raised by her father living in poverty , her father immediately detested her because she looked like her mother, who left him for another two years after she was born . upon her 10th birth year , her father would sell her , to a red priestess who saw potential in the girl, because her father deemed her to be a useless waste of space and a burden.
Eventually becoming a red priestess of the Lord of Light, many would say she wield powerful magical abilities... and yet she never truly gave herself to the religion . Talia among them had always been different. always doing what she wanted . a mysterious woman if ever there was one. she is completely unpredictable, in no small part thanks to her stoic, calm and reserved demeanor and her ability to wade through one confrontation after another without losing her dignity, temper or advantage.
many of the priest and priestesses feared talia. if they didn't fear her, they wanted to use her, in which eventually caused her to leave when she truly was brought into their inner circle one night which resulted in those within it to be killed.
talia turned her back on the lord of light and was branded the dark priestess. a heretic. blasphemy among their own. she's been living her life as she wants since them and often times takes care of the common street children and takes them in. calling them her little butterflies.
HEADCANONS ⸻
She's cunning enough to get things done on her terms, which can both be boon and a curse.
Pragmatism is not a trait that most people sport, but it's one of talia's defining traits. She is incredibly pragmatic, cold, and logical in her decision making
behind the image of a powerful sorceress with a sharp wit — and tongue — hides the small girl who was sold by her father because he deemed her to be a useless waste of space and a burden.
sold off to a red priest saw her to be powerful one day , they all never anticipated for talia to turn her back on the lord of light. branding her the name dark priestess among them all.
She knows her hands are dirty, but doesn't feel shame about it because she's acting for personal gain or love
she's protective of children
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Daemon of Asshai-by-the-Shadow
A lone shadowbinder answers the priestess’ summon.
𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 - 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕.
As night fell, the river Ash glimmered with a faint green luminescence and long white bands of mist filled the air, creating a tranquil yet mysterious ambiance. Its black walls that sprawl for leagues across both sides of the river could contain Volantis, Qarth, King’s Landing, and Oldtown combined.
The man drew the shadowy curtains away to get a glimpse outside of the palanquin lugged on the quivering backs of slaves. Bazaars and hovels are nearly devoid of inhabitants. Save for a single person wearing a wooden mask and peering out, the windows of numerous abodes were sealed. He could sense its gaze from afar, causing a certain degree of discomfort.
He stepped out of the palanquin when the slaves came to a halt in front of the red temple. The man drew his hood forward and ascended the stairs, stopping right by the entrance.
He waited and waited, and then the massive doors opened. A beautiful woman with long hair the color of deep burnished copper, unsettling red eyes, and pale, unblemished skin stands before him. “Despite your reluctance to respond to my summons, I saw your arrival in the flames,” the priestess says, her deep voice tinged with the music of the Jade Sea. “I have several matters to share with you.”
The red priestess invited him in. The temple is a grand labyrinth of columns, steps, abutments, spans, cupolas, and turrets that blend together as if hewn from a single colossal stone. A plethora of various hues of red, yellow, gold, and orange come together and converge on the temple walls, dissipating into one another like the skies at sundown. She conveyed him to an inconspicuous, vacant room with a prodigious stone bowl in the middle that had a hissing fire.
Both of them were quiet for a considerable length of time prior to him inquiring, “What is the purpose of my presence here, priestess? What news do you wish to share with me?”
“R’hllor has shown me a prophecy,” she says, her gaze fixed on the flames. “You, too, have a role to play.”
The man nearly rolled his eyes. Another prophecy again, he thought. “What exactly do you mean?”
“When the Blood Betrayal of the Bloodstone Emperor began an age of darkness, a great warrior wielding a burning sword rose to fight this darkness lying over the world. And that sword was Lightbringer.”
The man was nonplussed in regards to her ultimate objective, yet he chose to go along with it. “The Azor Ahai,” he says. “I’ve heard that story countless of times.”
“The red comet heralded the arrival of our savior. Bosys bantis amazis, se morghor zijomy amazis. Meri kivio darilaros oz maghagon kostas.”
The long night is coming, and the dead come with it. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.
“Darilaros,” he drawls. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian. The proper translation for that prophecy would be, ‘The prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.’”
“Impressive,” says the red priestess, smirking.
The man only shrugged, ignoring her praise. “How is this relevant to me?”
She shifts her eyes to meet his. “I see a girl in the flames, surrounded by traitors in every nook and cranny.”
The man’s expression hardened, his eyebrows narrowing and his lips pressing together. A spark of vexation flares in his eyes as he hated repeating himself. With a motion, he pushed his hood away — unveiling his shoulder-length silver hair and dark purple eyes — the latter of which fixed a fierce gaze upon her. “And I implore you once more, priestess, how is this relevant to me?”
“The girl, a princess of royal blood, calls to you… shadowbinder,” she countered. There was ice in her voice that made his magic recoils in fear. The red priestess returns her gaze to the fire. “Her death will result in the extinction of dragons, leaving humanity defenseless against a long night that never ends.” The ruby at her throat gleamed red. “This girl bears a weight on her shoulders, and that’s where you step in. She needs your stalwart assistance as the vipers plot their devious stratagems. Blood, I see, and dragonfire threatening to consume everything it touches. Sail to Westeros to find the girl… for your destiny is intertwined with hers.”
For a brief moment, the man remained silent before cocking his head to the side and letting out a small, mirthless laugh. His actions do not appear to amuse or offend the red priestess. “I’m not a dog that you can summon with a shrill whistle, priestess,” he snarled. “I might have engaged in sorcery, but do not anticipate me to hold faith in capricious matters such as destiny, visions, or auguries, for that is a completely disparate matter.”
She cocked her brow. “Do you not believe in it?”
“No, I do not,” the man says emphatically. “The very concept of it helps people believe that all unfortunate things happen for a reason, yet there is none.”
The priestess only hums. Her lips twitch again, this time into a small smile, before returning to her blank expression.
He steps closer to her, looming over her. “And you want me to sail west in search of this girl?” he harrumphed. “What if your fires are wrong, and this journey you want me to take turns out to be a fool’s errand that will cost me my life?”
She stood unflinching before him. “I can comprehend your disbelief. Although I admit that my readings may have been false on several occasions, my vision in the fire was true. I am as mortal as you, shadowbinder. All mortals err,” the priestess reassured him. “And, no matter what your personal beliefs are, you will be swept up in the forces of destiny inevitably.”
When she was finished, two acolytes escorted him out, and the doors shut behind him. And with a defeated sigh, he pulls his hood up and fades into the night, returning to his humble abode illuminated by the glistening river. While he considers whether the red priestess’ words should be taken seriously, he kept himself busy by returning several scrolls and books to their proper places.
During his youth, he had already journeyed around much of the east and the other parts of the known world, but he chose to return to Asshai. But before he can contemplate rejecting the notion of traveling to Westeros, his body acts instinctively as he began stuffing his belongings in a burlap sack.
Daemon hopes the priestess’ prediction proves right this time, otherwise he won’t hesitate to kill her.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd au#daemyra au#daemyra#rhaenyra x daemon#daemon x rhaenyra#daemon targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen#don't mind me... just writing a short fic ✌️#daemon as a shadowbinder... cool right??#in this he is a dragonseed living in asshai or...? 🤔#i haven't thought much of his origin#i hope y'all like it 😊
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HOUSE DAYNE FROM STARFALL.
Alyanna Dayne - a former lady in waiting for princess rhaenyra, alyanna had been the youngest at the time before the princess married laenor valeryon. eventually the lady left the services of her princess to return to starfall and be the acting regent of starfall as lady while her nephews grew. rumors speak of alyanna having been a green seeror someone who was interested in the fire religions of asshai, often wearing a necklac of the likes of the red priestess but no rumor had been confirmed. alyanna swore neutrality during the dance, offering aid to both blacks and greens when they needed it as long as guest rights were invoked.
Arthur Dayne - one of the swords of the morning of house dayne, he was the last great knight of their house and renounced around the realm as the greatest swordsman in westeros. a best friend of prince rhaegar targaryen, arthur had pledged himself to the prince long before he was married to his sworn house through princess elia. he was tasked by his prince to protect the lady lyanna stark at the now called tower of joy and he was bare witness to the birth of jon snow, before he was slain in combat by ned stark. his famous sword, dawn was taken back to starfall by ned stark.
Ashara Dayne - the lady with the laughing eyes. perhaps more than her brother, ashara's eyes were renounced around the realm and she was often proclaimed the most beautiful woman around. daenerys targaryen's eyes are said to be of the same shade of that of ashara, connecting the ladies ancestry of the great empire of dawn. ashara was said to have eyes on a stark man during the tournament of harrenhal and danced with both brandon stark and ned stark, the first doing so before leaving the lady to dance with his brother. according to ashara's youngest sibling and other daynes, ned and ashara loved each other. ashara eventually died after giving birth to a stillborn daughter, though the father of said child is left unknown.
Allyria Dayne - the current lady of starfall and regent for her nephew nedric dayne. allyria was a babe at the time of the rebellion and remembers very little, but she grew up with tales of ashara and ned having been in love, the reason why they bare no ill toward the starks despite the slain of arthur at the hands of ned. she is said to resemble her sister, although her eyes are said to be more pearly lilac than purple.
do not reblog or comment/like unless we are mutuals.
#⸻ . ✷ ❛ arthur dayne❜ 〉the sword of the morning .#⸻ . ✷ ❛ashara dayne❜ 〉the lady with the laughing eyes .#⸻ . ✷ ❛ allyria dayne❜ 〉the regent .#⸻ . ✷ ❛ alyanna dayne❜ 〉dornish delight.#i need to do more stuff with all of them!
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Reader-Insert fics I want to write and have outlines for:
Jon Snow x Shadowbinder from Asshai (hear me out)
Jon Snow x Greyjoy Ward x Robb Stark
Sandor Clegane x Robert Baratheon’s Sister
Jaime Lannister x Robert Baratheon’s Sister
Jaime Lannister x Targaryen Princess
Jaime Lannister x Middle Tully Sister AU
Jaime Lannister x Arryn Bride
Gregor Clegane x Red Priestess (again, hear me out)
Which of these would you, as a reader, personally like to see prioritized?
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in her experience, men lie. to themselves and to others, a universal truth; be it in asshai or through essos. the rogue prince is a mystery, as much as the red priestess claims she knows many things beyond comprehension, his mind is not as easily readable as others. he speaks of not being afraid of death and red eyes study him; she might believe him, although that only makes the priestess grow curious. "then, pray tell, what are you afraid of?
no man is fearless and one would say only a fool fears nothing. it keeps you men brave." melisandre herself fears plenty though her reassurance comes from her visions and faith and understanding the unique path that is led before her. "surely, not fire, as it's as natural to you as it is to the lord of light."
feet had taken her close to where he stands now, silence weighting between the two as she waits for the answer, her hands rest easily on the goblet filled with strong ale to warm her lungs.
@dastardlydaemon asked: “ i’m not afraid to die ”
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From the Ashes Pt. 35
Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister
Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, MC POV, long chapter ahead
Words: 6023
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38
Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)
Panting and reeling away from her personal brazier, Alizah closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her face was still warm from the gentle licks the fire gave her as she had been staring deep into its flames. She had to know of any situations that might follow them to Asshai. Especially with confronting the darkins in their own realm. Alizah had never anticipated seeing a screeching dragon in her visions. So clear, the dragon had emerged from an egg that was being held by (y/n). Soaring through the rippling orange and yellow before growing ever larger and landing next to its mistress.
Alizah pulled up a chair and mulls over what she had just seen and the true meaning behind it. If only she was able to write down what she saw like many of the other red priestesses. Alas her blind eyes would merely be able to make scribbles. The only time she ever saw clearly was looking into the heat of the things, the soul of a being. She knew it would be wise to tell High Priest Benerro, after all she was his shining star in the whole temple and was heavily relied on. That’s how the temple knew (y/n) was in Volon Therys. And it was the vision of a box being delivered by a stranger that tied into the scenes she had seen at that moment.
When Ser Barristan Selmy had arrived on the doorsteps with a dark wood box under his arm, she had seen the warmth emanating from inside. It was a sleeping warmth that she had nearly waved off for it was a faint flicker. A box from Thalina.
“Did she actually succeed?” Alizah thought out loud to just herself. Thalina’s talent in reading the flames had been growing steadily before her departure to Westeros. Helped by Alizah and Melisandre, there were high hopes for her but only a handful of people knew of Thalina’s ultimate fate. Thalina had seen her own end but had just laughed it off. She never did like being serious. The air around her was always jubilant and Thalina had always been a smiling fool. That was the impression she left on everyone in the temple.
“I’m sorry. . .” Alizah whispered behind her hand after Thalina had told her how her life would end.
Thalina merely cocked her head to one side, her long braids shifting ever so slightly. “For what?”
“That you will not live a long life. That you will die in Westeros. . .”
Her laugh had surprised Alizah and Melisandre who had also been present. There in that solemn council room sat the senior red priest members Hayri and Iomhar, as they were the ones to be in attendance when the High Priest was unable to physically be there. “Ah, I’m not too worried about that. I’m more so concerned about getting all of my tasks done before that happens. If I can accomplish all that I have set forth in front of me, then I can die happily.”
“You shouldn’t be so callous when talking about your own death.” Iomhar growled but it didn’t dampen her smile. “The temple has so few people who can read the flames as well as you three can. To lose one would be a setback.”
Hayri, although perturbed by the revelations, shakes his head at his younger companion. “Settle down, Iomhar. Thalina is thinking about the bigger picture. We won’t need any more readers if she procures Azor Ahai reborn.”
Thalina beamed and nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! If I’m able to get her here. . . Then I would have done my job. But there is also one more thing I aim to do.”
“And what is that?”
“Why, bring back dragons of course!”
Bring back dragons. . .
It was too crazy a thought, that’s what everyone was thinking at the time. Melisandre was the only one who didn’t think it quite as crazy. She had said it was exactly what Azor Ahai reborn would need to truly make a stand. Alizah had never thought that Thalina would actually succeed in procuring a dragon egg.
“You were always a crazy girl.” Her voice was sad as she thought back on the girl who was the same age as her yet already gone from this plain of existence. Everything Thalina did, she did fearlessly. An admirable quality. “Guess I’ll have to be the same. You have left her in my care. I will see to it that your visions come true, Thalina.”
Also important in the back of her mind was making sure that Rhiannon would be guided in the right path. That didn’t appear to be a problem. Rhiannon had immediately attached herself to (y/n) and (y/n) to her
They filled the empty spot in which Thalina’s death had left them.
A festive atmosphere had claimed Volantis, especially around the Red Temple; the hub of the ceremony. None of the jovial air reached you though. Thinking of being in front of so many people still made you nervous. All eyes would be on you. You hadn’t felt such trepidation since your wedding. There would be more people at your ceremony and certain expectations had already been set for you. You wouldn’t become Princess (y/n) Targaryen, no, you would be crowned as Azor Ahai reborn; the champion of R’hllor and the ender of the long night.
Your ceremonial headdress solemnly sat on its pillow. Tyrion had playfully tried it on and nearly toppled over, not used to such an accessory. While the robes had once belonged to Azor Ahai, the headdress was completely new, made specifically for you and this occasion. Inanna and another young temple girl named Farah were helping you get dressed, slipping your arm through the gilded sleeves. They chatted excitedly as they did so, apparently the temple was making this a very big deal. After all, their savior had finally been reincarnated and walking on the earth among them. The people of Volantis were already crowding near the bridge to get a sneak peek of the set up. Servants were setting up a pyre right outside the doors of the temple. A special feast was being prepared as well.
While Rhiannon positioned a gold armor breastplate in front of your chest, you examine your painted hands which Siofra had done for you. The dye was a dark brown and in intricate designs. You were worried about smudging it but tall Siofra merely laughed and told you it would not be an issue. The only thing that would wash away the ink would be hot water and soap.
Personally you didn’t think that it was an appropriate time to have your ceremony, but High Priest Benerro along with his council of priests insisted the people of Volantis see the face of Azor Ahai reborn before you left for Asshai.And most importantly to witness Lightbringer with their own eyes. You were nervous, what if you weren’t able to conjure up the flames when the time came? You had still been unable to call upon it freely, not since your fight with Inniros. Without its holy flames, Lightbringer was just like any other sword.
Farah helps Rhiannon by tightening the armor’s straps behind you. When her warm eyes flick up to your face, Rhiannon frowns. “Are you okay? You don’t look too well.”
Inanna pops up, having been helping Tyrion with his own outfit. Even Tyrion looks up with concern. “Perhaps I should get nuha kosh something to eat?”
Tyrion shakes his head. “Get her some tea. You don’t want her to develop an upset stomach and throw up during her ceremony.”
She smiles sweetly, making Tyrion’s cheeks turn a vibrant pink. “Ah, that’s a better idea! Good thinking Lord Tyrion.”
In the corner of your room, lounging at your round table was Jaime and Inniros being briefed on their roles by Alizah and Melisandre. Behind Inniros was Sirvart leaning against the wall but with a cautious eye on the darkin, her whip at the ready. The red priest Kafele, a man in his middle age, was in attendance as well to decorate Jaime’s own hands with the same dye Siofra had used on you. Initially he had grimaced when the older man had walked up to him with it and outright refusing. Tyrion told him to suck it up and to add salt to his wound had Kafele paint his own hands. Jaime, not being one to be outshined, relented.
Inanna goes to the packed table and pours you a cup of tea that would calm you. Carefully you take it from her small dark hands and thank her. A chair is also brought over to you so you could sit down and relax for a moment. Rhiannon helped you sit, holding your robes in such a way where they wouldn’t get stuck under you. “I’m fine. I’m just worried about using Lightbringer in front of all those people. I haven’t been able to summon the flames.”
“When the time is right, you will.” Melisandre says, although it didn’t necessarily make you feel any better. All you could do was blindly trust in her cryptic words.
“Maybe you just need to stab Inniros’ shadow again.” Jaime grins and teasingly looks at the bored darkin.
Inniros doesn’t blink an eye at Jaime’s remark, merely shrugging. “You can try.”
You shake your head. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Rhiannon hums thoughtfully, sitting at your feet and resting her head against your knees. “What emotions were you feeling when you first summoned Lightbringer’s flames?”
Thinking back to that day, you grow silent and close your eyes. You attempted to put yourself back there in your mind. You remember seeing Jaime, held down by Inniros’ shadow and about to be killed. Rage had filled you. Unadulterated rage ran through your veins and the urge to protect your older brother. Such an intense feeling was something you had never felt. Sorrow was nothing new to you. Even growing up with your cruel sister and distant father, you hadn’t felt resentment, only sadness that they didn’t love you or even care for you. Rage and anger was something entirely new to you.
You look at Jaime who wasn’t particularly paying attention until the red priest puts down his brush and turns around in his seat to face you. Kafele had the starting of wrinkles around his dark eyes and a peppered beard that covered his lower face. The top of his head was bald and shining. “Maybe you should call upon whatever you were feeling during that experience.”
“I’m not particularly angry about anything though. . .” You whisper against the rim of your cup.
“You have plenty to be angry about though!” chirps your little brother as he climbs atop of your bed, his red robes drag behind him. “Just think about all the things Cersei and father have done to you! And King Aerys!”
“I’m guessing you’re not used to feeling such a toxic feeling.” Alizah gently smiles.
“Obviously. Don’t you remember how she looked the first time we met her?” Sirvart speaks up from her place. “She didn’t even look like she could harm a fly. So sweet and wide eyed. Like a rabbit.”
Thinking for a moment, Jaime leans in his chair. “Well Cersei did use to call you a mouse.”
Clapping her hands, Sirvart nods. “That sounds more accurate!”
Blushing at their description of you, you still doubted that you could come up with such an intense rush again. It had nearly consumed you and. . . and something seemed to wake up inside of you. A feral beast that had been sleeping for so long. Just thinking about it made your heart pick up pace.
Rhiannon’s upside down face calms you back down and forces you to put on a wavering smile.
“It’s not the end of everything if you can’t do it yet.” Alizah’s words do happen to give you peace of mind. You trusted her word. “Of course Benerro will want you to show off, an actual testament that you are indeed Azor Ahai reborn. You’re still getting used to fighting with it. The two of you need to know eachother better. You and Lightbringer. It may be a sword, but it’s an extension of yourself and of the power of R’hllor.”
You had never really thought about it like that. If only you knew more about the actual Azor Ahai and how he had done all the things that was expected of him. True, the temple put you through lessons on their faith and history, never on a personal level. You had learned hymns and the many trials that Azor Ahai went through to forge Lightbringer. Definitely nothing you had to do. He had labored thirty days and thirty nights to forge the sword. Even then it broke had he had to repeat his actions again. And then again. Someone made your Lightbringer. Maybe it was because you didn’t put in your blood, sweat and tears into the steel? There was no personal connection.
Finishing up your tea, Rhiannon stood and took it from your waiting hand. She lingers before whispering for just your ears to hear “Don’t worry. Thalina had faith in you. Have faith in Thalina too.”
The first true smile you felt in the entire day warmed you from the inside. You couldn’t worry about it. Worrying now would do nothing for you in the long run. When the moment came, well, then you would deal with it. Thalina had gotten you this far and she hadn’t been wrong yet.
You nod and catch Jaime’s gaze. Hardly ever having his emotions on his sleeves, you saw evident worry in the depths of his eyes. The two of you had gone through so much. You had spent more time with him in Essos than you ever had growing up in Casterly Rock. Growing to know each other like the back of your hands you knew Jaime was concerned with all this fanfare and the pressure it was putting on you. He kept his thoughts to himself and merely pressed his lips together, returning his attention to the artful details being painted onto his hands and running up to his elbow. The dye was meant for warriors afterall. Sirvart was displaying her own designs as her arms were folded, obediently observing the darkin.
Going back to preparing the boys, Melisandre finishes with her words directed to Inniros. “I know you boys will be on your best behavior today. It will be the most important day of your lives. The world will know that (y/n) is Azor Ahai reborn.”
For the first time, Inniros showed interest. “The whole world?”
Melisandre nods, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. “Of course.”
“Even all the way to Westeros?”
Rhiannon caught on fast and a new sense of dread made her clutch her skirts. “The king will know she’s alive then. And. . . your sister will know where you are.”
Had she told you that a few months ago, most likely you would have been stricken with the same fear. You felt nothing though. If all of Westeros knew you were alive, Rhaegar would know too. Hope sprung up immediately and you couldn’t stop your smile from widening. “I’m not scared of Cersei. Or of Aerys.”
Melisandre smiled at you with great pride and even Sirvart smirked. The female Fiery Hand chuckles. “You certainly have grown since your days stumbling in Volon Therys.”
On your night stand was the box which the ancient dragon egg had been hiding. You get up from your seat and wander over to it, making sure your back concealed what you were looking at. But Tyrion knew as he craned his neck slightly on your bed. With the hope bubbling in you, touching the rough scales of the egg seemed to amplify that light feeling that tickled your chest. Rhaegar will know you’re alive. Hopefully once he knew maybe he would come for you once the war was over. Better yet, you hoped he would wait for your eventual return. You would always return to him. Now it felt like a closer reality.
Gentle footsteps fall behind you and in one fluid motion, you hide your opal and turn around. Alizah is standing in front of you, that permanent gentle smile. “Nuha kosh, may I have a private word with you in the antechamber?”
“Of course.” Picking up the skirts of your robes as not to get the hem dirty, you walk over to her.
“You as well, Rhiannon.” She addresses Rhiannon who had been polishing your ceremonial headwear. Slightly confused as to her summons, Rhiannon steadily joins you over to the door that leads to the antechamber. The walls are curved making the room a circular shape with a royal blue rug on the floor. A stout, round coffee table was in the center, surrounded by dark orange cushions. Other multi-colored pillows were present for added comfort.
Rhiannon made herself comfortable, laying on her side across the cushions. Honestly it was unladylike since she was in a dress, but that’s what you liked about Rhiannon. She was so comfortable with herself.
Without any assistance, Alizah sits down on the plush ground and looks up at you. Her smile widens at your expression. “Don’t look so worried. I was merely wanting to discuss the matter of that box that was so kindly delivered by Barristan Selmy.”
You had been waiting for one of the Red Temple clergy to ask you about it and you knew it lay heavy on their minds. If it was from Thalina that meant it was something of great importance. The question was on their tongues but they were willing to wait until you were ready to tell them.
Nodding, you decide that you trust Alizah enough to tell her the truth about what Thalina had sent you and the darkin confirming it’s true nature.
None of what you told her seemed to surprise the red priestess one bit. “And Rhiannon, you were the one who solved the puzzle to break open the box. How clever of your older sister. She planned out everything thus far and the events have been executed precisely. (y/n), Rhiannon, Thalina had another goal besides bringing the two of you together. Something else she had foreseen in the flames and that was bringing back dragons.”
That made Rhiannon sit up, her brows scrunched. “Bring back dragons? Thalina saw that actually happening?”
She nods and glances at you. “(y/n) is the key to everything. That is why I’m not too concerned if you can’t summon the fire of Lightbringer. Because during the ceremony you will take that egg and hatch it in front of all to see.”
You gawked at her before laughing nervously. When Alizah didn’t say she was kidding, you stopped and became anxious once more. “I think it would be more simple to try and get Lightbringer’s flames to surface. But, dragons Alizah. . . Dragons haven’t been seen for a century. Even Aerys couldn’t resurrect the last surviving dragon eggs. And now you truly expect me to do the impossible.”
“Thalina didn’t think it too impossible.” Alizah replies but pats the spot next to her for you to sit. “Relax. I have a plan set up. I’ve seen in my own visions a great pyre in which you sit in the center with your dragon egg.”
“She’ll burn!” Rhiannon exclaimed, looking panicked at the mere thought.
You were about to agree with her but then a faint memory arises; you laying down on the cushioned grass, still smelling of smoke while Jaime told you of the events that had previously taken place. You were still weak and slightly ill but you could never forget Jaime telling you how despite your room being up in flames, they didn’t touch you. Even as the fire consumed your bed and the corpse of Thalina. You had remained in one piece with no burn marks.
Alizah seemed to read your thoughts with her vacant, dark eyes. “Fire will not harm you. Not R’hllor’s champion.”
Rhiannon didn’t like it though, her fingers curling into her palm as she rocked on her heels. “We can’t risk it. . . If fire does harm her-”
“That’s the thing about faith. Sometimes you have to squash down your worries and blindly hope that things will work out. When you have a higher power to trust in, anything may be possible.”
“Sure, blindly believe. But what if your theory proves to be wrong? I’m not-” You noticed Rhiannon’s eyes begin to shine with the threat of tears that she tried to brusquely wipe away. “-I’m not losing another sister.”
Ever so slowly your own vision became hazy as your own tears became obstructive. Not even Cersei had claimed you with such pride and worry as her sister. Yet here Rhiannon was, calling you her sister. A lump developed in your throat as you try not to cry. They wouldn’t obey you and tears soon trickled down your cheek. It was too sweet and too heartbreaking.
“You told me to believe in Thalina, Rhiannon.” You took a deep breath and dabbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your robes. “To have faith in her. I’m scared too, but Thalina has yet to be wrong. If she saw that I was the one to bring back dragons, then I must be. Right? And If Alizah sees me not succumbing to the fire, then all I can do is try and live up to her vision.”
Pursed lips, Rhiannon’s shoulder trembled a little bit as her mind spiraled with all of the negative outcomes that could happen.
“In order to even hope to have the courage to go through with this, I need you by my side.” If Rhiannon wasn’t there with you to transfer her endless supply of bravery, you knew you would crumble on the spot.
“You shouldn’t let your fear show, Viserys is like an animal. He can smell fear.” Thalina had told you one day after he had threatened you. You had witnessed first hand the cruelty of Viserys after he had taken a blade and cut off Thalina’s beautiful braids. That incident had made you steer clear of the young Targaryen prince. He had the same malicious tendencies as Cersei.
“But he scares me.” You whimpered.
Thalina laughs. “That little squid? Trust me, he is nothing to fear. He’s just a bully. You just have to show him that you aren’t going to put up with his attitude.”
“I can’t do that. He’s a prince of the Seven Kingdoms. If I do something to displease him, he’ll tell the king.”
Moving a piece of your dirty blonde hair behind your ear, Thalina hums. “But you are Rhaegar’s future bride. One day you will be queen. That trumps being a prince. Viserys will be second in line for the throne until you produce an heir. Then he will be obsolete.”
When Viserys had cut off her hair, Thalina was livid and had grabbed the prince to promptly spank him on his rear. The horror you felt watching it. You had been sure that there would be terrible repercussions from her actions. You had tried to get Thalina to run away, worried that there would be guards showing up at any moment to execute her. But there was none. Only the matronly septa who turned her head, pretending not to see anything. Viserys had run howling to Queen Rhaella but received another reprimand from his mother.
You always wished you could be fearless like Thalina. Being next to her, you could feel her courage seep into you for as long as Thalina was by your side. When she was around you weren’t afraid of Viserys but Viserys was afraid of Thalina.
“I no longer have Thalina in my life. I need you Rhiannon.”
Gulping down her emotions, Rhiannon wipes her face. She was trying her best to put on a tough facade. Helplessly she looks at you with red rimmed eyes and determination.
“Then it shall be done, mandia(sister).”
A weight was lifted off of you. Now you could confidently ask Alizah “What do you need me to do?”
“Promise me one thing.” Jaime had one hand on the handle of the temple’s front door. A giant of a structure that led out to the crowd you could hear waiting with anticipation to see you.
Rhiannon on your left and Tyrion accompanying you on your right, you glance at your older brother.He didn’t look straight at you, choosing to keep his gaze focused forward.
Your entourage that trailed behind you stood silently.
Your left hand held your large opal while the other kept a steady grip on Lightbringer’s pommel. “What’s that?”
“Please don’t burn to a crisp.”
“Jaime!” Rhiannon remarks in a sharp tone before shaking her head with exasperation.
Actually you quite appreciated Jaime’s lighthearted attempt at diffusing your nerves that were already at a debilitating amount. “Hah, yeah, I’ll try.”
“You know what I mean.” He takes a deep breath.
“Do you not think I can do it?”
“Absolutely not.” Finally turning in him, you take all of Jaime in. The scar under his dancing green eyes. His long braid he had incorporated into his hair, casually resting on his shoulder. He wore armor over his ceremonial garb with vambraces that shimmered gold. Rubies and topaz decorated the rimmed arc “I would be a fool if I thought you couldn’t do this. I witnessed the most impossible things. Well, nothing seems impossible when you’re concerned. I know you can do this. Just. . . I’m still going to worry about you and feel like this could go terribly. And Tyrion, you look completely calm.”
“I believe in her too.” Tyrion smiles up at you, his long, curly hair framing his large forehead.
A knock from the outside was your signal to begin your descent to the circular plateau that led out to the plaza market of Volantis.
“The priests are ready for you, nuha kosh.” Melisandre instructed you, her hands folded in front of her and head held high.
Show time.
The booming voice of High Priest Benerro penetrated the door, a stream of words in Valyrian that were deaf on your ears as you tried to keep your composure. Heavily concentrated on your breathing, you stare as the doors slowly open; the other had been pulled open by Iyan. Bright, blinding sunlight makes your eyes squint up. You held the egg closer to your side, mentally trying to reach out to the warmth inside. That soothing closeness that reassured you.
Hanging tapestries that blew in the partial breeze portrayed the Red Temple’s burning heart against scarlet fabric. In the vestibule, the bridge was blocked off by Fiery Hands that held their weapons at the ready. People nearly spilled over them but you knew it would take a lot more to get past your guards. They clamoured on tip toes to try and be the one to catch the first glimpse of Azor Ahai.
The heat from the pyre in the center could be felt from miles away. There was no way you could get past the loud pounding of your heart in your ears to listen to the High Priest’s introduction. At a slow pace, you step forward until the sunlight fully reveals you for all to see. Vibrations from their cries of jubilation shook you to your core and you nearly lost the will to move forward had Rhiannon not given you an encouraging nudge.
Go on (y/n). You can do this. Even if every inch of me is trembling. . .
Summoning strength from your tightly clutched dragon egg you stiffly continue your walk until you are right next to Benerro. He had his arms out, welcoming the world to you.
“Chin up, (y/n).” Joanna smiled patiently, her index finger coaxing your chin up so that your eyes met hers. “There we go. That’s much better. Let everyone see your face.”
Remembering her words, you hesitantly raise your gaze up, your crown pulling you up. His tattooed face breaks out in a smile despite his mouth appearing to actually lack lips, the sun beating down on his bald head. Under the light of day, his pale face almost looked skeletal. You always thought he was a little ominous looking, but he had always been good to you so brushed off his horrendous appearance.
“Se dārilaros bona iksin kivio. Ōñosmaghare's āeksio se Rullor's kosh. Kessa mazilībagon se path va perzys se udrāzma iā azantyr naejot pryjagon se azantyr hen tolie. Rytsas se kosh qilōni kessa iōragon against sȳndror ,(y/n) Targārien. Azōr Ahaī sigligon! (The princess that was promised. Lightbringer's master and R'hllor's champion. She will set the path on fire and command an army to destroy the forces of the Others. Welcome the champion who will stand against darkness ,(y/n) Targaryen. Azor Ahai reborn!)” His thin and feeble stature betrayed his loud booming voice that reached even those who were looking out their balconies and windows. The city streets were completely covered in civilians. Not even when you married Rhaegar at the sept had there been so many people. They moved like a wave vibrating with energy enough to overwhelm you. You stood tall though and took a deep breath.
You knew Benerro wanted you to say a speech. Actions were louder than words though and you passed by him, down the small flight of stairs, Rhiannon falling beside you easily without a word. The red priests that were gathered along the sides murmured nervously, unsure of what you were about to do.
Closer to the fire until even the crowd started to voice their worry. From your periphery you noticed an older priest pull at the arm of a Fiery Hand who merely shook their head, having been given strict instructions from Weles not to interfere.
Face to face with the inferno, tongues of flames whipped out at you. While the heat was indeed intense, it wasn’t so bad as to deter you. No, a comfort of sorts beckoned you closer.
Before you stepped a foot any further, you shed yourself of your gaudy garlands and ancient robes that would be quickly engulfed in flames. Even the spiked crown made of precious gold. Everything that could be potentially destroyed were discarded, leaving you in a short sleeved, white dress made of soft cotton. It had taken so long to put on you yet mere seconds to take off. You unsheath Lightbringer and pierce an opening into the tall flames. The closer you were to the fire, the safer you felt. Worried shouts from the audience were suddenly becoming a mere muffle. Your hearing was overcome with the crackling of wood as the flames appeared to be parting just for you. Making a way to the heart of the pyre. Enclosing you in like a fairy nestled inside of a flower, you stare all around you.
Cozy was the first word that came to you. Flames did indeed start eating at your dress. If this did indeed work, then that meant you would be naked in front of possibly thousands of people. A self conscious thought you couldn’t help but think about as you saw your naked skin become visible.
You look down at the egg you were holding, your sword hand trembling a little as you held the blade up. Alright. . . If there’s still life in you, please, please let this be enough heat for you.
Cradling it closer against your chest, you carefully rest your chip atop of it’s soft teardrop shape. “It’s just us in here. It’s okay.” You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed. They were ancient prayers that Melisandre had told you of in a language that you had never heard before. She said they would help to stoke the flames if the heat needed to be increased. You muttered them quickly and with fervor. Within seconds you felt the temperature rise abruptly and it even made you begin to sweat. Slowly you brought your sword arm down and to your delight, Lightbringer’s own steel was swept up in it’s own flames. They didn’t tarnish your blade and you felt the same swirl of familiarity surge through you. You smiled wide and continued your chanting.
In your arms you felt a heartbeat and around you the flames began to depict figures. One looked like your regal mother, prim and proper smiling at you. The other was Thalina.
The figure of a man you didn't know manifested, tall and burly with long hair that whipped in the flickering flames. Features of his face were obscured and unclear, but you saw his cheeky smile.
The cracking of the shell as you felt the egg begin to budge.
Your orange blanket of safety began to dance erratically.
Pure joy had you crying when you saw a piece of the shell pop off.
An eager mouth poking out.
You became part of the pure warmth of the fire. Twining arms came out to hold you and you swore you could hear your mother's voice whisper in your ear.
The structure around the pyre began to crumble under the pressure of the rising flames as they seemed to reach for the sky.
Many people had begun to disperse, fearful of what would happen.
Jaime was starting to feel light headed, not realizing that he hadn’t been breathing since (y/n) stepped into the fire. His eyes were starting to burn and the smoke was almost unbearable.
The red priests and priestesses were not as concerned. They had been chanting louder and louder. Picking up tempo, Jaime noticed the flames begin to creep down. Intervention of the darkin brought the fire down immensely before his shadows completely snuffed it out, creeping back to their caverns and crevices. Jaime had never thought that the darkin would be able to use his shadow magic against the fire. It was bright after all and the light of it could have eaten his pathetic shadows.
“Have you not heard of that saying, Jaime?” Inniros, seeming to read his mind, glared at him with his only eye. Looking at him made Jaime feel sick. He was unnatural. “The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows.”
Did everyone in the continent have to speak in that annoying, mystical manner? It annoyed him to no end that everything just had to be so vague with them.
With the flames having all but disappeared, he could see his sister and finally he allowed himself to start breathing again. Good, she was okay. Still standing with Lightbringer’s flames still burning despite her clothes having been burned off leaving her in her own skin. Her once long hair had been diminished to the length of her jawline and was patchy but even so she seemed alright.
Nothing could have prepared him for the wriggling creature in (y/n)’s ash covered arms. The creature that mewled pathetically to everyone's great shock as some red priests even jumped back when they heard the abnormal sound.
He knew this had been Alizah’s plan. They had informed everyone before making the descent to the ceremony what was to be expected leaving no time for Jaime to interject. He had to go along with whatever she told him.
Still. . . Jaime could only stare and smile like a maniac.
Of course she did it.
What was left of the crowd were starting to lean in, finding it hard to believe their own vision. Then there was a cheer from the congregation of Red Temple priests. Cheers grew to a deafening roar. Those who had run away at the sight of the towering inferno soon came back hesitantly at the cries of disbelief that were emerging.
The small dragon in (y/n)’s arms stretched its wings, the scales sparkling in different flecks of green, blue, yellow, and pink. Its small shriek could still be heard over the clamour.
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