Ever wonder what mahabharat would be like if everything was the same but krishna was a t-rex? No? Well, meet krishnasaurus rex anyway.
@sundaralekhan day 5: AU (late post 🫠)
I have no explanation for why I did this but rant/lore:
The galaxy brain writing on the banner, "Yada yada hi dharmasya glanirbhavati bharatah / I come as a dinosaur to stomp for funsies" was suggested by @cyndaquillt . Imagine the scene is the maushal parva, he got tired of the yadavas fighting and ate them all :/
@somnoire-ww helped with dinosaur anatomy
The morpankhs are duct taped to his head. He has multiple feathers for proportion because he's Huge. He can't tape them himself with his tiny arms so he whines and refuses to get anything done until someone else does it for him
He has the same personality as canon krishna but can't speak in human tongue. He only roars and people close to him understand him like rocket raccoon with groot. I want subhadra to be the best at understanding him for no reason
"we have 11 akshauhinis" "we have a t-rex"
On that note, obviously he's 'horse' instead of sarathi here. They probably got a custom chariot made for him to pull. Arjun is about to be yeeted off.
My mom told me to give him a flute for vibes, so that's why he has a flute in the one with yashoda even though he can't actually play it.
In the morning, Mareecha – the dog, the beast below all beasts, the clod of dirt that did not bear a place even under Ravana’s ugly shoe – comes to them. He is dressed as he always is, bright, shining gold, barely short of being gaudy, and breathtakingly beautiful.
“Oh look!” Sita calls, like she always does. “Oh, oh, what a handsome deer!”
Lakshmana looks up obediently, as he always does, and his hands still where he is stoking the kitchen fire.
“Huh,” he says. “That can’t be a real deer.”
“Why not?” Sita is enraptured, already taken by the gilded body, the soft, innocent face. How sweet she is, and how naïve! And how naïve he had been too, all of them except Lakshmana.
“Deer look like deer,” his brother explains, eloquent as ever. “That is not a deer.”
“So you say!” Sita huffs and pouts, swaying like a sunflower on a stem. “Husband! Will you not speak on my behalf?”
Rama closes his eyes to meditate harder; pretends not to hear. Behind him, his brother snorts. “Really?”
Rama sighs. “It is very beautiful,” he acknowledges, because he is not a liar, and because he cannot be accused of blindless yet.
“I want it!” Sita says. “How happy Mother Kausalya shall be to see it! When we go back in a year or so – oh, how fast time has flown – we will give it to her, and wouldn’t she be pleased? Remember how she adored that mynah you caught for her, brother Lakshmana?”
“Mhmm, I don’t think there is any guarantee that we can catch things without killing them, you know. I don’t think the hare traps will do.”
“Then we can skin it!” Sita says, warming up to the topic. “Whichever way you see it, we will benefit from it.”
Lakshmana hums. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Rama listens as the two bicker, clenching his trembling hand into a fist. His body is weighed down with the exhaustion of repeated grief. It hurts to hear Sita so bright and excited, planning gifts for their return as if it was a given, as if no disaster could strike them now, so close to the end. It hurts to hear Lakshmana’s prophetic words, and to wonder how he could have been so foolish, so utterly dumb, as to not hear the brother who forsook life and limb for him, and to –
“…will go, won’t you?”
It takes him a moment to understand he is being addressed, and another to parse out the question. When he does, he barely holds back a snarl and says coldly, “We should heed Lakshmana. Leave it alone.”
Her lip purses, and her eyes burn, but Sita doesn’t cry as he had feared. Perhaps it had been all Rama’s fault before, the ignorance of his weak, quailing heart. Nothing can happen now.
Sita slips inside, frowning. Rama hates himself for putting that expression there, but it is preferable to months of war and death. He meditates, and Lakshmana snips the wood into shavings, and the forest is calm around them.
At noon, he gets up. Lakshmana has moved on from shaving wood, and is now gathering clothes they hung out to dry. Sita has not yet emerged.
“Sita?” Rama calls. Was she upset? “Sita, where are you?”
The house is silent and empty. The hunting traps Lakshmana made for the hares are missing. Rama’s blood chills, and in spite of himself, he shrieks.
Lakshmana comes running, quiver on his back and knife unsheathed. He takes one look around the empty house and hauls Rama up. “Come,” he commands, and Rama goes.
Please, he begs, as they search, to whoever will listen. Please don’t let Ravana take my Sita away again.
And yet when he finds his wife, he wishes he had not prayed so at all. Sita is cold and unmoving, blood pooling around her. Sita is no more.
2.
Rama drops to his knees and howls.
In the morning, Mareecha – the dog, the beast below all beasts, the clod of dirt that did not bear a place even under Ravana’s ugly shoe – comes to them. He is dressed as he always is, bright, shining gold, barely short of being gaudy, and breathtakingly beautiful.
“Oh look!” Sita calls, like she always does. “Oh, oh, what a handsome deer!”
Lakshmana looks up obediently, as he always does, and his hands still where he is stoking the kitchen fire.
“Huh,” he says. “That can’t be a real deer.”
“Why not?” Sita asks, as taken by the gold as ever, always so keen and eager, as if the loveliness in her sought in that deer a paltry companion.
“Lakshmana is right,” Rama interjects, before it can devolve to the same argument he has heard over and over.
“Oh, but even so, I want it!” Sita says. “How happy Mother Kausalya shall be to see it! When we go back in a year or so – oh, how fast time has flown – we will give it to her, and wouldn’t she be pleased? Remember how she adored that mynah you caught for her, brother Lakshmana?”
“Uh,” he brother says intelligently, torn between agreeing with Sita and paying heed to Rama’s words. “Sure?”
“Will this one not look so fetching in Ayodhya’s gardens? I say– ”
“Lakshmana,” Rama commands, interrupting his wife quite rudely, but unable to bear her excited joy for even a moment more, “Lakshmana, go get that deer. Kill it, we will cure the hide and take it home for mother’s shrine to Shiva.”
Sita starts, but does not protest; she is by nature easily pleased. Rama would feel ashamed for using it so, if he did not know what would happen, and if he did not know he had to prevent it.
Lakshmana rises, picks up his bow, dithers awkwardly for a second where he seems to recognize that Sita had wanted Rama to give it to her, then swallows his opinions and obeys. Rama feels a sudden swell of affection for his poor, sweet brother, so shy and clumsy in such matters, and when he looks over at his wife, she too is smiling.
“You should not tease him so,” she scolds him, when Lakshmana is gone. “You know how he is.”
“He doesn’t mind.”
“Even so,” Sita looks affectionately the way he went. “Poor boy.”
Rama laughs, heart easing. “It’s like you like him more than you like me.”
Sita stands up, puts her nose to the air. She does not take kindly to Rama fishing for compliments. “Fie the woman,” she declares primly, “that picks the husband over the son.”
Rama is amused. “People will disagree, you know.”
There isn’t an answer to that, so Sita hmphs and pokes the fire aggressively. His plate at lunch, Rama reflects, will surely have an interesting taste.
He thinks differently when Lakshmana isn’t back by noon, even though the sun is high in the sky and Sita has laid out their plates.
“Oh, has he not found that thing yet?” Sita asks him, fretfully. “Now I wish I hadn’t asked for it; he will be late for lunch and the food will go cold.”
No sooner has she finished saying this that a horrible, high-pitched scream, so full of surprise and fear it does not seem it could ever belong to his brother, but is, unmistakably Lakshmana’s, trembles through the forest, sending birds flying from trees and rendering the singing cicadas silent.
Rama’s body reacts before he permits it too, but halfway he remembers what his brother had said.
“You have to go,” Sita screams, shaking his arm. “Lakshmana is in danger.”
Rama is unmoving, like a mountain, like stones. “It is the creature,” he says, and does not go.
Lakshmana does not return all night. In the morning, Rama takes Sita by the hand, and they trudge across the leafy forest path, to where the screams came from. There is a clearing, crudely made by a hacking sword. There is Mareecha, spilled across like ground like a broken bird. There is Lakshmana too, silent in death, a familiar gold-fletched arrow at the back of his neck.
3.
There is also Rama now, on his knees, howling.
In the morning, Mareecha – the dog, the beast below all beasts, the clod of dirt that did not bear a place even under Ravana’s ugly shoe – comes to them. He is dressed as he always is, bright, shining gold, barely short of being gaudy, and breathtakingly beautiful.
“Oh look!” Sita calls, like she always does. “Oh, oh, what a handsome deer!”
Lakshmana looks up obediently, as he always does, and his hands still where he is stoking the kitchen fire.
“Huh,” he says. “That can’t be a real deer.”
Rama looks to the deer, to Mareecha, and feels something quail in his chest. He does not allow Sita to ask for it, cannot allow himself to hear her praise that wretched creature.
“It is Mareecha,” he tells them. “He is here to cause us ill.”
His wife and brother look at him with wide eyes – one pair confused, one disbelieving.
“How do you know that?” wonders Lakshmana, frowning. “Wasn’t he meditating or something?”
Rama cannot breathe from the rage that consumes him. “Is it not enough that I know?” he demands. “Must I always answer to you now?”
“Don’t say that,” Sita chides him immediately, suddenly frightened. “Don’t speak to him like that. What happened to you?”
Lakshmana bows his head and doesn’t say anything, because he never speaks over Rama, but he too is surprised and hurt. Rama has never spoken to him in this manner.
(Well, he has, once. But now no one but himself remembers it.)
“Forgive me.” Rama says. A gentleman always acknowledges his mistakes, and Rama will not have those in his care fear him. “Let us not think on it now.”
“Shouldn’t we catch him then?” Sita asks. Rama wonders if it is fate, laughing at him. “You said he has ill intentions.”
“Later.”
“Why later?” Lakshmana demands. Rama wills himself not to snap again. “Last time, they wrecked such havoc and tormented so many sages. Is it not our duty to at least apprehend him?”
“If you leave now,” says Sita, gentler, “you will be back by lunch, I think. We can have the hare you caught yesterday.”
Rama does not hear her entirely – his vision is filled with the sight of him chasing that knife’s edge of gold through the sunlit forest, of watching his brother arrive alone, of coming back to an empty hut. He means to say all of this, but what comes out is, “I will go? And what, leave you alone with him?”
Silence, great and condemning, fills their little house.
Slowly, the words he spoke trickle into Rama’s consciousness. Sita is quaking with barely-controlled rage. Lakshmana is close to tears.
“I didn’t…” Rama begins, “I didn’t mean…”
Lakshmana stands. “I will go,” he says, through what, Rama realizes in muted horror, is a sob held back. “Please stay here.”
Rama wants to reach out, but again, the sight of Lakshmana lying unmoving and dead shakes him to his bones, and instead he says, “No!”
His brother crumples back to his seat.
“What happened to you,” Sita shouts. “Both of you then, begone, kill that beast. No one is good enough without your supervision, are they?!”
Sita, it turns out, can speak well to hurt. Then again, with the mess Rama has caused, can he blame her?
“All of us will go.”
Mareecha is still there when his wife and brother follow him out, glittering between the trees like a fragment of dawn.
Rama knows it is wrong.
He has known it a hundred times before.
“Stay close,” he tells Sita and Lakshmana, anyway, though he knows bone-deep that it is futile. They run, fleet-footed and swift, following the deer.
However, it does not go in circles as before – Rama has played fate too dangerously. He senses the arrow before he hears it whistle, and foolishly, knowing Ravana’s desire for Sita, leaps to guard her.
There is a prickle at the back of his neck. Sita screams. Lakshmana shouts. The forest floor, wet and alive, comes up to meet him. His heart thumps, measuring his failures beat by beat.
One, Sita pulls the dagger from his waist. Two, his hands reach for her, and meet only air. Three, she sinks beside him, curling into him like they do in the cold nights, her blood hot on her cool skin.
+1.
Lakshmana, shouting and screaming, is still standing over them. His poor, loyal brother, still swinging his sword over the enemy closing in, only to delay Ravana the indignity of their remains. Rama does not see him fall over them, shielding till the very end. Rama does not hear Surpanakha’s mocking laughter, or Ravana’s tantrum at not having Sita. The last he knows is his wife, who chose ash over captivity, and his brother, still standing, still fighting.
In the morning, Mareecha – the dog, the beast below all beasts, the clod of dirt that did not bear a place even under Ravana’s ugly shoe – comes to them. He is dressed as he always is, bright, shining gold, barely short of being gaudy, and breathtakingly beautiful.
“Oh look!” Sita calls, like she always does. “Oh, oh, what a handsome deer!”
Lakshmana looks up obediently, as he always does, and his hands still where he is stoking the kitchen fire.
“Huh,” he says. “That can’t be a real deer.”
“Why not?” Sita asks, eyes bright with joy.
Rama listens to them quietly. It will be a long time before they are like this again – just the three of them, gently laughing and teasing, no war or grief or misery between them. It will be a long time before he hears the cadence of Sita’s voice, clear as the rushing river, stir the world around him. Rama watches them, and keeps that image in his heart, for all the long years ahead.
When Sita asks him for the deer, he leaves without protest.
As always, Lakshmana comes for him alone. When they return, the cottage is empty. Rama sinks to his knees and weeps, relieved. Lakshmana kneels by him, fruitlessly consoling and apologising, but he need not have bothered. Rama has learnt to count his blessings; at least, they are all alive.
They let me stand at the edge of the crowd,
behind gold-cloaked queens and guards of flame.
He didn’t see me- or maybe he did-
and smiled the same.
They say he is a prince now,
son of kings and ancient light,
cradled not by calloused hands,
but by the silks of royal right.
They say he wears a peacock crown,
he holds a bow, commands the skies-
but I remember muddy feet,
and milk-white teeth in mango lies.
They speak of battles, of demons slain,
of chariots and warlike men-
but I recall my Lala, the butter thief,
who’d smile and steal my heart again.
He left with eyes too old for boys,
too knowing for his tender years.
Yet when he touched my feet to go,
he left his smile, and took my tears.
No labor bore him from my womb,
no birthmark bound us, blood nor bone-
but when he called me Maiya once,
I knew no love more fierce, more known.
I nursed no prince, no god, just raised a child-
the sweetest boy the world has known.
With scraped-up knees and endless, laughing songs,
Years slipped by like your whispers, soft and wild.
If Devaki birthed the god,
then I raised that boy to be one.
No cradle held him like my arms.
No storm outshone his laughing hour.
I taught him how to tie his sash,
to whistle low, and climb trees.
I taught a god to eat with both hands-
Oh, I taught a god to eat with both hands.
Devaki stood with the pride of dawn,
her hands soft-folded, eyes gone wet.
And I? I smiled too, because I know
she grieves the years I can’t forget.
So let them say he saves the world,
let them crown and call him wise-
I only hope he eats enough,
and still looks up at the stars.
Some nights, I wake with silence in my arms-
no flute, no laugh upon the breeze-
but every morning, I still stir
his curds and Makhan with memories.
So go, my moon, my flame, my very breath-
be what the world must call divine.
But if your feet should wander home…
your Maiya waits, her old arms still wide.
Been thinking about Shantanu and Bhishma and I love the juxtaposition of their actions.
In breaking his promise to Ganga, Shantanu allows Bhishma to live. The price of saving his son was losing his wife. But she didn't leave him without hope altogether. It is both a triumph (finally choosing life) and a defeat of sorts. He did the right thing in breaking his vow.
Meanwhile, you have Bhishma, who in keeping his oath, allows his father to live happily with Satyavati. He does everything right by the "rules" of dharma. It's glorious and he is honored for it. But in that same act, he sets into motion everything that breaks the dynasty. When he refuses to break his vow to father children on Ambika/Ambalika (that whole sequence angers me for no reason but more on that later), he further dooms the very dynasty he swore to protect.
A broken oath in the face of changing circumstances: that was what Shantanu managed to do, and Bhishma could not.
Oooooh juicy thinky and the realest Bhishma meta!!! This is honestly the most accurate and gut-wrenching description of the Shantanu-Bhishma relationship dichotomy ever and I hope you don't mind my rambling. Under cut for length.
OP, I'm not sure how invested you are in the works of Tolkien (or if you are into it at all) but I love comparing Shantanu and Bhishma to Finwe and Feanor.¹
It's so important to me how Shantanu's vow had an 'out' of sorts: if he ever questioned Ganga, she would leave. There was a clearly defined boundary there (however ugly it might have been) and Shantanu, in keeping as well as in breaking his promise, was aware of the consequences. Not only this, he was, in spite of his grief, aware that there was a choice, and also aware of which side he was picking in that choice (the braver side of a child or the cowardly side of his wife). Bhishma, crucially, has neither of this in any true sense. Like, it's painfully obvious that Shantanu's love for Satyavati goes beyond an ordinary flight of fancy – especially since he doesn't really take any steps to stop/mitigate Bhishma's vow. Sure, he understands that he already has a beloved son and heir, in whose hands the kingdom should be safe, and whose birthright he ought not to give away, but it's not like he's doing anything to dissuade him or to put in loopholes in the vow. Honestly, he made it worse with the moping. Imagine pining after a woman so poorly your son has to go and arrange for your suit.
In fact, this is an excellent time to mention the absolutely horrifying speech Shantanu makes just before this, where he tells Bhishma that sure he's a cool son, and sure, he's the son of a literal goddess, but well. Everyone knows that having one son is basically having no son at all. Sure, he was educated by the very best, but it's always possible that he can be killed. Sure, he was better than a 100 less-cool but also great sons, but Shantanu was soooo scared their lineage would end with him so it probably would've been better if he had other sons, nevermind that he didn't care to try to save his brothers or have other children in the gap between Ganga leaving and him realizing that he actually had a son despite enjoying the company of women pretty frequently.
And then Bhishma finds out from some poor courtier his father was pining. This is actually the point where (if I were Shantanu) I would've just drowned myself out of embarrassment. Preferably in the Ganga so she knows I'm not giving her son impossible choices.
(Notably, after Shantanu gets the woman he wants, suddenly there is no fear of Bhishma dying because wouldn't you know, he blessed his son to die only when he wanted to. That's a level of messed up only possible among the Kurus.)
Meanwhile, Bhishma has literally no idea of what happens if he breaks his vow. For one, there isn't a loophole that is immediately obvious. For another, his vow says Satyavati's son (and descendants) would sit the elephant throne, and unfortunately she does have a blood-child hanging around. And there is again the fact that there is no telling what happens afterwards. His vow is specifically of brahmacharya, so consequences of breaking it can range from potential afterlife issues (he did claim to be able to reach Swarga without sons which...uh...) to Vyasa's future children showing up bearing arms, to the ill-repute that would come of it, to the very real possibility that Satyavati's other family (also royalty) might turn antagonistic. Also also, he is functionally immortal throughout this, so if he had to die in any of the scenarios, he would have to do it out of his own free will, which is not something I think he would shy from, but which must be excessively demeaning for a man like him.
I don't think he can even decide which side he's on – is he helping or hurting his father by breaking his vow? Is he helping or hurting Satyavati? If Ambika and Ambalika bear his sons, would Kashi/Kosala take kindly to that? If he married again, as Satyavati wished, would Satyavati's people (both in Matsya and possibly the fishermen) and Kashi/Kosala stand for that? He did make a very public vow about staying away from the throne by having no sons, and probably the only thing Kosala got out of that kidnapping was the assurance that at least one of their two princesses would be mother to the king. And you can tell he's thinking about it because he gives Satyavati pages long descriptions of a bunch of wars, one of which was waged by his brahmin teacher whom another Kosala princess literally sicced on him and another by a rishi like Vyasa.
The terror is real and the logistics of the situation is insane. The option where he just gets Vyasa is much simpler.
This reminds me so much of Finwe and Feanor, because while Finwe clearly loved Feanor, he did not refuse Indis as Shantanu did Satyavati. Admittedly, Indis iirc did not ask for what Satyavati's father did, and I'm pretty sure Shanatanu wouldn't have refused if Bhishma was permitted to retain his heir-status, but the point is: he said no. Very badly, and not for long, but he did know the correct thing to do. But both their sons loved them too much, and while Bhishma swore out of determined, dogged devoted, Feanor swore out of incandescent grief, and where Bhishma did not have any children, Feanor passed it down to his sons. Yet in the end, the end was the same – a single survivor of a once illustrious dynasty, hoping desperately for a taste of the past. Maglor sings for the days that were, and Janamejaya, who could not see the glory of his past, asked others to sing for him, but they were both the last ones holding out their hands to forefathers and foremothers who they would never see again.
1.For those unaware, long story short, Finwe is the king of a group of elves in the in-universe version of heaven. His first wife dies giving birth to Feanor – a horrifying event for them as elves are technically immortal and had never seen death previously – and he remarries so fast that in elvish time it probably isn't even enough for her body to cool. Feanor has friction with his half brothers and loves his father doubly to compensate, father is killed by the devil-equivalent who wants to steal Feanor's three inimitable creations – the Silmarils. Devil takes them and runs away to earth-equivalent, Feanor, maddened with grief, gives chase and swears to kill everyone who would do anything to keep the silmarils from him, and this vow results in the near-annihilation of his line.
Awh my brain is running around screaming right now because how did I not see the parallels between Finwë/Fëanor and Shantanu/Bhishma??
You make several excellent points and I love this analysis.
I agree on Shantanu's speech, I reread that part yesterday and I was genuinely like what the fuck Shantanu. You have a son you just got back and this is what you say to him???
And now I'm comparing Fëanor and Bhishma. Fëanor, quite obviously, detests his stepmother. Or, well, his half-siblings. He never spoke of Indis, as far as I can see. But meanwhile Bhishma treats Satyavati like his mother from the second he makes his vow (e.g: calling her 'mother' while asking her to come with him to the palace). I suppose that's because Ganga did raise him.
But the shadow of Míriel did not depart from the house of Finwë, nor from his heart; and of all whom he loved Fëanor had ever the chief share of his thought.
I think this might've informed Fëanor's key personality; he was always keenly aware of the absence of his mother and the fact that his father's remarriage prevented Míriel from returning to life must have made him incredibly bitter towards Indis and her kids. Meanwhile, you have Bhishma, who—presumably—was raised by Ganga with the knowledge that his father was out there, and maybe that it was his voice that kept him alive. And the fact that he was fully grown when he came to Shantanu and was therefore better adjusted to accept Satyavati.
Both sons love their father so much they bound their lives to an oath that has no escape (much like you said for Bhishma, he has no out; and Fëanor called the Everlasting Darkness upon himself and his sons), and it lead to widespread death and destruction.
Oh, and that last image of Maglor/Janamajeya is so haunting.
In not having children, Bhishma complicated the dynastic succession and it eventually led to a war that wiped out basically the entire Kuru line—his own descendants (not by blood, of course, but he loved them so) and several kingdoms in the process; in his seven children, Fëanor ensured the three Kinslayings that burned Doriath and Sirion and sowed so much hate and discord among the Elves, and damned his own sons to terrible fates.
Feanor and Bhishma are like two sides of the same coin – however differently they do things, both will go the way the coin (narrative) rolls, and their coin rolls in very dangerous waters.
Your comparison of Bhishma's treatment of Satyavati and Feanor's treatment of Indis (and sons) is also very interesting because it isn't that Bhishma doesn't resent Satyavati's appearance in his father's life*, but he, as you said, was raised by Ganga, presumably knowing one day he would meet his father and thus having a better adjustment situation. But also, I think their respective natures and their teachers had something to do with it. Bhishma's crowning glory is the reinforcement of filial piety, the act of sacrifice to please a father. His life is one of adherence to the One True Path of Dharma™️, and his teachers are all fabled men who are also proponents of dharma, and must have impressed upon him the significance of paternal devotion and the nature of duty.
Feanor, by comparison, is a fiery soul. He was certainly messed up by having to see his mother's lifeless body hanging in time-suspension in Lorien before actual deities agreed on replacing her, even changing the law for it (they were so insane for this), but he was also not the type of elf who would ever adhere to anything. At least one of his teachers (or his teacher's teacher, I can't remember atp) was Aule, who made a whole new species in defiance of the actual creator. Feanor pioneers a new script, invents the palantirs, creates the silmarils, has seven children – his life is divergence from the way of the elves.
So it is fitting that Bhishma's oath and its keeping was one that was the "right" thing to do per society and law, while Feanor's oath and its keeping was a rebellion: "You tell me here lies ruin? Well. I will walk this path anyway."
This manifests in less earth-shattering ways as well: as you note, Bhishma dotes on his step brothers where Feanor is at best annoyed by them and at worst truly threatened. Bhishma is more conflict-avoidant, starting all his addresses to Satyavati with "Mother you are correct, however..." while Feanor is pretty abrasive every once in a while. (Honorary mention: Thou jail-crow of Mandos!!🤣) Satyavati, on account of the promise her father extracted from Bhishma and the fact that Shantanu died soon after, is also significantly less antagonistic to Bhishma, recognizing him as protector where Indis probably saw a rival in Feanor.
Also your mention of the kinslaying reminded me – Janamejaya gets to hear about his ancestors because he was trying to kill all the Nagas. They really are the same type of characters 😭
About Miriel and Ganga: their issues are almost the same as Bhishma and Shantanu, I think. Ganga is divine and divine-born, and no one could ever bind her where she did not wish to be. Even Janhu had to let go of her, even Shiva could only mitigate the force of her flow. She can be managed, but not owned. When she acts the coquette with Shantanu, she is doing this of her own free will: she likes Shantanu, she takes the first step of pursuing him, she tells him she would leave if he interfered in her life or spoke cruelly, and she does leave when her job is done. Miriel simply doesn't have these options. Per the laws of their land, she cannot drown Feanor if she doesn't want him. She cannot return to life without being Finwe's wife. Her mother called her Miriel Therinde for her love of weaving, and iirc she returns after Finwe dies, no longer bound to her place as his queen and bride, and serves Vaire in the act of weaving history. Heartbreakingly, I do not think she ever meets Feanor again unless she has some sort of access to Feanor in the Halls of Mandos (is that why she chose Vaire?!), unlike Ganga who returns at the sunset of Bhishma's life to offer the same comfort she gave him at its dawn.
*more of a vibes based thing, from what I understand, see: him saying there will never be born a son who will do what he did, him saying he could forsake all kingdoms of heaven and earth but he couldn't listen to Satyavati and oppose dharma – he has no kingdom to forsake but he does have dharma, which just happens to be the last thing he has left, his staunch support of Kunti, also a single mother and elder wife raising children where the father is not in the picture etc.
Ramayana game idea: you play as a lesser noblewoman serving as handmaid and companion to Mithila's princesses. Your kingdom is suddenly inundated by a bunch of princes and kings for the hand of your eldest princess. Your queen Sunaina would like to use this opportunity to springboard second princess Urmila's marriage to some reasonable powerful and well-mannered suitor. Her sister-in-law, queen Chandrabhaga of Sankasya and mother to two daughters, thinks this is an excellent idea! Young people are so often flighty, it would do them good to be married and settle down to respectable life in service of their nations and people! Look at the princes of Ayodhya! Four there four here – it is practically destined! And the girls would be together forever!!!
Unfortunately, your king, besides being a royal sage, is something of a romantic, and the elders do not seem to notice this rather obvious connection. Well, no matter! – the women are practical, and they know the real world! You are, therefore, summoned to their quarters. Queen Sunaina gently explains to you the gentle predisposition of the princes of Ayodhya (well, some of them), and equally gently asks you to direct the attentions of the princesses to their many manly charms. Surely, this is beneficial for both of you – as you are already close to the princesses, it would not be unseemly for you to try and gossip, and perhaps sway the affections of the girls. This way, not only would you receive a hefty promotion and have a royal sponsor for your dowry, the king, softened by the girls' affections, would be convinced to wed them. Sunaina and Chandrabhaga care little for political alliances, but their sons-in-law should be honourable men and protective of their girls.
Now your job is to convince your innocent, quiet, shy princesses of the compatibility and marriageable nature of Ayodhya's gremlin princes. This is extremely hard because
a) Rama, the best one, has already been snapped up by Sita
b) with Rama about to wed, Bharat is left holding the metaphorical leash around Lakshmana and Shatrughana's necks, and unused to the double dhamaka, the ever patient prince has become curt and withdrawn.
"The prince Bharat has such lovely manners!" you croon. Bharat turns to the manservant offering him water and offers a deadpan "thanks" while wrangling one of his brothers by the scruff. It is not the charming picture you hoped it would be.
c) Lakshmana yells. A lot.
"He is all silly bluster!" you insist. Urmila raises an eyebrow at you as Lakshmana tries to fistfight another king for insinuating that Janaka rigged the swayamvar.
You grasp at straws. "He's already so protective of his sister-in-law! Imagine how safe his wife would be."
"No thanks," Urmila scoffs. You despair.
d) the youngest prince is so... pampered.
"Bhaiyyaaaaaa," he whines, "I don't want to sleep."
"Then what do you want? To stay awake and stand guard in a protected palace?" Bharat scolds him.
"Drown yourself," Lakshmana scowls.
"Shatrughan, would you like a lullaby?" Rama asks.
"Yess!!!" says the youngest Raghu prince.
Shrutakeerti listens to this account from a manservant and looks at you cautiously.
"This is a secondhand account," you plead, all but begging, "and not trustworthy! Mithila can hardly bear to wish her daughters away so soon."
Silence.
"I'm so sorry, but I don't want to be his mother," Shrutakeerti says at last, sounding well and truly apologetic, and this is such a logical conclusion you cannot even argue.
Well then. Your princesses are the noblest princesses in the world, like stars in the darkness of Aryavarta, and they deserve the very best. And if that means you will have to straighten up these good-for-nothing princes, then you will.
The promise of Sunaina's reward is a nice bit of extra motivation.
To start, you categorise them into difficulty levels:
▪︎ Level 1: Rama
Easiest level. Man has his shit together. Has already won the swayamvar and Sita's heart. Has brought you the opportunity of a reward because no way you'd be matchmaking the rest if he was not Sita's fiance. Favourite prince. Best boy. You'd hug him if you could. Raam naam satya hai ✊🏽
▪︎ Level 2: Bharat
Easiest among the unengaged brothers. Medium level difficulty. Already soft-spoken and well-mannered. Does not cause trouble unnecessarily. You're pretty sure he's a romantic at heart. Now, if only you can separate him from his inherited duty of parentified elder sibling for even half a minute and knock into his neither unimaginative nor thick head the idea of courting Mandavi, who is tall and graceful and not at all as much of a gremlin as his little brothers (and no, you're not biased), and win over Mandavi's heart... it will all work out!!
▪︎ Level 3: Lakshmana
This one is... harder. Scratch that, this is THE hard level. He's a fine young man, very handsome, good and honourable, but... the temper. Urmila, of course, is so sweet, and so rarely gets angry (and no, again, you are not partial, you are not blind to the follies of your own, shut up, haters), but putting them within 5 feet of each other might trigger the end of the world, so you are... a little cautious. If only you can get Lakshmana away from the hordes of rude suitors, and from his terror of a twin, maybe he would be calmer. Perhaps a well-timed conversation with Urmila in a sufficiently concealed nook (in public, naturally) with sparse population will be enough to shake his desire for lifelong celibacy. If not, well, maybe you can speak to some convenient people until word reaches Rama's ears, and certainly, a man as responsible as him would not deprive his younger brother of the joys of marital life for the sake of his service. It's going to be FINE!
▪︎ Level 4: Shatrughan
Okay, this should be called the nightmare level. That boy needed to man up! Fortunately, you are extremely resourceful. What better way to man up a boy than put him to work? You would thus charge him with coordinating with Mithila for the wedding preparations! Some responsibility will do him good, his brother Rama agrees, so you set forth. And persevere. And persevere. And persevere. Even when he wants to get the very dark and very expensive purple cloth for the pavillions. A spoiled prince such as him probably never had to count money. You persevere even when he insists on filling half the menu with desserts; of course a child such as him has a sweet tooth. You persevere, even when he tries to cancel the orange marigold arrangements for yellow ones; his brother likes yellow and consideration of other people's likes and dislikes is an entirely desirable quality in a man. But then he throws a tantrum about the timing of the rituals and tries to have it shifted so his brother wouldn't have to wake up at dawn and you people of Mithila are honest, god-honouring, ritual-keeping people and if an upstart prince from Kosala thinks that he can—
Suitor dead, system restart needed to continue.
Anyway, threats!!!
⊙ Level 1: King Janaka
Hates the meddling, thinks his daughters should think and decide for themselves.
Does not desire external influence.
Has legitimate concerns about the sanity of the combined party of Kosala-Mithila bride/groomzillas.
Has not recovered from the heart attack Parashuram's arrival gave him.
Will probably cry if he has to send off his other daughters.
Unfortunately, the only person who can sniff out your involvement and order you to stop.
⊙ Level 2: Queen Kaikeyi
Has somehow already sniffed out your involvement.
Is already pissed about not being able to see Rama's marriage, will blow her top if she loses the chance to see others' too.
Will probably also blow her top if four separate celebrations somehow get combined into one. You grudgingly agree with the sentiment.
Has the express power to put a stop to at least one marriage (her son's), quite possibly more.
Happens to be the only person apart from Dasaratha and Kousalya that Rama will obey without question. If you cost Mithila Sita's marriage with Rama, it will probably be jailtime instead of rewards.
⊙ Level 3: That one nosy king from Pragjyotisha
He is looking at princess Mandavi?????
Princess Mandavi is looking at him?????
"He's better-looking than in his portrait," Princess Mandavi says.
"He's not a bad conversationalist," Princess Mandavi says.
"Hmm, maybe an alliance with Pragjyotisha won't be so bad," King Khushadhwaja says.
Bharat does not even notice.
⊙ Level 4: The prince of Vanga
He is serenading Princess Shrutakeerti???
He is SERENADING Princess Shrutakeerti!!!!!
He is READING HER POEMS!!!!!!!
She is SMILING!!!!!!!
Princess Shrutakeerti is SMILING at the FUGLY Prince of Vanga and Prince Shatrughan is INCORRIGIBLE and your reward is walking away WHAT THE FU–
⊙ Level 5: King Dasaratha's minister
Keeps trying to convince him that each prince must bring in a new matrimonial alliance.
Refers to King Dasaratha's blissful marriage with Queen Kaikeyi to insist that love blooms in the unlikeliest of unions.
Thinks one of the princes should ally with a princess of Lanka.
Says Mithila had until recently a slow economy???? YOU HAD DROUGHTS?????
Says second daughters don't bring in much??????
SAYS PRINCESS URMILA IS HARDLY THE CATCH HER SISTER IS! THE JERKFACE, YOU ARE GOING TO–
Character dead, system restart needed to continue.
⊙ Level 6: THAT SHREW OF A WOMAN STROKING PRINCE LAKSHMANA'S ARM AND LAUGHING WITH HIM, THAT @$#%€₩, CELIBATE YOUR FOOT—
(This is Shanta. Her husband and son haven't yet arrived.)
Allies:
Sunaina: Employed you.
Chandrabhaga: Same as above.
Sumitra: Unavailable but there in spirit. Will probably accept a frog for a daughter-in-law as long as that marriage happens.
Vasishtha: Knows the boys since childhood. Same as above.
Rama and Sita: Too busy staring lovingly and longingly at each other across flower gardens but would agree if they could.
Some notes:
You will win even if you don't want to, and so it is fortunate that you want to win.
If you lose somehow, Hanuman will show up at your place to smack you sing you the Ramayana.
You can marry the single extras with the dowry sponsored by Mithila's royal family.
You cannot kill anyone, no not even Ravana, sorry.
Everytime one of the Raghu princes miss, clown music will play.
Everytime one of the princesses miss, clown music will play.
Everytime one of the elders miss, clown music will play.
Targaryens love to glorify the fire, the conquest, the dragons—constantly obsessed with being the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror. But what if Aenys didn’t come from Aegon at all? What if the entire dynasty they’ve been killing each other over was founded on the union of a queen and a simple bard who just loved to hear her sing while he played his lute?
What if Aenys wasn't the trueborn son of Aegon, but instead the product of something completely unexpected—genuine, human love? Think about it. While Maegor embodies everything about Valyrian supremacy, bloodlines, strength through fire and blood (and let's be honest, probably born from blood magic because Aegon was infertile and Visenya wasn’t about to let the dream die), Aenys was... different. Aenys was soft, “weak”. But he was so profoundly human—he loved stories, the stars, music. If Maegor was a blade forged in black fire, Aenys was a quiet song lingering in the air.
And isn’t it fitting? The Targaryens repeat the same mistakes over and over again because they are obsessed with the idea that they’re descended from Aegon the Conqueror, when they are really all descendants of a queen and a lowly bard. That’s the irony—this family that prides itself on Valyrian superiority and divine right is actually the product of something far more humble and human. Their “destiny” wasn’t fire. It was songs. Stories and songs are the lifeblood of Westeros. People remember through stories. The histories, the legends—these aren’t forged in blood, they’re passed down through mummer’s plays, puppet shows, songs sung at taverns. What are we told over and over in ASOIAF? That songs are how history survives.
Aenys was born of love and song. And that matters because look at how their dynasty ends. Egg grew up loving stories of knights and heroes. He wanted to be one of those heroes from the tales. He wasn’t drawn to power or conquest, he was drawn to the stories of honor, of justice, of doing what’s right. He thought that the return of dragons would be the salvation of the realm, that it would fix everything, and what did it lead to? Summerhall. A tragedy.
Look at Rhaegar. He wasn’t some warmongering conqueror—Rhaegar loved his harp, not his sword. He could make people weep just by playing a few notes, by singing a song. His magic was in music, in creating something beautiful in a world constantly obsessed with destruction. But what did Rhaegar do? He gave it all up to chase a prophecy. He abandoned his harp and took up the sword, convinced that the answers lay in some ancient, cryptic vision of three-headed dragons. He died in the mud of the Trident, not as a poet or singer, but as a fool chasing a doomed prophecy.
They thought their destiny was fire, but it’s always been about the songs—the things that outlive the fire. That’s what Aenys represented, what Rhaegar embodied, what Egg loved as a child.
But the Targaryens were too busy chasing dragons to hear the music.
[ warnings: the angst, kidnapping and imprisonment, abuse of power, violence, sexual tension, misogyny, humiliation, panic attacks, eventual smut & sex content, incest kink, subconscious parental issues ]
[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]
Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7 – Part 8 – Part 9 – Part 10 – Part 11 – Part 12 – Part 13 – Part 14 – Part 15 – Part 16 – Part 17 – ?
Gyldayn's Chronicle (Childhood)
Gyldayn's Chronicle Chapters 1-8
Screenshots Chapters 1-6
Targcest in The Price of Pride
Floris & Aemond & Lady Royce Case
Lady Royce character & inspiration
Lady Royce Illustrations
JACE CALLING THE DRAGONSEEDS MONGRELS. i cheered. yes, jace! that's exactly what you think you are! you are a mongrel, nothing definable, ugly and with only a measly claim to your royal heritage. if they can claim dragons what are we? IT'S JUST SO GOOD that he specifically mentions rhaenyra's "silver haired" bastards when he refers to the dragonseeds....well yeah! what happens when aegon and viserys grow up looking every bit targaryen and rhaenyra dies? what happens to jace? YOU ARE MY HEIR. does she know? does she even know? her perplexed face!!! rhaenyra's like "why would jace bring this now?" it's both wonderful and awful that she fully doesn't see jace as a bastard but just as her son. jace didn't know what to say either....they are trying to communicate for the first time in their LIVES but can't say a single word about it. did the conqueror's dream foretell that? kill me kill me kill me
#it was amazinnnnnnng#it’s exactly like her father she’s SO committed to jace as her heir she doesn’t see she’s setting him up for another succession crisis#when she had sons with daemon! he’s stewing over whether some part of her secretly wanted to surplant him and name her real targaryen#children as her heirs instead of him and then she looks CONFUSED bc she’s NEVER not ONCE doubted jace#not his status as a targaryen not his worthiness as her son she’s committed to him BUT SHE HAD AEGON AND VISERYS#and what does he DO what does he SAY when he’s faced with her unending love and belief in him but she’s so BLIND to the way she’s kneecapped#his entire claim before he was ever born!!! how does he explain it when she should just KNOW#(just like viserys should have just KNOWN what he was doing to rhaenyra! it doesn’t matter bc he says so! it doesn’t matter bc she says so!) banger tags by @atopvisenyashill
concept: sirius manages to drag his parents + brother to a mcdonald’s. whilst ordering, orion asks for the wine list. regulus, despite never having visited a mcdonald’s before, can physically feel the confusion and embarrassment radiating through the ‘restaurant’ and attempts to hide behind sirius, who is making a valiant attempt at pretending he is in no way related to the weird couple who are demanding to know if the mcdonald’s has got a merlot that pairs well with their ‘beef sandwich’.
16 yr old on the other side of the counter: sir, we don’t have wine. this isn’t france
orion: then can’t you simply import it?
I absolutely love it.
Orion demanding to see the wine list to accompany his 'beef sandwich' is pure gold. He has a point - can't they simply import it? Muggle incompetence at its finest.
like there comes a point where you think something is fundamentally wrong with you. and then it turns out it’s just Friday and you haven’t washed your hair in three days and maybe you’re also just a little lonely and the combination of all three of those things is whittling a hole into your chest every time you breathe. but also the sun’s up. and you’ve survived everything so far, so you’ll survive this too, even if it hurts, even if you have to survive it many times.
[Image descriptions in order: two tweets by Joseph Mullins @josephmulli... The first says "Today, nobody showed up to my 8.15am class.
0 students of about 40. Sitting in the empty room, I email them, trying to disguise my hurt feelings.
2 mins later, I get a reply: "Professor, we think you might be in the wrong room." So anyway off I go to live in a hole forever.
The second says "My wife really wants me to mention that I was sleep deprived because I got up at 4am to play Dungeons and Dragons with my friends in Australia."]
[Tags that say #Sad professor in a room alone #Students no love me? Why students no love me 😭 #All 40 in the other room #Where our beloved professor? Why he not here? He ok?!]
