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[fy-magnificentcentury]

Nurbanu Sultan + costumes - requested by anon

[dayned-blog1]

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Emilya Dayne. She lived in what she believed to be the most beautiful part of Dorne, to a wealthy family that was, in reality, quite happy. She was loved by her mother and her father, she thought she was well loved by her brother, too. She spent much of her life protected, hidden from the terrors of the world. She was coddled, spoiled. She thought that the worst thing that would happen to her in her life would be someone she wished to spend time with not showing to a party that she threw - that the biggest crime was mixing the wrong colors. But as the little girl grew into a woman, a snake found itself wrapping around her fate. The brother that she had known to be cruel but kind enough to her would trade her for his own safety. The brother that she thought had loved her so dearly would throw her to the wolves, sending her as far from their home as he could. He kept no key, but kept a lock on the tongues of sailors who sold her off to evil Lords from a faraway land - and it was there that the little flower wilted, died, and came back like a rose, beautiful but protected. Stronger.

That would be how her story started. Her eyes rested on the parchment that she was scribbling on. In her downtime, the Priestess had begun writing. Her words were not as eloquent as she would have liked, but that was fine. Once the end of her story came to a finish, she would find someone with more skill to help her adjust it to be... Manageable. But that would be a while yet, for she was yet to discover what the outcome of her story would be: Gerold was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found. The family she had found was hesitant about believing her. She had but two friends in this world: A Queen and a Captain of an Ironborn ship.

Laying her pen back down, the young Priestess leaned into the chair she found herself sitting in. Eyes closing, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. It was hard focusing on anything these days, with the impending doom that came with the Night King and his army of dead looming over her head. She felt pressure on her shoulders the closer to Winterfell they got. She was a woman who had visions of the future, of the past, of what was to come and more. People expected her to look at a flame and be able to tell them the Night Kings next move, people expected her to blink and suddenly know the key to winning the war. The problem was that it did not work like that. Her Lord only gave her visions when he saw fit, and sometimes they were undecipherable. Sometimes they seemed pointless, and many came off that way up until the moment it was useful in happened. And the Lord had gone silent in the last few days, she had not yet had a vision since she had seen Jojen Reed in one. She was not sure if it was good or bad: had the Lord of Light abandoned them, deeming them undeserving of his help? Or had he left her explicitly, deciding that she was not worthy of his gifts? Or did it mean that working with Jojen Reed was the only thing she had to do for a while to work towards winning the war? Questions that she would not have answers for, not for a while.

Sighing, the woman rested her head in her hands, trying not to break down into tears. Too many she had shed since getting in Westeros, even those of joy she frowned upon now. But she was cold. And she was tired. And she was scared. And she was lonely. Living in the world with no certainty was beginning to take its toll on her body and her mind.

At the sound of someone stumbling into her tent, the Priestess jerked her head up, forced back the emotions turning in her stomach and plastered on the softest smile she could muster at the moment.

"Sorry I was not expecting any visitors... Is there anything I can assist you with?" The words flow from her lips as if practiced while her body pushed the chair back and stood to her full height, folding soft hands in front of her abdomen.

[dayned-blog1]

greeneyedreed‌:

The healing tent was somewhat larger than his own so after the Maester left Jojen took his chance and snuck into the camp, he hated the place and was more than his ‘carer’ held no love for his people. His entire body still ached and judging by the few lingering looks he received as he moved further in Jojen suspected he looked no better than he felt. It was very slow going but he eventually found a space by a fire and lowered himself gingerly to a seat by the fire.

He took in a slow breath and enjoyed the light and warmth of the fire, he’d sleep better out here than he would in that tent… perhaps he could bring some of his blankets out here and do just that. He was debating the journey back to the tent when he noticed a figure approaching. Jojen looked up bleary-eyed and it took him a few moments to recognise the one who spoke, it was the priestess, the one who he’d asked about the Lord of Light. A frown crossed his brow at her words and after another moment he nodded his head in kind.

“While I’m certainly not opposed to an alliance, My Lady. I must as why Your Lord believes we should work as one?” In all his readings he’d never heard of people of the different faiths coming together in such a way.      

"Well you see," She began, smoothing her skirts as she took to sitting near the young boy, smiling as kindly as she could. Although the years had turned Emilya cold and cruel, being back in Westeros, so close to her home, did bring forth the remains of the girl who died in that Pleasure House in Lys - awhile after she stopped seeing the Lord Reaper in their presence. Besides that, if they could help the world from crumbling to hell, then that meant that she had more opportunities: to kill her brother, to kill the men involved with what happened to her, to go to Dorne and smell the air, to have a son...

"I had a vision of you just now." She explained, raising her hand palm up in a gentle gesture. "I saw you... Saw you receiving a message from your God. Seeing into the future - or the past perhaps... whatever it was... My Lord does not show me anything that is not of some importance. He would not show me you for any other reason unless he wished us to work together and help aid in this war to come."

[dayned-blog1]

cdricdaync‌:

Doubting her made Edric feel sick to his stomach but doubt her he did. That she had suffered trauma, had endured unspeakable things, Edric was certain. The details of her brother’s role in her capture, though – a part of him desperately wants to believe her, but it is such an unspeakable act that try as he might, he questions it. Trauma takes a serious toll on memory, he knows. Likely having someone to blame made the long years pass quicker; hatred could cause a person to do seemingly anything, mayhaps it had caused Emilya to simply survive where others would not.

Edric clings to this notion of his cousin’s innocence. While he cannot fault Emilya for what he perceives as a false memory, he cannot bring himself to accept the truth of it, either. The Dayne family had grown small, so small; while he loves his aunt, loves Emilya, he loves the Darkstar, too. If he accepts her story, he knows what it means for one of the few remaining males of his bloodline. But he can’t stop looking at the pain so vivid in Emilya’s eyes. He wants to drop the subject, to avoid this confrontation, but he knows he cannot.

“I will look into it,” Edric says, with an air of finality. If he knows anything of the woman his cousin has become, she will not accept this. In a vain effort to calm her, to give her something to ease the agony he reads so clearly on her face, he speaks again. “Starfall is well connected – there are people I can speak to, who can find the truth of the matter without Gerold suspecting.” The thought strikes him, then – a question he should have raised the moment he saw her, the moment she spoke her brother’s name. “Does he know that you have returned to Westeros?”

Flinching at her words, Edric keeps his gaze fixed ahead of him as he leads the way to his tent. Though he nods his head in acknowledgement, he does not speak again until they reach the relative calm of his tent. “Then it is good that you are no longer in a brothel,” he responds, tone laced with more bite than he intends. With a sigh, his shoulders soften, and he turns towards her once more. “I do believe you, cousin. A stranger could see the truth in your words, and I am no stranger. And I know your brother is a cruel man.” Edric had been small as a child, and memories of cruel words and dark bruises spring unbidden to his mind.

I wish you had told me, he wants to say. I could have done something. But that is just the issue – there was nothing he could have done, not from the other side of the kingdom. “No matter what, it was not your fault,” he soothes, but his voice is harsh, certain. “But can you blame me for hoping your brother is not capable of this?” Edric feels the emotional exhaustion creeping over him, and he sinks down into a chair. A jug of wine lays on the table beside him, and he pours out two cups, gesturing for Emilya to take one. For just a second, he closes his eyes, unsure what more to say. So, he repeats himself. “I will look into it.”

Her fingers close quietly around the cup, blood burning hotter and hotter the more he spoke. She remained quiet though, all too well trained to talk while another was. Her eyes traveled around the tent, lavish. Her heart hurt - imagining what kind of life she would have had without the years she spent in Essos. A husband, maybe. Children, perhaps. Wealth, balls. She would be happily seated in Dorne for years, partying with her friends, sipping the most elegant wines...

"He does not know I am alive." She told him after a beat of silence. "I would not think he would have kept tabs on me in Essos. He probably did not know where I ended up to once I was on that boat. Probably told the crew to take me as far away from Dorne as they could." A sigh leaves her, moving to seat herself once again. Shaking fingers raise, pushing the red veil off her head after a few more moments of silence.

She understood him not wanting to believe her story. Understood why he said he would look into it: she was the only person, to tell the truth. Her brother had people who would gladly lie for him, people he would pay to keep quiet... And she was but one woman, hissing and swearing on his name. Ned was their family. He would not want to believe any of them capable of these crimes. But she knew what she had seen, and it had been her brother. She knew what had happened. She knew her story inside and out, the only missing detail in the story was the people who shipped her oh so willingly to Essos, and set up the whole deal with the pleasure house in Lys.

"I understand where you are coming from, cousin, but you know my brother. You know him well, and you know he is capable of many terrible, terrible things. And I am not asking you to get justice for me, for I will be getting that myself." The admission is quiet, calmer than anything else she had said since she had laid eyes upon him. Staring into the red of her wine, she hummed a little again. "Lys is known for their poisons, you know. At the Brothel, I learned how to craft the deadliest one: Tears of Lys. When I first learned how I was going to use it on myself. But then I came out of the cave that kept me in that dark and decided that I would use it on the people keeping me in slavery. I used it to get free of my Master after seeing Daenerys speaking with our family... And I plan on using it many more times." Her eyes lift, looking at him with a steady gaze. "If I get the chance, I will kill Gerold. He deserves to die a slow, painful death. He deserves to die while he stares me in the eyes while he sees what he has done. What his decisions have created. He will see how strong his incompetence has made me... And he will regret it all as he chokes on his own blood."

Raising her glass, she took a slow sip of her drink before continuing on. "I do believe that you mourned me. I believe the family mourned me. But I also believe every last one of you utterly foolish to believe that a raid could have happened without our guards intervening. Foolish that if Gerold cared for me as a brother did, that he would let anyone take me without fighting it first. Foolish to believe that Gerold Dayne, the terrible foul excuse for a man, had a good bone in his body, or that he cared about anyone but himself. Foolish. Childish beliefs. Humans are not pure creatures. None of us share the same morals, even within our family... As I'm sure if I ever return to High Hermitage, many will disagree with my choice to follow the Lord of Light. And many will scoff when I explain that my God has been there for me when no one in the world was looking for me."

Setting one hand on the red skirts of her dress, she sighed. "But I do not know if I ever will return to Dorne. The only person who truly understands my pain right now is our Queen. If she wishes for me to stay with her once she takes the throne, I will. She is the family I have chosen but was not given. I would risk my life for her, as I did for my brother, as I would for you and the rest of our little family. I lost my son to get to her. The only family that would, without a doubt, be on my side and my side alone."

[dayned-blog1]

closed starter for @greeneyedreed

One of Emilya's favorite spots was before the fire: listening to the crack of the flames and feeling the heat on her skin. She had always been a lover of it - that had been how she had her first vision, the vision of her son, back when she was nothing but a slave looking for a way out. As the war approached, Emilya did her best to stay focused on flames. She spent hours every night gazing into them, waiting for her Lord of Light to show her something, anything that would be of any use to her Queen. But she had only seen trivial things: her son, over and over and over again, the army of the dead marching towards them ( which they already knew about ), and of soldiers falling in the battlefield. No faces, no names, nothing that could give them an upper hand. Only things that were not to be avoided.

Until tonight. As she gazed into the flames, feeling the heat kiss the soft skin of her face, she saw a young man with a long face and blonde hair. She no doubt had seen him before, she could recall him asking her about her Lord of Light. It had not dawned upon her that she had never asked him anything about his gods or not... But clearly, something was interesting in this scene before her, for her Lord to be showing him to her.

The boy sat before a fire himself. Quiet. For a second, nothing happens. But as she watches further, she realizes precisely what's happening: the boy himself was having a vision. Perhaps it was why he was so keen on asking her about how she felt after these things. But before she could gather much more information, the images fade back into flames, leaving her cold and aching - but oh so curious.

Standing from her crouched position, the Priestess gathered her skirts in her hands and without so much as a veil on her head to try to protect her from the cold, ran out into the chill of the open air. Curious eyes dart around the surrounded camp, trying to determine where she had seen him. Where or where had the vision taken place: she conjures up the memory of the images correctly and begins heading in the direction of a lonesome fire. Following her gut instincts, she was eventually brought to the young man, alone, seemingly thinking. She approaches without much warning, dipping her head in greeting.

"I believe our gods wish us to work together, young Sir."

[dayned-blog1]

cdricdaync‌:

Stung by the poison in her voice, Edric takes a step back. Shock still rattles his bones, makes his motions clumsy. He feels as if he is in a daze, watching Emilya move as if underwater, hearing her words through someone else’s ears. The sickening feeling of his own failure starts to worry at his gut, tug at his heart. His breathing spikes, and with an audible swallow, he chokes down that train of thought. A deep breath brings him back into the present – or, brings him back enough that he no longer feels the need to sit down before his knees give out. “I had no idea,” Edric murmurs, embarrassed and anguished.

When word from Gerold had reached him – moons later, he was sure, as the Brotherhood was never easy to find – Edric had seen no reason to question it. He should have, he realizes. Edric knows exactly what kind of man Gerold Dayne is, knows firsthand the brutality he is capable of, the lies that spew from his cousin’s mouth like honey. He knows this, yet still he believes that Gerold knew nothing of this. Emilya was family, was Gerold’s own sister; there was no way a Dayne, even a cruel one, could carry out such atrocities on their own blood.

Edric wants to shrink away, to pretend that he is not hearing her story, but he pushes down his cowardice and meets her eyes, listening on, channeling the courage he feels during battle. “When you were taken, I was in the Riverlands. Gerold sent word, he said the Ironborn had raided High Hermitage, taken you and a handful of others with them. He assured me he was making every effort to find you, and as I was not in Dorne myself, I could not send any men. I sent gold, though – I told him to offer it as a reward, for your safe return.” The sick feeling in his stomach is back, but he presses on, taking a long, steadying breath. “A year or so later, he wrote again to say he’d searched far and wide, and that you were presumed dead. I mourned you, Emilya – you must believe me, I had no idea you were still alive.” Feeling the weight of onlookers’ gazes, Edric casts a quick glance around, before meeting Emilya’s gaze again. “Can we speak inside? My tent is close, we will have more privacy there.”

The look on his face said it all: he did not want to believe her.  She understood that -  Gerold was her brother after all. He was meant to protect her, not sell her to slavers and leave her for dead. But it did not ease her heart anymore to understand why he would want to believe her brother as innocent. The world deserved to know the truth. Darkstar was a foul man, and he deserved to be lit on fire. He deserved to choke on his own vomit until he died. He deserved to bleed from his eyes, scream and claw at his throat. He deserved to suffer, suffer every last breath until he died a slow and painful death.

Boiling blood did not cool. It burned hotter and hotter as he spoke, tears swelling in angry eyes. "He used your money for himself then, cousin. Because he did not search for me, because he was the one who wanted me gone." Her words are quiet, steady. Probably the most natural thing that she had said the entire conversation. Her eyes darted about their open atmosphere, and reluctantly agreed: the last time she was alone with her family, she was shipped to Essos to be a slave. The nerves rose in her stomach, butterflies but more like angry wasps. For a moment, she fights the need to run to her Queen, to collapse before her friend and sob into her skirts. She was in pain, emotional pain.

"Okay. Though I do not value privacy - we whores learn that nothing should be kept truly private." Her words are sour, and her eyes are much the same when they turn back to him, laced with the tears that showed just how in pain she indeed was. As she awaited him to begin leading them to his tent, she sucked in a small breath and fell in step beside him.

Mind racing, she quietly spoke up once again. "You may not believe me, Ned," she began softly, "but this is a very cruel world... And I saw him. I looked him in the eyes, called his name - I called to him for help as those men gathered around my room... And before I could say anything more, they knocked me out. When I awoke, I was with some other girls on a ship. She told me we were being brought to be sold as slaves." Her voice is soft, quietest it had ever been. Her eyes are downwards, focused on her skirts and the dirt of the ground beneath them. "It was my fault." She admitted with a soft nod of her head. "I found out that he was selling people into slavery, trading people for goods, breaking law after law after law... and I feared that if he was caught that he would be punished terribly, and he was my brother, and I loved him so I could not let that happened. So I went to him in the middle of the night a week before that night, told him if he did not cease his criminal activity that I would go to Prince Doran about it, tell them everything I knew... I had hoped it would scare him straight, but instead, he decided to dispose of me."

[dayned-blog1]

krakenskiss‌:

Maron had been able to lie almost as long as he had known how to talk at all. Lying to his parents, his tutors, his uncles, anybody he could have the attention of long enough to spin mistruths in their ear. Emilya had been an easy target, and he had little doubt that she believed him completely innocent of the crime that had deposed her from her homeland. When he had received a raven from the Darkstar, inquiring about the ruthlessness that could be bought that circled Maron in rumour (if one knew where to listen), his physical state had not been good. Only recently awakened after his injury, it would have been smarter to turn down the job Gerold Dayne wanted done, but Maron’s soul itched to create trouble, and his crew were growing restless. The malicious nature of the deed mattered not. The crew had carried out Emilya’s sentence, and their still recovering lord and captain had gone to claim their payment. 

High Hermitage’s lord paid them well, and still sent regular payments every year for the Kraken’s Kiss’ crew’s continued tight lips. The krakens had little loyalty, people said, but the Darkstar had realised at least their silence could be bought. “The Lord of bloody Light. Everyone seems to be on about him.” Maron rolled his eyes, a zealot in his own right with faith unparalleled to the Drowned God. The Greyjoys had banned septs, and the presence of their holy men on the islands, he would have no problem doing the same for this fire lord who seemed to captivate so many in this day and age. There was not room for the eastern gods here, and Maron would see to it that they never found influence on his isles at least. 

Without missing a beat, or letting his guard down even for moment, Maron raised an eyebrow, keeping up the act that he knew no more of Emilya’s story than the snippets she had told him over a flagon of wine, sometimes while he waited for Orys to finish with another of his admirers, sometimes just to pass his time before he left the pleasure house for the cold night of Lys to venture back to the port. “You found a target for revenge then? Did the Lord of Light show you their face in the flames?” He teased, wandering towards a nearby fire that had been built for the night. “I’m never one to turn down the offer of wine, and good company. I must admit, it is nice not to have to pay for it.” 

Her feet carry her in the same direction, humming a little to the apparent disdain the man held for her Lord. T'was understandable, she supposed. He, after all, did follow the Drowned God. Frankly, Emilya had little to no care if anyone chose to follow her Lord of Light or not, she did not intend to recruit anyone to their cause. Those who were meant to be under him would be. She would not push her religious choices on anyone else: she was not that cruel. "He is a good God, Greyjoy. Just as the Drowned God is a good God - or... Not necessarily good... But, the point still stands." The words are soft, playful.

Her guards had dropped as much as they had since she had set foot in Westeros. Her shoulders lax, eyes bright. Happy - she felt happy in the presence of her old friend. She wished that Orys was here to laugh with them as well - the boy always did enjoy his wine. And Maron had always enjoyed his presence - but so did she.

"Hm? Oh no," she shook her head, laughing a little. "I have always known who the main villain was in my story, dearest Reaper. That would be my very own brother, Gerold Dayne, otherwise known as Darkstar..." Her lips pursed, she paused a moment as they grew closer to the fire and steered them towards where her chambers had been set up, fingers linked before her: a true lady in the way she moved, nothing remaining of the whore he had seen in the house they had met at. "The Lord did, however, show me a vision of Queen Daenerys herself speaking with some relatives of mine in Dragonstone. That was when I fled from my master and made my way to Meereen. Now, I give whatever advice I can to her - and in due time, once she sits upon the Iron Throne... I'll kill my brother." Her eyes turn over her shoulder to him, devious and violent. "I did not learn how to craft the Tears of Lys for no reason, Lord Reaper."

As she ducks inside a tent, she makes her way to the wine that sat in the corner, poured herself a full cup and then one for him as well, bringing it to him before she moved to seat herself on the makeshift bed that she had been gifted with. If it were not for the royalties of her Queen, she would be on the floor like a slave all over again.

"As soon as I stepped foot in Dragonstone, I began to hear the whispers of my own death, you know." She mused as she raised her glass to her lips, but did not sip from it. "I heard women whispering that I was a whore to the Ironborn now." A laugh, cold and quiet left her soft lips before she took a swallow of her wine. "My brother told my family that Ironborn ships had raided the city, and stole me away in the middle of the night. According to my cousin, he searched all over for me. Far and wide, what a joke..." Her eyes roll, and she leans herself back ever so slightly to make herself more comfortable: she did not need Lady behavior in front of the man who had seen her working a whore house, after all. This was when she could be comfortable, not proper. "Before they knew who I was, I had a woman from the North tell me that I was in Pyke, as a wife to the Lord that stole me. Insane, is it not? How foolish people can be, how easy they believe such lies... How could they continue to speculate, when no story is the same?"

Her eyes drift to him once more, but she is smiling when she looks upon him. "I remember the ship I was on. I saw no sails. Recognized no faces... Although I must give props to my brother for creating such stories. Who would truly be willing to raid Pyke in search for me other than my brother? Surely the rest of our family would have let him have charge of what decisions were made. He would have convinced them it was too much of a reckless move. Probably told them that they wouldn't make it - and I'm sure they wouldn't. They would have died in vain if he let them go..."

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and raised her glass once more, downing more of the drink inside it. "Enough about the several thousand stories around my kidnapping. It seems to be decades since I've last seen you, Lord Reaper. What terrible things have you been doing away from the pleasure houses? Or do you still frequent them?"

[dayned-blog1]

“ talk to me . ” [from Edric]

Emilya's eyes remained downwards, focusing on the heat of the flames that danced about in the pit of her chambers. After everything that she had gone through, she believed she should not have to plead her story for the family that supposedly mourned her. Her cousin stood in the room with her, but she did not feel as if she was in the company of family. Sure, he had not thought anything of it when her brother had said he was searching for her. Why would he? She was as much a Dayne as he, and that meant that he had a duty to protect her, as much as she did him.  But she could not help feel the pain, the betrayal, that no one else went looking for her.

"What more do you want me to say, cousin?" The words are quiet, she no longer had the energy to fight. No longer had the energy to be angry. She was sad: she was so unbearably sad. The damage that had been done to her soul could not be undone, no matter what amount of revenge or love she received. "I have lost everything, Ned. Everything. I lost my family, my name, my freedom. I lost my son. I..." Her voice becomes shaky as the tears well in her eyes. "I am so sad, Ned... I am so terribly sad. I am angry, but it is just a cover-up for this sorrow that has settled in my heart from the moment I saw him telling those men to take me away... I just wanted to protect him, and what did it get me? The whole world believed me dead or to be the salt wife of some foul Ironbron... After everything I have been through - the story, I will not be quiet about it. What future in Dorne do you think I will have once this is done? I could not have a husband after everything that has happened - no man in his right mind would have me. And I fear I cannot have any more children..." And that's what she longed for really: motherhood.

"Would have been better if I had died as they all said. Would have been better..."

@cdricdaync

[dayned-blog1]

“ it’s so dark tonight . ”

The Priestess hummed quietly in agreement, eyes rising from the only light source before them to the dark sky above them: not even a star sat in the sky tonight. Doomed. She felt as if they were doomed, but she knew that the Lord of Light would not have to lead them all towards Winterfell, towards this war, if he wished them all to just... Die.

"It is indeed," She mused, turning her eyes back to the Lady Captain at her side. Pausing for a moment, the young Lady turned herself to face the woman, studying her a moment a longer. "You are a captain, no? I think you may be able to help me with something I have waited a very long time for.."

[dayned-blog1]

still lowkey want a ship that i can apply i scare myself  by beth crowley to

[dayned-blog1]

draqonmothcr‌:

daenerys had found a friendship with emilya quite quickly.  when the priestess had laid herself bare and told her of her life , she knew she’d have her as councel.  even before the tales the lord of light provided.  there was a specific solace found between two souls who’d both suffered at the hands of their brothers , as well as having lost a child.  

each one of their meetings since dragonstone had cemented the bond between the two and daenerys now counted emilya as one of her closest friends.  there was still an enigma within the woman , however , given her connection to the lord of light.  she had never been one for religion , but mention of visions of both past and future intreagued her like nothing else had before.  it was often that she poked at the subject. 

there is a sense of comfort that emilya finds within her lord - something daenerys never had.  she’d only have had to rely on herself.  and now the small council of advisors she’s so far collected.  she could only imagine what it was like to have such a divine connection.  was it akin to what she had with drogon ? 

she’s forgotten the wine cup sitting within her hands as quizitive eyes stay focused on the woman before her.  ❝  i wouldn’t believe in any god that would permit such horrors ,  ❞ her words are low as memories play back behind her eyes.  though she’d never worn a collar , she’d been a slave both to her brother and to her husband.  after their deaths and with the birth of her dragons , she had the means to liberate others.  ❝  wishing death upon those that’ve wronged us is normal.  especially given what they did to you.  ❞

"All I wanted to do was help my brother." The words are quiet, stinging her heart as the admission comes to light. All of the things that had happened in her life was all because she wanted to help her blood. Help him avoid being killed, slaughtered, be named a criminal. But now she knew that she had no right trying to stop natures course, and it was because of her intervention that she had been punished so foully. If she had allowed him to get caught for the terrible things he had been doing, she would have suffered none.

Gentle eyes are downcast, looking at the wine, red as blood rippling in her cup. Breathing a small sigh, Emilya looked up to her friend, her sorrow showing clear on her features. "I... I just wanted to help him. I did not want the crown to find out about the things he had been doing, for I knew if they did, then he would be punished. Perhaps even killed for his sins... He was my brother, my first hero... I could not let anything bad happen to him - not when I thought there was something I could have done... But perhaps I would have been safer if I had just gone to Prince Doran about the situation, asked his forgiveness and for him to give my brother the lightest sentencing he could..." Her head shook, body crumpling back into the chair with a heavy sigh.

"But I suppose there is no point in what ifs now. What has happened has happened, there is nothing I or anyone else can do to heal my wounds, to replace those years of abuse or at the very least bring my son back. And I suppose not all of it was bad: I did find you, after all." Smiling sadly, she lifts her head, looking over to the Queen. "I have found a friend who will be with me every step of the way, who understands my pain and my grief. And my Lord of Light has allowed me perhaps to finally, after all these years, receive justice."

[dayned-blog1]

krakenskiss‌:

🌊✨ @dayned

Maron urged his horse to a halt as the travelling company halted to make camp for the night, wary from hours of riding that he was unused to by all accounts. The ironborn, in their salt-stiffened leathers and dark clothing, clustered together with their kin, and the flash of red in their midst was enough to turn Maron’s head. He shook his head almost in disbelief, and dismounted with slight trepidation, though he did away with it in order to keep up the lies he had always maintained with her. 

“I had not thought your station could sink any lower from being a slave to that pleasure-house, and yet here you are, a slave to a false god.” Maron called, a smirk plastered across his features. Perhaps his words were cruel, but he though they were familiar enough even though it had been so many years since he had visited the brothel in Lys where much of his youth had been spent in the bed of one of the other whores owned by Emilya’s master. He had had green eyes and lazy brown ringlets, handsome as anything, but his allure had been only half the reason he had been so frequent - especially at the beginning, when curiosity for the girl who he had been paid to dispose of got the better of him.

When she returned home to Westeros, Emilya heard many tales about her own kidnapping. Many said that Ironborn ships were spotted near the harbor before she was dragged off, never to be seen again. So naturally, the whispers that an Ironborn had kidnapped her spread like wildfire, it was just the aftermath people was unsure for many thought she had become a salt wife. Others thought the Ironborn were going to ransom her. Others thought she died, fighting them. But Emilya did not believe it, for she had seen no Ironborn sailors and no Ironborn sails on the ship that heaved her away, and when Maron Greyjoy himself stumbled into her Pleasure House, he did not know who she was. Pirates talked. Surely, he would have heard if one of his people had been the one to take her right from underneath her brother's nose: as it was believed so.

So when she caught wind that the man who frequently visited one of the few people she considered a friend was amongst the horde of people traveling with her Queen, she was delighted. She had been away from Westeros for so long she no longer had any friends left. She did not know anyone from before her kidnapping, and none of them knew who she was anymore. But Maron had been kind to her, kind to her friends. He had joked with her, and on occasions, he even shared his wine. She had found him to be a great company and the day that he stopped visiting... Well, she lost all hope of ever getting back to Westeros then. A foolish, childish part of her had thought that maybe if she got close enough to him, he would be able to help her and her friend get out: for a price of course.

Smiling widely at the man despite his cruel words, she laughed slightly, knowing his humor to be all that. "I am a free woman now, Lord Reaper." Her words are but a purr as she moved closer to him, hands raising to push down the red veil that sat on her head, exposing her hair and her face, full of happiness and relief to be before a familiar friendly face once again. "While I work for the Lord of Light, I also work on my revenge." Her words are but a laugh as she laid her hands before her once more, still grinning. "After all... He leads me to Daenerys, who is not only my Queen but also my best friend in this world... And who better to help me get my justice but a Queen with three dragons?" Tilting her head, she heaved a little sigh before her eyes darted about the rest of the Ironborn.

"I have abandoned my horse in favor of walking, for it has been too long since I have been able to do so freely. How about you join me for a rest, and let me treat you to the wine this time? It feels like a thousand years since we've last talked. I'm interested to hear what dirty things you've been up to."

[dayned-blog1]

greeneyedreed‌:

Jojen couldn’t help but grin slightly at the response, he took that as proof he’d at least managed to speak the greeting coherently, if not well. He nodded his head back, a half-bow since he was unsure if the gesture would be welcome or not; after all, most in Greywater believed any other form of worship to be beneath notice or consideration, so the knowledge he’d found on it had been minuscule at best; he’d be loathe to offend her when he had so much to ask.

Luckily, it seemed she was happy enough to speak with him and he nodded again, “That is good to hear, I’ve saved up many questions over my years.” Granted they were few (and when people saw him they assumed even fewer…) but he had a swift mind, and he truly believed in his Old Gods so why could there not be others too? Maybe the Lord of Light was yet one more Old God? In either case, he so wanted to learn, “No Red Priests or Priestess ever venture to my home.” He couldn’t help but wonder if she knew of his people… if she’d despise them too?

He watched with some curiosity as she looked about them before offering to walk alone. He blinked, quickly glanced back and asked, “You do not mind walking with a Crannogman, My Lady?” he asked, stepping away from the group as he softly asked the question, “If not then I would be most pleased to accompany you and speak.” He took a few more steps away and his curiosity would not permit him to be silent for long, “The little I know taught me that, you believe there are two gods; one of light and one of death, and you speak with your lord.” he paused, licked his lips and asked, “Does he speak back to you?” The Old Gods spoke through Jojen, but never so plainly, he was always left in recover from the pain of their messages and try to interpret them as best he could.  

"Do not be foolish, sir. I fear nobody and nothing." She cooed, her voice as soft as a mothers as she beckoned him to follow her, making her way from the warmth and familiarity of the fire they had met at. Her eyes lifted to the skies, and she processed what he had asked.

Did her Lord of Light speak to her? Of course, he did. She would not be here otherwise, or so she believed. "He does in his own way." She admitted, dipping her head in a nod, waiting for him to join her, taking slow, meaningful steps. "He shows me things within the flames. I have seen many great and many terrible things." She mused quietly. "I found him while I was a bedslave to a wealthy Lord in Essos, you know. After I became pregnant with my son while gazing into the flames and debating whether or not, I should continue my life, I saw flashes, images... My little boy, the heir of our house, which meant two things: I would someday get home, and that my brother would pay for what he did. Then, shortly after, the Lord of Light showed me a vision of the Mother of Dragons meeting with my family in Dragonstone, but I knew that at the time of this vision, Daenerys was sitting in Meereen as their Queen, liberating slaves." Her eyes remain upwards, staring at the stars. She wondered if someone saw visions when they looked at them, too.

"So gathered from the two visions I had, I came to the conclusion that the Lord of Light wanted me to go to Daenerys, to help her get to Westeros so that my son could one day rule our home..." But she had no living son, was it indeed that solid? What he had to say to her? "But the Lord of Light works in very mysterious ways, and sometimes his visions can be misinterpreted by Priests and Priestesses... I do not have a son any longer, but I know it was my mission to help get our Queen here." Her eyes finally fell back to the boy, offering him a soft smile as well. "Long story short: I do speak with my Lord just... Not eloquently."

[dayned-blog1]

cdricdaync‌:

As a teenager, Edric had felt pride at his adventures with the Brotherhood. He dreamed of carrying stories of the Seven Kingdoms back to his family, to his aunt and his cousins. Many a bored afternoon had been spent wondering what Starfall’s old Maester would say, when Edric told him about his experiences in all the places he had been forced to memorize on a map. By the time he was a man grown, ready to return to his home, he had seen more of Westeros than seemingly anyone.

It took his arrival on Dragonstone for Edric to realize just how little he had seen of the world. While he could tell which kingdom a man was from on sight, it seemed like all of the dragon queen’s army hailed from Essos. Edric had never even heard of half the places the men at the summit called home; he had never heard the Dothraki tongue or the lyrical language of the Lhazareen in all his adventures. The pride of his boyhood was dashed to pieces by this realization, leaving Edric with a stark awareness of just how little he truly knew.

The sight of a red priestess comforted some small part of him, sending the faintest ache of longing through his heart. The memory of Thoros of Myr came to him, the man Edric had seen perform countless miracles. Faith in the Lord of Light was not expected of the Brotherhood, per se, but it was hard to watch a man be brought back to life (and again, and again, and again) without believing in him, just a little. It was one small comfort to be found in the unfamiliar faces on Dragonstone; the red priests who had crossed the Narrow Sea with the rest of the dragon queen’s armies were a welcome sight to Edric, and this one was no different.

Until she opened her mouth.

The sound of his name on this woman’s tongue caused him to startle, blinking in confusion as he tried in vain to put a name to the face. Eyes traced the girl’s features, the sense of recognition tugging at his mind. Perhaps the Lord of Light had shown Edric to this woman in the flames - Thoros had always seemed to know everything and everyone. Startling further when she called him family, Edric squinted his eyes, brow furrowed in thought.

Edric’s family had grown rather small, Allyria the only remaining member of his immediate line. Cousin…. “No, it can’t be,” he murmured. There were only two people who could properly refer to him as cousin - Gerold, and - “Emilya? But you’re dead,” he finished stupidly. Muscles locked into place as Edric gaped at her, processing her question but finding himself incapable of answering. Snapping himself out of it, a shocked grin split his face. “Where have you been, then? We heard you’d been captured, when Gerold’s men could not find any trace of you, we assumed the worst-” the words tumbled out of his mouth, all at once, until he stopped as quickly as he had begun speaking.

That demon within her grew louder, angrier as she watched him struggle to remember who she was, and then fumble over his words of her own death. "Clearly I am not dead." The words are as toxic as the poison she had planned to use to kill every last person involved with what happened to her. Shaking hands raise, and then tuck themselves around her torso. His question only caused her more anger: how had he not known what had happened to her? Granted he was not home in Starfall when everything had happened... But surely he had enough sense to guess second whatever story it was that her foul brother had brewed up about her.

"I have been in Essos, cousin. First, a slave in a pleasure house of Lys. Then, for the past three years, a bedslave for a wealthy Lord of Volantis, whose child I was pregnant with. I lost him on the venture to greet our Queen in Meereen... After the Lord of Light showed me a vision of her talking with our family in Dragonstone." Her eyes are narrowed, voice stern and yet... Weak. She hated speaking of the things that had happened to her; hated acknowledging what happened to her.

Raising her head a little bit, she clenched her jaw before continuing on. "I was stolen away in the middle of the night. By Ironborn, some say." She mused, laughing at the fact that her brother had actually gotten away with it, too. "But I saw no Ironborn banners. Recognized no faces... And I had a lot of Ironborn visiting the pleasure house I worked at. But I remember that night well, cousin. Very well. I awoke, startled by the sound of strange voices in my chamber... And well, could you believe who I awoke to see? My very own brother, conversing with the slavers that took me away." Voice breaking, she only grew angrier over the tears that welled in her eyes. "I called out to him, Ned. I called his name. And he heard me. He looked at me and watched me, confused and afraid, and told them to take me. And he is still a free man, while I suffered years, years of slavery and trauma."

[dayned-blog1]

@draqonmothcr from here

Soft eyes remain downcast, looking at the puddle of red that sat within her cup. A year ago, the only time she was allowed to look at wine this fine was if she was pouring it for her master... Now she sat with a Queen, riding through the Kingsroad, sipping it. How her life had changed, she definitely owed it to the Lord of Light, for if his visions had never found her - if she had never seen Daenerys standing in Dragonstone, if she hadn't seen the Queen conversing with her family, she would have never had the nerve to run from her master. Never. So did her illusion of freedom come from him? Or was she now yet again a slave, just serving a master who could not punish her physically? Or maybe he had - he had shown her that vision of her son... But here she sat, not pregnant, nor nursing no babe.

"I don't know," the admission is quiet but sincere. She felt as if she had no reason to hide from the Queen, to brush her true self away into the dark. If anyone understood what she had gone through, Daenerys Targaryen was that person. Her Queen had been a slave too, though sometimes it was hard to remember such days. Her Queen had suffered many of the same traumas she had - including losing her son. How ironic, she thought, that the two of them with such similar stories would come together: both caused by terrible brothers.

Her eyes lift once again, locking on the light-haired woman before her. Soft, sad eyes took on the other side of her coin. "I love my Lord. I do. He has been the only person at my back since I have found him, so constantly. He has shown me many beautiful things, he leads me to you... But sometimes I wonder if I am now once again a slave. He did after all show me, my beautiful son, ruling our home... Only for me to lose him on my journey to find you, which was also his command..." A sigh fell from her lips before she raised her cup to take another swallow. "So I do not know... All I know is that I do not want to be a possession any longer. And I want everyone involved in my kidnapping to pay, my brother, the men he paid to do it, the people on the ship that transported me there... All of them. I want them dead. And I don't think my Lord of Light will approve of that."

[ben-ravencroft]

rpmemesfam‌:

✧    THE   TUDORS   SENTENCE   PROMPTS  !   (  PART   I  )

*  A MIXTURE OF THE TUDORS  S1 - S2 PROMPTS , CHANGE ANY PRONOUNS AS NEEDED .

❝ You think you know a story, but you only know how it ends. ❞

❝ To get to the heart of the story, you have to go back to the beginning. ❞

❝ I cannot disguise my distress and unhappiness. ❞

❝ What about his legs? Are his calves strong like mine? ❞

❝ It’s an activity fit only for beasts yet practiced by no kind of beasts. ❞

❝ Do you really think we should go to war? ❞

❝ I think we should try to do as the King wants us to do. ❞

❝ That victory made him famous [Name]. It made him immortal! ❞

❝ The thing I care for most is my integrity. ❞

❝ You must be prepared to give him the thing you most care for, in all the world. ❞

❝ There’s something deep and dangerous in you, [Name].   ❞

❝ Those eyes of yours are like dark hooks for the soul. ❞

❝ Do you see that young woman over there? ❞

❝ Should I like something that accuses me of being cruel? ❞

❝ You are a poet as I am a woman.  ❞

❝ Poets and women are always free with their hearts, are they not?  ❞

❝ You give us no choice but to attack and breach your defenses! ❞

❝ What we lack in men, we can more than make up for in ships. ❞

❝ Don’t tease me. I don’t like it. ❞

❝ Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you? ❞

❝ Gospel says the truth will make you free. ❞

❝ I write poems, I don’t know how to be “a poet”. ❞

❝ Of course I loved her, but from a distance. ❞

❝ Why do you let them talk to you like that? ❞

❝ Did you love her? ❞

❝ Oh, I hope so. I certainly do hope so, for your sake. ❞ 

❝ You will remove yourself from my sight. Do you understand? ❞

❝ I have yet to decide whether to make your bedmate a head shorter. ❞

❝ I won’t have a thought or an affection for anyone else.  ❞

❝ I promise, I’ll take you as my only mistress. ❞

❝ Look, I don’t mean he is banished forever. Just as long as he breathes. ❞

❝ You’re going away, why? ❞

❝ Forgive me, I spoke of things I should not. ❞

❝ What would a silly girl like you have to say to a king? ❞

❝ I give you leave that we may always speak freely with each other. ❞

❝ How do you like your charge, sweetheart? ❞

❝ It makes a man, any man… extremely vulnerable. ❞

❝ Diplomacy is nearly always settled by such proximity. ❞

❝ I do not sleep with her. Not whilst you and I are still married. ❞

❝ Someone told me taking infusions was the worst thing. ❞

❝ It will make you feel sick, but it’s better than the sickness it prevents. ❞

❝ I must stay in the king’s good graces or we are nothing. ❞

❝ I didn’t see all of his game. Now I do. I despise him. ❞

❝ You can love, perhaps for a year, a month, a day, even for an hour. ❞

❝ I do believe you love as well and deeply… as any man. ❞

❝ Your love is most generous where it is most hurtful. ❞

❝ You speak to me of chastity. Have you not a mistress and two children?   ❞

❝ I shall have to share [Name]’s table, and sometimes her bed. ❞

❝ I hear you’ve been unwell? Is it true? ❞

❝ Have you no kind things to say? ❞

❝ You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me. ❞

❝ We were never legally man and wife. ❞

❝ I don’t think anything, but I imagine everything. ❞

❝ Do you… do you have a message from the King? ❞

❝ I would rather see her hanged than acknowledge her as my mistress! ❞

❝ Aren’t you supposed to be running the country? ❞

❝ Would you prefer them to be women? ❞

❝ I would only be unhappy if you ever stopped loving me. ❞

❝ Have I made you unhappy? ❞

❝ I believed with all my heart that he would return to reason, but now, I … ❞

❝ I notice you allow yourself none of the trappings of your great office. ❞

❝ Now, my love, let me conceive… and we will have a son. ❞

❝ Can you not plead some indisposition? ❞

❝ Don’t act impulsively; it’s always a mistake. ❞

❝ I’m not heartless, whatever some people think- quite the contrary. ❞

❝ I could still do it. I could find a way to poison her. ❞

❝ But, why should anyone ever know? ❞

❝ You understand? You don’t act alone.  ❞

❝ You’ve never even seen a man being tortured, have you? ❞

❝ I’m sure we both know the object that has brought us together. ❞

❝ I would rather lose my own son, than to see any hurt come to you. ❞

❝ I have no opinion. I neither murmur at it, nor dispute upon it. ❞

❝ I must confess, I rather like the liberty of not being married again! ❞

❝ Don’t you know I love you a thousand times more than [Name] ever did!? ❞

❝ I cannot think whether it would be a bad thing, or a good thing, if he died. ❞

❝ What about your daughter, will you watch her suffer? ❞

❝ Tell me, [Name], was it all worth it?! ❞

❝ We found no evidence against you. You’re to be released…eventually. ❞

❝ Do you believe this to be true? ❞    

❝ How can you say that to me!? ❞    

❝ Then you should smash und destroy it- utterly, totally und without pity. ❞    

❝ I’m a woman, und I demand equal respect for my ideas! ❞  

❝ I don’t think that you are going far enough, or fast enough. ❞    

❝ So, tell me- you are suppressing some religious houses? ❞    

❝ Now he will die ashamed and alone in a prison cell. ❞    

❝ We forgive him, because he is a genius… whatever that means. ❞    

❝ Do you know who that was? ❞    

❝ You should know that the King himself has no mind to coerce you. ❞    

❝ I say no harm, I think no harm- but I wish everybody good. ❞    

❝ I need hardly remind you of the consequences of not doing so. ❞    

❝ Will you take the Oath? ❞    

❝ May I ask your opinion of the King’s new marriage? ❞    

❝ They would find you and torture you, and you would tell them everything. ❞    

❝ Perhaps, one day this little girl will preside over empires. ❞    

❝ I’m going to have to attend on the king and that bitch of his at her coronation!  ❞  

❝ Yes I must forgive you, I must always forgive you, BUT I GROW TIRED OF FORGIVING YOU! ❞  

[krakenskiss-blog]

rocketcandycouture‌:

Put a symbol (or several) and a character/characters in my ask box, and I’ll give you a headcanon.  Yes.  Do it.

☾ - sleep headcanon

★ - sad headcanon

☆ - happy headcanon

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

✿ - Sex headcanon

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

♥ - family headcanon

☮ - friendship headcanon

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

▼ - childhood headcanon

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

☼ - appearance headcanon

ൠ - random headcanon

◉ - Any other question of your choosing

LORAS • MARON