Untitled

[morosc-blog]

ffirekissed‌:

daenerys walked towards her room and relized that it was the only place she had memorized , along with the ride out of the city and towards her children.  everywhere else she got lost in the twists and turns of the red keep.  for a girl who was supposed to be raised in it , she should’ve known each.  but she was at a disadvantage just as others were.  the castle wasn’t her protector , but her prison.  

it was only made worse when she was given the queen’s chambers.  how many before her had occupided it ?   cersei lannister ?  perhaps margaery ?   and her mother.   viserys had told her , only once ,  when she was little.  that the last time their parents were truly together , he’d heard her scream.  and the next he’d remembered seeing cuts and bruises on her.  

that’d been her conception.  it’d taken her years to realize her mother had been raped and to connect the dots ;   that by that time her father had gone mad and had previously burned someone with wildfire , that that was the last time her parents had been together , and how viserys had found her weeping the next morning with small injuries.

and now she lay in the same bed.   

there were times in essos that others called her a mad queen.  given her family’s curse and her conception , she often wondered if it was the truth.  but distinquishing between mad and successful as a woman in power , was a difficult thing to do.  

and with this new development , she wondered if she would then become her mother , as viserys became their father.      ❝   i expected an announcement that he would be marrying me.  not the other high ladies.   ❞   

daenerys stopped in her tracks and spun around.  worry was now evident on her features.     ❝  but how are you handling the news , lady sansa ?  i grew up with the expectation that i would marry him.  but a surprise engagement has to be shocking , given the circumstances.   ❞  

The Wolf  watched the Dragon as she pranced about the halls. She walked with purpose usually, and today she still did, but sharp senses had caught the falter in her face, the hesitation in her step. Today had not been the day that the Queen to be had expected, she knew. The little Dragon woman had been thrown off guard, her future that she had built up in her mind thrown to the ground, shattering into shards so sharp she prayed the Dragon picked up the pieces and killed the monster that sat on their throne. Prayed she turned this day into a lesson, let it become her weapon. Just as Sansa did, all those moons ago. With Joffrey, and then again with Ramsay.

Her eyebrows furrow a moment as the storm turned in her direction, a look of concern on pretty pale features. Her head tilted, ready to pose the question of curiosity before the words left the Targaryen's lips.

She'd almost forgotten about how the false King announced that he would be marrying her, as well as many other High Ladies that Sansa found herself wanting to protect. Her mind flashes to Margaery, the girl who had always wanted to be Queen. And now she would be, but with a monster as a husband, what good would that do? And she knew that the Tyrells had handled the Lannisters quite well but... The Lion and the Dragon were very, very different creatures. The news itself had not been so offputting to her. She saw what the false King was trying to do immediately when he began announcing those names : if he staked a claim on a Lady from each high born house, they could not rebel or refuse him as their King, for then he could kill their precious daughters and sisters. And yet another noose was wrapped around her dear brother's neck.

She would kill Viserys Targaryen, if it became what she had to do to survive, to let her brother survive, to let Daenerys and Margaery survive.

Sucking in a little breath, Sansa neatly folded her hands in front of her and steadied the shorter woman with a look that screamed power. She was a child of the North, she was born of winter's thickest ice. It had wrapped itself around her heart and her mind, she was unbending, unyielding, unbreakable. "I vowed after my last husband to never allow any man to lay his hands upon me without my permission. I plan on keeping that vow, Your Highness. Even if that results in blood."

The words are solid, she found herself uncaring that it was the King's sister she told this to, did not care if she took this as a threat to her brother or if she took it as her saying she would sooner die. The thing was, Sansa Stark had no intentions of dying within the next few years. No, she would live until she was old, she would grow old in Winterfell, where she would be known as the wolf that ate her enemies whole.

"I have suffered a Mad King before. And I have suffered a man hungry for power and domination before. I have survived both monsters, and I will survive this one... But please, pay attention to how those monsters no longer haunt these halls or this world." Her eyes drift. Keen eyes catch where a portrait of Cersei and Joffrey once sat. A sadistic smile curls on her plump lips. Joffrey was dead, and Cersei might as well be.

Sucking in another breath, she turned her eyes back to the lilac hues of the girl before her. "I have no intentions of being a submissive wife if that is what you're asking, My Lady. I do hope that the Dragon within you will not be pushed around, too. We are not meant to simply be wives, after all. We come from royalty, we are beasts. And the weak men are no match for us." Then, she curls her head forward, to gesture they keep walking.

"But such conversations should be held within the privacy of your chambers, where we can sip on our wine and continue to discuss our feelings and what we may hope for in the future, no? If not as Princess to Princess, or woman to woman, then... Wife to wife."

[morosc-blog]

xdaario‌:

Word had spread in Essos of a Khal of Khals, a man that claimed himself the son of Drogo and Daenarys and a man that had managed to unite the Dothraki into one singular Khalasar. The stories of their destruction, the bloodshed that followed in their wake, were enough to have him wondering and hoping that they wouldn’t show up in the Bay of Dragons. As capable his Second Sons were, he knew that against tens of thousands of Dothraki, they and the city would fall in a matter of minutes. The Dothraki were some of the greatest warriors in the world, and this is something that Daario knows well - after all, he uses one of their preferred weapons and he prefers to fight like a Dothraki screamer above else.

So when he arrived in King’s Landing, hiding among the peasant folk with a dirty, loose shirt around his torso and a pair of tattered trousers - allowing himself to blend in and keep people from seeing him as what he was - he heard that such a Khal had just arrived in King’s Landing, bringing an army of Dothraki unlike no other. The rumors surrounding the man were enough to have him curious as to whether his claim was true… if he truly was the son of his Khaleesi and her late Khal. It should not have been possible, he knew, given that she had given birth just only a handful of years ago, but magic was alive and well in the world - Daenarys own children were proof of this - and it could very well be possible.

Or it could be someone simply claiming that in the hopes to conquer King’s Landing.

It was because of this that he found himself following the whispers and warnings, furthering himself deeper into the city to see if this was true… or if it was a threat to his Khaleesi’s claim. Hearing one nobleman state that he had seen the Khal venture out of the castle, a slight to the King, he had to wonder where he went… only for him to wonder if perhaps he had an infatuation with dragons, too.

Seeing the dragons in the sky, flying high and playing with one another, he began to search for places with great vantage points, hoping to find the Khal of Khals there… And eventually, he did.

His frame was much slimmer than he expected for the son of a Khal like Drogo, but the skin was definitely the same bronze shade as many Dothraki. His hair dark as midnight, much unlike his Khaleesi’s, but he had heard the common people speak about his lilac eyes and he had to wonder… was it true? His claims?

Walking closer to the man, keeping his footsteps quiet - but not quiet enough to not be heard - he put his hands behind his back as he let his eyes focus on the beautiful, majestic creatures circling overhead. “Mesmerizing, aren’t they?” Daario finally spoke, keeping a few feet between he and the other - last thing he wanted was for the Khal of Khals to think he was trying to threaten him, to think he had come up here to kill him. No… he was here merely to see just what kind of man he truly was. An ally… or a threat. “I remember the first time I met them… I’m not a man that is easily frightened but they… their power… well, I was both in awe and shock.”

Looking upon the majestic beasts that were his siblings, Rhaego the Khal of Khals knew that he was entirely meant to be one of them. Playful they were, squeaking and playfully nipping at each other while floating gracefully through the air. He prayed they soon came down from their fun so he could meet them properly, feel his flesh against theirs so he could confirm what he already knew : a dragon, he was a dragon. It was clear in how he had been born, scaled and with a tail. He imagined it was quite similar to the black and red markings he now witnessed on Drogon. The truth sat in the scales still hidden beneath his skin : Vaerilla had gotten most of it with her magic, but a patch still sat on his lower back, where he guessed his tail had been sprouting before it vanished. The truth sat in his brutality. He had slaughtered full villages with his bare hands. He could remember decapitating men and women, children even, without batting his eye. He felt no remorse for them, they were but stepping stones in his path to getting home. They would not have died, if the Lord of Light had not wished it.

He had come out for peace mostly. Not just to make a point to his Uncle that he would by no means be accepting his title, nor would he accept his mother's marriage. Nor would he let the man continue to threaten or intimidate or harm his mother in any way. Rhaego could picture himself squeezing the life out of the small man already - knew that he would too if it was necessary. He would not lay a hand on him until he gave him a reason, though. For his Mama's sake.

The sound of footsteps hit him long before the sound of the man's voice. The steps alone had him bristling, his trust little to none with the people of Westeros. He had seen how they looked at him like he was a monster. And he was - but it was no reason to label him as such without witnessing the wrath that sat within his veins first. Surely the stories of his violence and brutality had not made it to the ears of those who had lived in Westeros. But those who had traveled here, he supposed, would know of him. Not that it mattered - words were words. They never truly caught the reality of the actions they mentioned.

He fought the roll of his lilac eyes as the stranger tried to conjure up a conversation. The vibe that rolled from the dark-haired brute was not one that sat well within the blackened pit of Rhaego's heart. He had killed men for doing less, but he supposed he could not turn around and rip a Westerosi man limb from limb without gaining the disapproval of his mother. So lilac eyes drift to the face of a man he did not wish to get to know, cold and calculating. He let him speak, keeping his face the same cold, calm mask that he wore during his raids. "You speak the truth, but those who carry any hint of fear for my siblings do not have the strength necessary to be deserving of their presence." The words remain flat, equally as off-putting as his expression.

Just looking at the man had him mad. He couldn't figure out what it was, but the other male's presence made his blood run hot, his fingers twitching against the railing, itching to do something more than casual. His mind swirled, voices whispering that if he threw him off the bridge, no one would know him to be to he attacker. Or if he could get his siblings attentions... Would it be such a surprise that a Dragon completely destroyed some stranger for getting too close? He'd watched how people avoided the area they rested in like crazy. The Dragons, like him, had tempers. They were not entirely tame - nor would they ever be. The voices told him that they would help him if he wished it. But how heartbreaking that would be for his dear Mama, to discover that the four children she had murdered one of her people in cold blood if the news ever got out.

His eyes study the man a moment longer before straightening to his full height, peered down at the man who stood inches shorter than him. He remained silent for a moment, keeping his lilac hues trained on the dark eyes of the stranger who dared to approach him when he was enjoying his solace : his whole Khalasar had come to know that when the Khal was by himself, only his Bloodriders were to approach. These foreign people did not have the warnings that his people had, and part of him knew that he could not fault him for being so stupid, but the other part could not accept that his stupidity was accidental - no warrior in his right mind would approach a man who commanded an army his size without others around.

"Do you need something, ifak?" The word is hissed down at the man, cold eyes narrowing into a glare. He did not wish to be around anyone. He did not wish to be bothered by this foreigner that had no right approaching him, not when he was the Prince of the Iron Throne, the Khal of Khals, son to Khal Drogo and the soon-to-be Queen of Westeros. He was lucky that his mother was on his mind, lucky that he feared her disproval, as it was the only thing preventing the Khal from ripping his dagger from its sheath and sliding it through the soft flesh of the man's belly.

[morosc-blog]

ffirekissed‌:

ʿ   the prince is riding. i have heard the thunder of his hooves.  swift as the wind he rides.  his enemies will cower before him and their wives will weep tears of blood.  the stallion who mounts the world.  the stallion is the khal of khals.  he’ll unite the people into a single khalasar and all the people of the world will be his herd.   ʾ     

she remembers the day vividly.  she had been taken before the dosh khaleen who had presented her with tradition.  a woman sang of their prophecy as she was tasked with eating a raw stallion’s heart.  it was to give her son strength , and to prove that she would be a capable mother.  ser jorah had told her that not many made it through the process.  and she understood why when she’d taken that first bite.  it was bloody and soft.  her teeth were not made for ripping through such a material.  after that first bite she feared she wouldn’t finish the entire thing.  

but as drogo stared at her and as she focused on the small life within her womb , she took bite after bite.  soon her hands and arms were covered in blood and it was dripping from her chin.  but she is a dragon.  and dragons don’t cower.

she’d been able to eat the entire thing and the priestess had declaired her son to be the stallion who mounts the world.  and she’d stood , interrupting the woman and facing the men and women of drogo’s khalasar , of her khalasar.    ʿ   a prince rides inside me.  and he shall be called rhaego.   ʾ      

the name had only been thought up in that moment.  before , she hadn’t known what to call her son.  but as she stood high off the excitement , she realied it was the perfect name.  rhaegar had been the last dragon and a good man whom she wished she could have known.  so she’d give her son a piece of his legacy.  

she’d dream about the future with him.  about drogo teaching him to ride and she telling him the stories of his ancestors as viserys had done for her.  he’d be horse and dragon combined.  a powerful man with two great ancient bloods mixing with him.

until she foolishly dabbled with black magic.  in return for her sons’ mangled appearance and death , she’d gotten an unresponsive husband.  it had broken her.  but her dreams had pushed her on.  they told her to step into drogo’s pyre with her eggs.  that her sons life , her husbands life , and the witches life were payment for her three dragons to be born.  three lives taken , three lives gained.  

that was the only solace she found in her actions , as little as it was.  now she had three children.  powerful beasts that could put the world at her heel  , but her children nonetheless.  she’d doted on them as she’d been unable to do with rhaego and they filled the whole that he’d left after she’d been told of his death.  

but now , here he stood before her.  as a man , not a babe.  lilac eyes found like as he dismounted his stallion.  and for the first time she noticed his armour.  a dragon and horse adorned it.  she didn’t have long to think on it before the man took her hands in his and spoke.  her already faultering demeanor crumbled as he called her mama.  

a tear fell from her eye and she stifled a sob.  within she knew that it was probable she was being foolish.  that this man before her couldn’t possibly be her stillborn son.  but as familiar eyes and features stared back , she found herself believing.  who else but her son , the stallion who mounts the world , could have united what looked to be every single dothraki under him ?  it had been his fate.  

❝  yes , yes.  come.  ❞   she pulled at his hands and led him within the castle.  though many made the move to follow her , jorah had kept them all back as only he joined.  the safety of his khaleesi was paramount , but nor did others need to see what was sure to be a tragic reunion. 

Four years. He had suffered four years without his mother, something he believed no child should ever have to do. He supposed that if anyone could relate to the feeling of unfiltered rage that came from him being stolen away before he could ever know her, it would be his mother. He guessed it was the Dragon's blood in him that doomed him to such a tragic life, for the Targaryen's had not been sitting on the good side of luck for many, many years now. It was the Dragon's blood that had cursed him in the start, the scales and the tale that he had adorned, so similar to his three siblings, it had been that which had been used to coax his mother into believing his demise had been real and not falsified. It had been that that had caused the Priestess to be so desperate to save him that she had sought out more magic, magic that had turned him into this... This creature that he was now.

Looking at her face felt unreal. He saw himself in her so much that it pained him, caused his heart to stop and then race like his Khalasar had raced from Essos to Westeros. Looking at her, looking at her emotions as they came to her was enough to make him picture the life he could have had if not for the foul emotions of a witch. He could see it clear as day, the happy life he would have had set out for him, with her. He was smart enough to know that Drogo, his strong father, would have died no matter what his mother had done. Perhaps if they had been here in Westeros, with Maesters at their beckoned call, he would have survived the wound he had. But not in Essos, not in a Khalasar.

Picturing it hurt. He saw himself as a babe, his mother proudly bringing him wherever she went. He saw her burn everyone in the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, exiting the flames with a naked little boy snuggled against her chest. Together, unburnt. Together, taking over the world. He saw her traveling to Westeros. And here in Kings Landing, she would raise him into a perfect young Prince. He could picture her teaching him how to fly on the back of one of his siblings, could see them soaring over Kings Landing, smiling, laughing. Together, they would be happy.

Happy. An emotion that Rhaego rarely experienced. He'd come to realize since his aging that he only experienced such extremes of emotions that he would never be able to live a normal life, even if the magic let him live long enough to experience everything a man was meant to experience. His mood burned and bubbled so quickly it was scary even for him. In the beginning, when he'd first awoken in the body that he would have had in 14 years, he'd been so confused. Unsure as to why his mind worked the way it did. He could remember screaming, a blood-curdling scream that had awoken those that had been monitoring him for the Priestess. He could remember them running into the room, fussing over him. They had touched him, grabbed at him, while trying to get him to calm down. It had scared him - he could remember grabbing the mans head in his hand and smashing it into the wall. Could vividly remember bashing it against the surface until blood and brains painted it red.

He had sat in the corner of his room and cried for hours until the Priestess had come. She had been gentle with him, had knelt before him in her red dresses and smiled a mothers smile, she had told him that his name was Rhaego Targaryen, and that he was born to be great. She had told him that her name was Vaerila Pahryrion and that she was a Red Priestess, a follower of the Lord of Light. She had told him in her gentle voice that the same Lord she followed had given her an especially special vision of him being born, and then of him leading the world to greatness. He remembered looking upon the woman with confusion but knowing that he must trust her, knowing that she would not hurt him.

It was a feeling he felt towards no other, not until now. Looking down at his mother, her mirroring eyes and soft, melancholic features, he felt at ease : he needn't worry, he could trust her, she would not hurt him. He was her son, he had been her biggest wish, or so Vaerila had told him. He had been her pride and joy, she told him. Daenerys was not about to hurt her pride and joy.

But seeing her cry hurt him. He did not quite understand why, but it did. Even if he knew that she cried because she was so happy to see him, alive, and truly alive at that. Part of him wished that the witch had kept true to her promise : he wished that his father lived, but that he had lived in reality. Wished that he was conscious, coherent. Even if it meant that he would die. His mother would later be able to have more children than him, and from those heirs would be one more deserving of a crown than he, and she would be happily married to what he assumed was the love of her life. She could always have more kids. She could not replace a love that had been lost.

He swore, on his heart, on her heart, on the hearts of his siblings, that he would not ever let anyone hurt her again. He knew her past was a rough one, but vowed silently to the Lord of Light if he was listening, that he would end any man or woman who dare upset his mother.

As she began to lead him away, he briefly held up a hand to his Bloodriders, the four of them that sat on guard should anything happen. They bristled at the movement, but his actions were to assure them that they need not follow the pair from here. His commands had been simple from the start : when I am with my mother, protect our people.

His eyes travel back to the Princess, the soon to be Queen of Westeros, the mother that he had stolen from him. His blood boiled for a moment and the anger returned. It both grew and shrank the more he thought about what his life could become from here : could she fix him? Could he be fixed? Did the Lord of Light want him alive, or dead?

"I have missed you." He said after a moment. "But I assure you, I was in good hands. A Red Priestess had been raising me up until the last year when we were taken in by a Khalasar and brought to Vaes Dothrak." His eyes slide away for a moment, taking in the sights as the two exited the arena. As they left, he heard the murmurs begin. His blood turned hot : he'd kill every last one of them for disrespecting his name. "She died there. Since then, I've been uniting a Khalasar great enough to conquer the world. I've traveled all over Essos, raiding villages and cities alike to gather funds to get myself and my Khalasar across the sea, to come to you."

"I know it will sound silly, as a son is meant to protect his mother... But Mama... My sword and my Khalasar are yours. Any enemies you have, here and wherever else, I vow to you, I will end them all."

[daenerya]

“Theirs is the song of ice and fire.”  

for @lilttlebird ♡

[ffirekissed]

@morosc

[morosc-blog]

ffirekissed‌:

the first disturbance she had noticed were her children taking to the skies.  confusion had crossed her features as lilac eyes looked above to see black , green , and white figures against blue.  it wasn’t normal , and made her wary.   it was the high point of the day and often they enjoyed basking in the sunlight and taking in it’s warmth during this time.  and because viserys had wanted the dragons present for his crowning , they’d flown overhead that morning as well.  they should be tired.  yet there they were , chattering above them. 

they had stopped the tourney , made the fighters stand still and the clanging metal stop.  but the impending sound of hoofbeats had kept them wordless.  sitting upon the grand podium with her brother and other high lords and ladies , she looked out into the distance.  the sound wasn’t all that unfamiliar from when she lived with the dothraki.  it meant a hoard was comming.  but judging from the sound , it was larger than she’d ever heard.  larger than her own khalasar.  worry built up within her. 

they crossed the horizon and more and more mounted horses appeared.  dothraki given their appeareance , but why ?   convincing her own khalasar to cross the narrow sea had been difficult.  who else had the ability to convince thousands to do the same ?  

they were coming for her.  muscles tightened as she realized.  she was a woman leader a khalasar , bringing her people across the sea.  she hadn’t gone to the dosh khaleen after drogo’s death as all khaleesi’s were supposed to do.  had they come for her ?   come to drag her back ?  but there was a force of thousands before her.  could all the soldiers in kings landing fight back ?  why would they ?  for the sister of a king they despised.  it would be an easy way to get rid of half a problem.  

once more , her children screeched above.  she had them at least.  burning a dothraki hoard wasn’t something she wanted to do ;  they were her home , but if it was that or death …  

drogon swooped from above with a loud cry.  he was close enough that she could see the red in his wings as the sun bled through.  it only excited everyone more.  and he’d chosen to do so over the impending hoard.  did he sense their intent and want to protect his mother ?  or did he see them as home too ?  he’d been born among them just as she had. 

her mind spun leagues and leagues before the hoard stopped.  intentional.  she’d seen the dothraki run full speed at an enemy.  they wouldn’t stop.  so they had other intentions.

then a man made his way from the crowds on a great stallion.  a beautiful animal , reminding her of drogo’s red beast.  the soldiers around her moved to protect her with shields poised and spears pointed at the enemy.  she didn’t let them fall back.  

the man was beautiful as eyes surveyed the crowd and opened his mouth.  and he said his name was rhaego.  

no.  he couldn’t be.  he was dead.  

mirri maz duur had told her he’d been stillborn.  that he’d been deformed and covered in scales and bat-like wings.  she’d given his life , drogo’s life , and the witches life to birth her children that now flew above.  how could he be standing before her today ?  and that had only been four years ago.   her son should be learning his words and getting steady on his feet.  how could could be have aged so much ?  

it was a lie.  it had to be.  or it needed to be.  what if this was her son ?  and she’d abandoned him.  left without so much as a glimpse upon his form to make sure the witch hadn’t been lying.  why shouldn’t she lie ?  tell her that her son was dead when instead he had been alive ?   what kind of mother would she be then ?  

he speaks and holds up what looked like a shell.  black and scarlet , as drogons had.  lilac eyes once again turn upwards as drogon makes another swoop , his siblings closer this time.  perhaps they knew.    

daenerys stands and waves the unsullied off.  it didn’t matter.  the tens stationed here wouldn’t be able to do much against a hoard this size.  it was silent as she walked across the stage , getting as close to the khal as she could without leaving it’s safety.  copper skin and dark hair , but lilac eyes.  like the boy in her vision.  

when her dragons had been stolen away , the warlocks in qarth had done all they could to turn her away from her children.  they showed her the iron throne , and a tent where her husband and son was alive.  but he had still been a baby in his fathers’ arms as he tried to convince her to stay.  she’d wanted to , so badly.  she wanted to ignore the troubles outside and spend the remainder of her live in that facade.  but she couldn’t.  she’d taken one last look at the boy ; plump cheeks , dark hair , and lilac eyes , before walking away from them forever.  

it had to be him.  how else the perfect combination of targaryen and dothraki features ?   if he was true , he wouldn’t harm her.

 she descended the podium and crossed the distance.  with dragons above her and still garbed in her red and black coronation dress , she surely looked the image of a targaryen.  there was also fire in her eyes.  there had to be.  if not , she feared she could cry.  

the dragon’s daughter walked right up to his beast.  she could see his muscle and the steam rising off of his coat after a hard ride.  but she also saw the man who claimed to be her son.  lilac eyes , dark hair , and features that reminded her of drogo sat upon him.   it was true.  it had to be.  

❝  rhaego ?  ❞   her voice faulters as she speaks and some of the fire burns down as features turn soft.  

A look of skepticism seemed to cross his mother's features as she gazed upon him, not that he could entirely blame the woman. After all, when Rhaego had been born, the witch Mirri Maz Duur had told her that he had been born deformed, and dead. Told his mother that when she touched him his flesh fell away, and inside were grave worms. He remembered every detail of the story because it had been all that he had known - the Red Priestess who had saved his life had done well to imprint in his mind who he was and where he came from, and how the witch wronged him because of her want for vengeance on his fathers Khalasar, because she loathed the Dothraki, because her temple had been burned to the ground and she had been raped by the riders. The blood of his father and his ancestors ran thick in his veins, he knew that the woman had more than enough reason to be angry but also knew that she had no right to betray his mother as she had, not after Daenerys had saved her life, spared her. It did not matter if the witch thought her life worth living after that or not, she had been saved. She should have been doing everything in her power to save him when he had been born mangled.

But the Witch had lied to her. Not entirely, but lied about his wings, lied about his blindness, lied about his death and the way his skin fell away from his bones. He had been born disfigured, with scales along his body and the remains of a tail, the tail of a dragon. The boy had been born half a dragon, half a human. The Red Priestess who had cared for him told him that such things were common for Targaryen women, but did not explain why. But he would have died if the Priestess had not got into contact with the Witch and bought him. He was healthy, or as healthy as he could be given what the magic had done to him, but he seemed fine. The only downside was the never sleeping and the voices. He had little to no care about the rest.

He watched his mother descend from her spot safely tucked away on the podium surrounded by guards. Of course, with the Khalasar he had brought with him to offer aid to his mother's cause, the few guards that sat around the Royal family and what he guessed were other important Lords and Ladies would stand no chance. The Khalasar were incredible fighters, their only downside was the fact that they refused to wear armor. It was where Rhaego differed from them, wearing armor that the Red Priestess had designed for him, intricated with black and red swirls. On one shoulder was a black horse, on the other, a red dragon. A show of his parentage, his blood.

Once the woman had reached close enough for her to bask in the glory of his stallion, the young Khal easily hoisted himself down; every movement as graceful as the most skilled dancers, body moving as if without thought. His feet hit the ground with a soft thud, the dust rising off the ground and surrounding his feet. With her up close, Rhaego could finally analyze her face, scan her features and memorize them, tuck them away for another time, for another heartache. He was still but a boy on the inside, and many off his real memories existed in the short timespan he had been with his mother. He could remember it vaguely, believe it or not. Could picture her face and hear the gasps of the people around them, knew that something was wrong before it had begun to happen.

He can't fully remember what happened on that day but knew enough to know that without the Priestess that had come for him, he would have died. KNew too that his age was the product of an accidental spell, something that had been one of their last attempts at saving the baby and healing him from all the different things that had been wrong with him at birth : the scales... The tail... He wishes that there was a way for him to actually see what it had been like. To see the dragon scales on his skin, to have a tail as his other siblings did. It was scary to think that his siblings were just like he had been when he was born. He wondered how alike they would have been, wondered what color scales he had possessed, how long and what color was his tail All these questions and with no answers.

Gentle hands raise out, taking dainty hands within his own. Win her trust then steal her throne. His head shakes, casting a thought into the crevices of what he hoped was his mind, a smile coming onto his lips. You are meant to be great, and greatness does not bend the knee. His head dips, face not giving way to the effort put into keeping his mouth shut about the things happening within his own mind. "It is me, Mama." Her people will judge her for accepting you. You must punish them. "I have been searching for you for moons now. It's been too long - years, I fear. My story is long and it is complicated, but I hope that you believe and accept my parentage."

It was foolish to believe that she would simply fall to her knees and trust that anyone who happened to have a similarity to the Dothraki and the Targaryen's could be her son. Magic could clearly be used for some pretty serious things, his age proof enough, so it was just as easy to use it for the small things. Anyone could be disguised as what she would expect her son to look like as an adult. Rhaego would not have blamed his mother for turning her back on them and deeming him to be a monster, to not have looked further into what had happened.

"I would like to request some time with you, Mother. I'm afraid we have quite a bit to catch up on if you would have me?"

[morosc-blog]

for : @ffirekissed time : mid day event : tourney

Rhaego Targayen's main goal was to reach his Mother. Word in Essos had it that the Mother of Dragon's held the title of Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and resided in Dragonstone with the three Dragon's that Rhaego called his siblings. So, that had been where the Khalasar of 10,000 strong had docked. There the Khal had bullied his way into the castle and found the information he'd been looking for - the location of his mother.

King's Landing, he had been told, called 'home' by the false King, Viserys Targaryen. He had not waited for any longer before he had begun to tell his people to travel further inshore with him, and they did so without question, as they did with everything he said. Unaware of the situation in the capital or the festivities that were to go on, the Khalasar began the grueling journey on their horses to the capital. The closer to it they got, the harsher the voices began, whispering that upon arrival he should slit the throat of the Uncle who had stollen so much from his mother, mistreated her so greatly. Whispered that he should betray her, too. Take the throne for himself - he was, after all, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, not the Stallion Who Mounts The Dothraki. He was meant to rule - but he was not meant to sit upon the Iron Throne. His fate, his duty, his mission to complete, was to place his mother on that throne, and so he had done his best to ignore the little voices, even as they grew louder, bigger, daily.

After days of travel, the Khalasar had arrived in King's Landing, bullying their way through the guards about the city, bullying the information out of them : Princess Daenerys was currently at a Tourney taking place at the Red Keep in honor of King Viserys' official coronation. Originally the information drove him mad. If he had been faster, if his mount and his people had been faster, if they did not need the sleep as he did not need the sleep, they would have made it before the crown was officially placed upon any head. He imagined rearranging the line of succession would be worlds easier without any officiality.

He had gone mad for a moment, his mind running with the possibilities of what he could do. He could kill him, it would be the easiest way. But if the people were backing his Uncle, it would cause a war. Yes, the Dragon held a horde of Dothraki with him, and their numbers far from small, but he had no idea of the body count on the people that would battle them as repercussions of the King's murder. He could not challenge him, and could not stake a claim on the throne for it was not his to stake claim on. A failure - he was a failure. The Lord of Light had wasted his powers and time on him.

But ahead they went, riding towards the Red Keep and where the tourney was being held. The sound of horse hooves beating against the ground sounded like thunder, and Rhaego knew his entrance would be grand when the screaming and cheers of those within the pit watching the tourney quieted, and all he could hear was the steady beating of the hooves on the ground beneath him, and the occasional scream and cry of his riders. They were not here to murder anyone :  he had made that violently clear to his people, promising to rip them limb from limb if they so much as put a strand of hair out of place on a civilians head without his say.  

When he finally saw the entrance and the crowd that surrounded it, he pulled gently for his horse to begin coming to a stop. The stallion ventured and ventured until he was center, for all those to see, his Khalasar staying a few feet back to make sure everyone could cast their eyes upon the copper-skinned man with lilac eyes : the product of the Horse mating with the Dragon.

He stayed silent for a moment, purple hues scanning the crowd curiously. The crowd seemed to stare back, just as curiously, fearful. The Dothraki in his Khalasar was silent, waiting for their Khal to speak. Each one sat straight upon their mount's, unblinking as they looked upon the people of Westeros. His eyes landed on them, impossible for him to miss with their white hair and purple eyes, no one else bared those characteristics, it could be no one but his Uncle and his Mother, staring with confusion down at him. Their soldiers, their guards began pointing their weapons, and he watched as the Unsullied that followed his mother to Westeros raised their shields, pointing spears in the direction of himself and his people. He did not fear them : he was Rhaego Targaryen. Invincible, indestructible. Unburnt.

"My name is Rhaego Targaryen, Khal of the Great Grass Sea, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, the Unburnt, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, and I come here from my home in Essos in search of my mother, Daenerys Stormborn, first of her name, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Mother of Dragons." His voice boomed throughout the area, over the crowd, his eyes pinpointed on who he already knew was his mother. He stared, watched the changes in her expression, knew that she definitely did not believe her eyes. The Khal reached behind him, dug in a pack and withdrew a cracked piece of shell : as black as the midnight sea with scarlet ripples and swirls.

Pausing a moment longer, the boy raises it into the sky so that all those close enough could see it. "After burning the Khals at Vaes Dothrak, my Khalasar and I traveled to get to Westeros. Throughout our journey, I stumbled across my Father, Khal Drogo's, Funeral Pyre, and within the remains I have found the shell of one of my siblings. I bring it as proof of my blood."

He ignored the gasps and whispers he heard around him from the people that had attended the silly tourney in his Uncle's name, ignored them because they did not matter. All that mattered was his mother, how she reacted, and how long it took for him to be able to embrace her with her knowing that her son stood, breathing before her. He prayed that his Lord made her know - but who else would he be, with his lilac eyes, copper skin and dark hair? No other Dothraki sported the light eyes he did. Anyone who saw him could see he was both Horse and Dragon combined.

[morosc-blog]

for : everyone time : early night event : feast & ball

Since arriving in Westeros, the only thing on Rhaego Targaryen's mind was that he needed to get to his mother. He needed to reunite with his mother. But it seemed that it would take a dogs age, travelling from where his Khalasar had landed in Dragonstone all the way to King's Landing after being told that the Mother and her Dragon's had been summoned 'home' by the King, Viserys Targaryen. When he had heard that his family had once more been sat upon the throne that they'd so desperately wanted before his birth, he knew that his duty in life, what the Lord of Light had granted him the second chance for, was to prevent his Uncle from being the one sitting on the throne, but making it his Mother who ruled The Seven Kingdoms.

He had only been alive for a short time, not even a handful of years, and yet the boy knew what needed to be done. He knew his prophecy, knew where he needed to be. It had taken much longer than he had planned, and in the process, he had gained a lot of blood on his hands : he remembered all the villages he burned to the ground, the people trampled beneath his stallions hooves, the death that followed wherever Khal Rheago went.

It had been hard at first, for the Khal's to even accept who the Red Priestess told them he was. Khal Drogo's son had died, they claimed. The baby who was supposed to be the Stallion Who Mounts The World had been born nothing but a twisted monster of dragon scales, wings, and with a tail. Hideous, they had told him. He had been born a hideous, blind monster. Stillborn, but yet here he was as much his father as he was his mother : tall, broad with tan skin and lilac eyes. Where else would the features descend from? Lilac eyes were a sign of the blood of old Valyria, proof that he was not just any man. Some were skeptical, many felt threatened, and few believed. So he had to show them, had to prove himself to be Rhaego, the Unburnt, the Stallion Who Mounts The World. He burned every Khal and Crone alive and emerged uninjured, bare before the horde of Khalasar's, following directly in his mother's footsteps.

He regretted not being able to save the kind woman who had taken it upon herself to save him, but knows there was no way of getting her out of the burning building without letting any of the Khals escape - that was something he could not have. The voices told him as much, whispered in the back of his mind that if any of them escaped, he would have no Khalasar, no army, to present to his mother as a gift to win her heart.

He had not expected to show up in the middle of whatever events were happening, later discovering it to be his Uncle's coronation celebrations. The thought made his blood burn, boiling in his veins at the idea that he had only been a day shy of perhaps putting a stop to his Uncle on the Throne, replacing him with his Mother would now be a difficult task, he knew enough about the Westerosi traditions and customs to know that he could not simply challenge the King as Khals did. It was not that simple, more politics had to come into play. Things that the boy barely understood, and only knew of thanks to the Red Priestess teaching him all about it before she had tried to reunite him with his mother.

He had not wanted to separate from her, originally. But he understood that this had to be hard for her and that she likely needed some space. He himself needed the space, overwhelmed with the fact he had met his mother, it had finally come to be. Something he had spent what was literally his whole life to do finally came to light, it was scary. He had no idea what to do from there but prayed the Lord of Light would soon show him away. Knew that King's Landing was going to press every button that he possessed, knew that it would take every ounce of strength his Mother and Father had passed to him not to simply slaughter his Uncle where he sat on that damned throne, and then place his mother upon it.

But his siblings were calling for him. Rhaego had heard them ever since he had left them after his initial meeting them, heard the flap of their wings and the beat of their hearts echoing through his bones, heard their calls and their cries. Knew they wanted to see him just as much as he wanted to see them : how he had waited so long to cast his eyes upon his siblings. He had daydreamed about what his siblings would look like since he had heard of their existence, had pictured Drogon since he found the midnight black shell, speckled with scarlet ripples.

So outside he ventured, abandoning the celebrations, not caring if it came off as disrespectful to his Uncle, the Targaryen seemed to be unable to communicate with the Dragons like his mother, like himself. He could slaughter him in seconds if the self-proclaimed King thought it wise to get in his face.

Lilac eyes glide up into the darkening sky above him, reflecting on the bright irises like the sea. Above him, three dragon's floated about the sky, shrieking and squawking at each other, their noises resonating within his bones. How he ached to be on the back of one. He had a love for horses, he would naturally with the Dothraki blood running thick in his veins, and while he loved his Stallion... What would be a stronger mount than a Dragon? The villages he could burn, the people he could slaughter, with that power...

But he was not his Grandfather, and he would not climb atop his sibling and make them slaughter innocent people... No, not on this day. Not in the next. So he stared, stared at the majestic beasts above him, and tuned out anyone who decided it wise to come near the supposed to be dead Prince.

[morosc-blog]

♔ 「 Sean Teale , male , he/him, heterosexual 」 → we proudly present RHAEGO TAGARYEN , the THE STALLION WHO WILL MOUNT THE WORLD & KHAL. they are TWENTY years old and can often be described as COMPASSIONATE and BRAVE. but whispers betray that they’re also HOSTILE and OBSESSIVE. many know that their allegiance lies with HOUSE TARGARYEN, however , when their songs sing of LILACS FLOATING ON THE OCEAN and A SNARLING DRAGON SPITTING FIRE UPON HIS ENEMIES. fate has currently placed them in kings landing due to REUNITING WITH HIS MOTHER AND FULFILLING THE PROPHECY. will they win their game? or die trying? ( jane, she/her , 19 , gmt 2:00 )

name → rhaego targaryen alias →  the stallion who mounts the world titles → khal, prince, khalakka. age  → twenty loyalties → the dothraki, house targaryen, daenerys targaryen, himself, the lord of light. height  → 6′1 personality  →        The Khal of the remaining Dothraki hordes in essos is known for a charming, violent personality. Because of everything that had happened relating to the magic used to age him up, the young man is explosively violent, temperamental, abrasive, confrontational, hostile, impulsive, morbid, obsessive and vindictive. Despite his many negative traits, the remains of the boy who might have been shine through the surface too, glimmers of a boy who was compassionate, brave, and charming. He’s also known for being ambitious, confidant, flirtatious, idealistic, intelligent and loyal.  short biography  →        Rhaego Targaryen was born the only son to Khaleesi Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo, although he was delivered by the witch Mirri Maz Duur. When Rhaego is born, the witch curses his father to death, and scams his mother into believing he was a still born : the witch told the Khaleesi that the boy was born covered in dragon scales, blind, with a stump of a tail and leather batdragon-like wings, and while the boy was born with scales and the remains of a tail, he lived. Before Daenerys had the chance to have the witch burned upon Khal Drogos funeral pyre, she sold the baby off to a Red Priestess who believed she could save the baby : it was Mirri Maz Duur’s final revenge on the Dothraki.         The Lord of Light gave the Red Priestess a vision of how the Stallion Who Mounts The World saved Westeros and Essos, and showed her how the boy would die a slow, painful death if left in the hands of the witch, Mirri Maz Duur. For three months, the Priestess did everything in her power to try to nurture him back to full health, using her magic and any help she could get from The Lord of Light, until she was given a vision of a Sorcerer who specialized in the dark magic. Taking that as a sign that she needed the Sorcerers help to save the boy, she sought him out. Together, the Priestess and the Sorcerer worked through spell after spell, everything both of them knew combined, until they cured the boy  :  the only downside, the boy was no longer a babe, but a man. The Priestess suspected it was the Lord of Lights plan all along, but the Sorcerer believes it to be a sign of evil. As with anything, however, there were consequences to the magic used :  a life time for the boy suffering from being mad. At first, nothing was bad, and the boy was learning how to live in the world and learn who he was, but after three months, the voices began and Prince Rhaego Targaryen began to go mad.          A while after the Prince had been aged up, the Priestess had decided that it was finally time to bring the boy to Westeros, to reunite with his Mother and begin the prophecy, but during their travels a Khalasar of the Dothraki not following the Khaleesi Daenerys Stormborn capture them both and bring them to Vaes Dothrak. There while all the great Khals and the crones discussed what they were going to do, threatening Rhaego and the Priestess who had cared for him since his birth, that the final bridge between Rhaego and the madness that would begin to consume him snapped. The voices whispered for him to burn them. Burn them all. And so he did, knocking over every burning pit of fire, and watched as the buliding went up in flames, all the Khals and crones struggling to fight for their lives. In complete mirror to his mother, the Dragon boy walked from the flames naked, but unburnt. Announcing himself as Rhaego Targaryen, son of Khal Drogo and Daenerys Targaryen, the Stallion Who Mounts The World, the remaining members of the Khalasar’s accepted him as their Khal : the best there ever was. headcanons  → 001  → Rhaego want’s to be good, his heart is pure but his mind is tainted. He believes there’s something insanely wrong with him, but has no idea how to go about fixing the things that the magic has done to his brain. 002  → One of the side affects of the magic is that Rhaego doesn’t sleep. He spends most of his nights awake, staring at the sky, day dreaming of dragons and his mother, and what it will be like to finally be where he was meant to be all along. But the lack of rest adds insane impacts on his already terrible mental health, but yet the boy does not feel ‘tired’.

003  → His mother is all he truly cares about : he has always been angry over the fact that a witch decided to tear him from his mothers arms, even after she spared the woman and her friends the cruelty of his fathers Khalasar. Because of how angry he was at not being able to hear his mothers voice or see her until he reached Westeros and King’s Landing, he’s obscenely protective over her, and has killed men for uttering insults about the Mother of Dragons.

004  → Much like the majority of his family, Rhaego has an extreme love and obsession with Dragons. He knows his mother possess three which are his siblings : without even knowing them he loves them, and would slaughter any man or woman who dared to try to injure them.

005  → He believes that he was born the way he was for a reason, and after proving himself to be Unburnt like his mother, he believes he was hand picked by the Lord of Light, believing that his fate is to save the world from whatever evil was coming upon it : currently, he believes it to be his Uncle Viserys sitting on the Iron Throne, little does he know it runs deeper than that, reaching farther North than King’s Landing.

006  → It took Rhaego a year to gather the funds and means of getting to Westeros. In the year that he was in Essos as a Khal, he raided every small village and even some of the bigger towns. The raiding and travelling brought his Khalasar along where his fathers Funeral Pyre had been placed, and after being informed by one of his Blood Riders that it had been located there, the young Khal went in search for any remainders of his fathers. Amongst the ashes and debris, Rhaego found the remains of a cracked shell, as black as the midnight sea, alive with scarlet ripples and swirls : Drogon’s shell. He carries it with him wherever he goes, using it as proof for when he finds his mother. 

[morosc-blog]

event starter for @beggardragon time : mid night event : feast & ball

Sansa had decided to try to at least enjoy the festivities. She wasn't sure when she'd get a chance to have this sort of environment again, with all that was happening it was likely that there wouldn't be any type of celebration for a while after this. Either the King would be dead or they'd be at war with the rest of Westeros. She had only seen real war when she'd seen The Battle of the Bastards. It had been the closest to war she'd ever gotten, and it was not even able to be considered as such. It was just one battle she'd been exposed to, one battle that was enough to make Sansa wish to never see another again.

She'd been so afraid that they would lose to Ramsay and his forces. So terrified that Jon and the army that she had gathered for him would not be enough. She did not want to start a war with Viserys and the other Kingdoms did not want to have to be the person to start the war between the North and the South. But for the freedom of her brother, for his livelihood, his safety, his title, she would. She would, absolutely if she had to. She knew that was not what Robb wanted her to do, but she would do anything to make sure her brother was safely in Winterfell again, even if it meant sacrificing her freedom in place of his. Even if it meant killing a King. Even if it meant treason. Even if it meant dying.

She'd been focusing on the way her wine swirled in her cup, the deep red color enough to keep her entertained. She had no interest in socializing with the other Lords and Ladies, not when all of them seemed so content to sit there and be food for dragons, how none of them seemed phased that they were under the rule of a tyrant that would sooner see them dead than happy. How moronic, she couldn't help but think, as she looked out over the crowd once more, watching the laughter and the amusement. How could they just sit there and enjoy themselves, knowing full well that they were all prisoners?

It was only then she caught sight of the silver hair making its way towards her table. Her fingers had been crossed, hoping that it was the Princess that was coming to converse with her, but it all hopes tumbled to the grounds as a familiar male face came into view : the same appearance as the princess, but she had no positive emotions about seeing this one.

She stood, only because she knew there would be hell to pay if she didn't, dipping her head low in greeting. "King Viserys."

[morosc-blog]

ffirekissed‌:

this wasn’t her home.   but it was supposed to have been.  the little silver-haired girl was supposed to have grown up in these halls , exploring until she was covered in dirt and had gotten lost multiple times.  she was supposed to know all the passageways , secret or otherwise , and learn the best hiding spots for when mother wanted her to dress for an important celebration.  

instead she was a stranger within these halls.  the pale red brick , built by her ancestors , weren’t the ones she remembered from her youth.  instead she remembered yellow and red , a feeling of hunger in her stomach and dirt clinging to her skin.  she misses the childhood she never had.  and while wandering these halls , she can’t help but wonder how her life would have been if fate hadn’t propelled her elsewhere.  

it was hard not to think of such things as she lead lady sansa to her chambers.  both knew where it was , yet daenerys took the lead.  it was only proper for a woman of higher status to do so.  but had it not been for her brother , wouldn’t they be equals ?   if robb was to be crowned king in the north , sansa would be a princess.  

❝   he announced his proposal.   i just wasn’t as prepared as i should have been.  ❞   she’d agreed to wed viserys.  it had been her fate , and perhaps from the capital could she quell the growing madness within his mind.  what she hadn’t expected , however ,was for him to announce multiple engagements.  though it hadn’t completely surprised her.   it had been completely within viserys’ character.  

Watching the beautiful Princess in her home was not like watching the average person in their home. Sansa noticed how the woman looked at the walls with curiosity, and she could bet that Daenerys still got lost sometimes within these walls. It took Sansa about a month to get used to the twists and turns of the halls, another month to memorize where each room sat and what each room was. She knew that it might be a look of awe, but it was not the way that herself or any of the Stark's looked at the walls of their home in Winterfell. The Stark children when they strolled through familiar halls looked at the walls with wonder, smiled at the floor and the ceiling and could walk around with their eyes closed and not bump into a thing, they could do such things because they had grown up there, their whole lives lived within those walls.

Daenerys was meant to have grown up here, was meant to have lived her whole life within these walls. For the first time since Robb had been called south, Sansa found herself feeling... Bad, for the Targaryen intruders. She couldn't imagine a life where she was forced to grow for so long so far from her home. Did not want to imagine a childhood where she did not have her mother or her father, where she had to be on the run because someone was trying to kill her at every turn. Wondered if the Princess was more familiar with the feeling of starvation than she was with happiness. How her heart hurt at this moment, watching the woman look at the place she was meant to call home, and not know what it was.

"Well, that is quite understandable. I had not expected more than one wife." She admitted with a nod of her head. "I imagine it threw you off guard quite a bit. But is that all that is bothering you, My Lady?" She asked, turning her head so she could look at the mother of Dragons, her eyes soft. The hatred that Sansa Stark usually wore with pride washed away, leaving the soft soul that had survived through the pain and tears that she had gone through in the last few years of her life. "Do you want to marry him, for that matter? Is it your plan or his?"

It would make sense for Viserys to be the one calling the shots, without even knowing him Sansa could tell he was the type of man that always needed to be in control : how disgusting a person he must be. But Daenerys was his sister and she probably felt obligated to go along with his words and actions because he was the only family she had remaining, and Sansa could understand how she felt. If she had been a lesser woman than what she had grown into today, she would have allowed Robb to stay in King's Landing without putting up much a fight because it would have been what he had told her to do. She would have stayed in Winterfell and cried over the wellbeing of her siblings, but she would have obeyed because her siblings were the only people she had left, and without them, her life would crumble to pieces. But Sansa had been through hell and back and had learned how to speak for herself and to stop letting men do the talking for her, no longer was she the placid little bird that she had once been.

[morosc-blog]

crppldheir‌:

Willas heard the story of Sansa Stark and all that she had to endure while being in King’s Landing. So the fact that she was here now, after everything she went through and all the bad memories this place most likely bring her, Willas had to give her props for that. It showed her strength and that she was truly of the North. He never had the pleasure of meeting her father but he had no doubt that Lord Stark would be proud of his eldest daughter. 

The heir of Highgarden guessed that the only reason why she even came this far South once again was because of her family. He had heard whispers that the entire Stark clan had made their way to King’s Landing and Willas admired that about them, how they seemed to stick together. He couldn’t blame them though, the last time half of the family came to the capital, things did not turn out well for them. And Robb was the Hand of the King, Willas could only guess how much he needed his family around him. Although, it could also be a weakness and Viserys could explore that. Having his family here, so close to what seemed to be the new mad king was dangerous and he could use Robb’s siblings against him, with threats and even worse than threats. 

“And I would not blame you for that, my lady.” He said with a nod of his head. “Much like you, I would also be in Highgarden, enjoying the warm weather and a good book. But my father had other plans, he insisted that I come to the capital because this celebration would be the perfect occasion to find a wife.” It wasn’t because of the lack of offers, many high lords had come to him, offering their daughters to marry him. But he didn’t want that, he didn’t want to force anyone to marry him because of course, who would want to marry a cripple if not for the fact that he’s the heir of Highgarden? It was part of the reason why he was yet to marry. 

Willas nodded his head at her question. “My brother is here yes, my sister too.” He had yet to come across Margaery but he knew she was around here somewhere. “My grandmother isn’t here yet but I’m sure she’ll come.” There was no way Olenna Tyrell would miss an occasion like this, mostly when the Tyrells played such an important role on helping win the throne. “I’ve heard about it, from my grandmother. I’m sorry that you had to go through such a hard time, completely ruined your first experience in the south.” He paused, offering her a smile. “To make up for it, maybe after all this craziness is over, you can accompany me back to Highgarden and I can show you what good the south has to offer. And how beautiful our gardens are.” 

It sort of made her heart stop to think about the future after all the things in the capital were settled. To think of one where she had no worries anymore past the average persons. Would that day ever come? Or would she be doomed to be a tragedy from start to finish? Would she even make it out of King's Landing alive? She couldn't risk thinking otherwise. She needed to believe that not only would she leave King's Landing alive, but her brother would too. She had suffered so many terrible things in this cursed town, she did not want Robb to have to endure the same type of pains. She would give herself to the King, turn herself over, trade her freedom for Robbs if that was what it would take.

But she'd sooner order the King dead.

"That would be lovely," She mused, a little smile on her lips as she drew her attention back to the heir of Highgarden. She could understand why so many women were interested in snagging his attention, even now she could tell the man was by no means ugly. Even though he could not fight as well as the next Lord, he was cunning and intelligent, and as beautiful as the rest of the Tyrells. All of them were breathtaking, Sansa found herself almost insecure in the presence of these unearthly people. It did make her curious as to why the young Lord hadn't wed yet. She could remember Olenna going on about him once upon a time. She had so much pride for her grandson, and she could definitely see why.

Her eyes dance around the room and she hums quietly. "Marriage," the word is a little bit of a scoff. Sansa had no luck when it came to finding husbands :  Joffrey had been a monster, Tyrion would have made for a good husband compared to the rest but he was not slightly who she wished to be with and the marriage had been against her will, and Ramsay... Well. That one spoke for itself. She stilled idolized that future, a husband and a child. But she did not know if she would ever want to venture into a union with a man ever again. "There are more important things in life than finding a body to marry." She mused, looking back at him. "I suppose that's why you have yet to find a wife. I doubt it is for lack of proposals, from what I've heard you're known to be quite the charmer, and you have the Tyrell looks along with it."

But she could understand not wanting to take a spouse just for taking a spouse. Sansa Stark would never marry again, not unless the gods came to the earth and showed her a person who would be kind and love her as she was meant to be loved, and love her despite the scars and flaws on her skin.

"If I ever get out of this town, I'd love to join you in Highgarden. After all, a break from the cold is appreciated. But that may be a while yet."

[morosc-blog]

ffirekissed‌:

lilac eyes were turned towards the great windows.  the sky was only just beginning to turn.  she had hours left before it would be acceptable to return to her chambers.  but what would she do but continue to think ?  

the proclamation that king viserys would wed his sister , margaery tyrell , and arianne martell had shaken her.  thinking on it , it seemed like something he would do , but she’d thought his need for a new targaryen dynasty would perhaps steer him away from any other women.  it would have caused tensions with dorne , but then perhaps arianne hadn’t needed to see viserys whenever the dragon awoke.  

but now all three ladies sit trapped.  and daenerys had to put on a facade for the remaineder of the day.  she was the princess , officially now , and was meant to sit in on the important events.  even when all she wanted was to retreat to her chambers and allow panic to take hold for a few moments.  

only a few more hours left.  but so far , she’d done a good job of hiding her shock and sorrow.  smiles were given to those that looked towards her and small chatter ensued where it was neccessary.  but mostly , the mother of dragons sat alone at the high table , constantly looking off into the distance.  

she’d fallen into thought once more when another had taken a seat beside her.  dany covered her sudden surprise well and turned towards the lady stark with welcoming featuers.  

❝   a bit of wine would do me well i think , lady sansa.  ❞   she’d already sipped on enough to feel the slightest bit of it’s effects.  perhaps a bit more would calm her.   daenerys stood , smoothing out the deepened red skirt.   ❝   to my chambers ?  they’re empty.   ❞

Observant eyes had come to realize when a person looked out of their element, or for lack of better wording when someone looked like they were emotionally lost. It was the same look that Daenerys Targaryen wore now, and if Sansa could guess it likely had something to do with the events that had happened on this day. If she were a lesser person, if she was truly Cersei Lannister, Sansa might have been able to take the young Princess back to her chambers and manipulated the words out of her, then coaxed her into joining her plan, though she had felt that if Daenerys became fed up with her brother on the throne, she could dispose of him easily. After all, it seemed Daenerys controlled the Targaryen's armies, not Viserys.

"That sounds lovely, My Lady." Sansa agreed with a little dip of her head. Gentle hands help lift herself back out of the chair, her own dainty fingers smoothing down the skirts of the dress painted with House Stark's colors. So far from home, the woman had come to terms with the fact that everyone expected her to not sport pride for her house, many most likely expected her to just wear whatever pretty color caught her eye - but Sansa had too much pride in her house, needed to send the message to anyone who was interested in weaseling their way into her missions that her House would always come first, and the only reason she was in King's Landing, was for her house.

She allows herself to step away from the table, waiting for the Princess to begin leading her to her chambers : Sansa already knew where it sat, heavily guarded. If she remembered correctly, it was once Cersei's room. Or maybe it had been Joffreys. Her mind had scrambled bits of information like that from her mind, an attempt at forgetting the whole part of her history hadn't happened. And she wished, prayed every day, that it hadn't. Sure, she was okay now, and she could handle being in the real world better than she would have been if she had been spared that trauma, but she wished she could have found her womanhood on her own terms, and had not been forced into maturity by mutiny and murder.

When the women finally begin walking, Sansa neatly folds her hands together in front of her, as she had been instructed to do when she was still rather young. Her eyes dip down to the white-haired princess, a curious smile placed on gentle lips. All of Sansa's hatred and negativity was thrown towards Viserys. She would fight the Dragon Mother if it became necessary, but until then she held no ill will for the woman. If anything, after hearing whispers of the things that the should-be-Queen had gone through in Essos, Sansa thought that the two of them might be more similar than she had initially thought. The trauma that had forced her to grow was not far from the trauma that forced Daenerys to become a leader of armies. Sansa idolized that, respected her will power and her strength. She wondered if this was going to be the bout that put them on an equal level if Sansa herself would turn around to rule armies. If she had her hands on them, she'd burn the whole city to the ground to get her brother home.

"You didn't seem to enjoy yourself this evening, I noticed." The woman commented, not caring if the other thought it was stepping over a boundary that was meant to be set between them. Their interactions had been limited and Sansa was to be viewed as lower status, simply the Lady of Winterfell opposed to Daenerys Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. But in her mind, the two stood at equal : The Princess of the Six Kingdoms and The Princess of the North. She did not view the other as more or less than, but equal. Even if Daenerys had the royalty in her blood for years - yet, so did Sansa. The Starks had been the Kings and Queen of winter once upon a time before the Targaryen's even ruled in Westeros. So - equals they were.

Her eyes stray from the halls and the path in front of them to the beautiful young woman next to her, curious eyes taking her in. "Did something happen, or are you just unhappy with your brother's official title?"

[morosc-blog]

event starter for @ffirekissed time : early night event : feast & ball

It killed her that the night was only early. How many feasts and balls and pretend celebrations she had been forced to attend with the Lannister's, to sit pretty and pretend like nothing was wrong, like she was there willingly even after they beheaded her father and put his head on a spike, forced her to look at it. Sitting in the Red Keep again was disgusting, made her feel dirty and tainted. All she wanted to do was go home, to return to Winterfell with her brother and King at her side, with the rest of their siblings around them too. The Stark's belonged in Winterfell, Direwolves belonged in the North, not in King's Landing, not in the South, none of them were safe here, even if one would think that Robb's position as Hand would keep him out of harm's way, but if anything it put all of them further in it.

All around her people laughed and chatted, discussed the latest fashion and what everyone was wearing. The Ladies she passed were fawning over young Lord's who had caught their eye. Sansa had no interest in any of it, even if she should have. Even if the girl she had been before she went south the first time would have been, even if Sansa Stark was known for loving fashion and balls and finding a suitor. She cared for none of it now. She needed no man to be strong, needed no fancy dresses to be seen for her worth. She was a wolf, and she would not wear a sheep's skin any longer.

Her eyes had been going from table to table, examining how everyone was acting. She had noted some glares towards the King and Princess, though more directed at him than at her, which she supposed she could understand. It seemed Daenerys had been content running Dragonstone with her Dragons roaming above it, natural in their habitats. She seemed more level headed, kinder, than the King. One could tell simply by making eye contact with them, she had noticed Daenerys smile and nod her head at a few people, whereas Viserys only forced a smile for looks, and scowled when they looked away. But she saw it all. Saw how Viserys took the spotlight and ran with it, while the Princess sat by her lonesome, not even a plate before her.

So when the King had gone to do whatever he was going to do, Sansa approached the table and took an empty seat near the Princess, turning her body towards her so that the two could talk over the noise of the festivities around them, her hands folding over the soft grey skirts of her dress, folding together to uphold the Lady like appearance that she was meant to have before someone of such a high status : but in Sansa's mind, the two women were equals, both Princesses, both Lady's of their houses.

"Princess Daenerys," She greeted with a little smile of her own. "I could not help but notice you have been sitting here by yourself all night, why don't you join me for some wine? Perhaps somewhere a little quieter. The noise makes it hard to talk."

[morosc-blog]

crppldheir‌:

Willas never liked these sort of gatherings and even though he knew that, as the heir to Highgarden, he was supposed to attend them, it still didn’t mean that he enjoyed them. He didn’t like to talk with the other highborn, they always spoke of the same things, about fashion and about the tournament that was to come and there was a limit a man could handle speaking about those subjects. 

So Willas kept mostly to himself, he made sure he was on a secluded part of the feast, where not a lot of people would spot him. He was tired of high lords coming to him, offering their daughters’ hand on marriage. He didn’t want things to work like that, he didn’t want to marry someone he didn’t know and most importantly, someone he new was only marrying him because of his position as the heir of Highgarden. Any father would want his daughter married to him, but Willas was trying as hard as he could to keep that from happening, delaying that marriage as much as he could. 

The only reason why he came to King’s Landing was because of his father, because the old man had annoyed him so much about it, telling him how this event was the perfect opportunity for him to find a wife, someone to marry so he could finally start having children of his own. Willas didn’t see it like that, of course he came because he wanted his father to stop annoy him with it but he also knew that the Tyrells had helped the Targaryens win the throne so their presence was expected. Mostly the heir of Highgarden. 

Leaning on his cane with one hand, to get some weight off of his bad leg that was starting to hurt, Willas sipped on some wine, watching the crowd around him. Thoughts were running through his mind until he was pulled away from them by Sansa Stark. He knew from his sister and from his grandmother that she was an ally, she was someone good and someone worth having on your good side. Of course, Willas would be the judge of that himself but if there was someone he trusted in this world it was his grandmother. “Lady Sansa, it’s good to see you.” He offered her a smile and a nod of his head. “Well, my father insisted that I make an appearance. This is definitely not my scene but we all make sacrifices for our families, don’t we?” 

'We all make sacrifices for our families, don't we?'

The statement rings so true in her head that it hurts. Why else would she be in King's Landing now, after everything that had happened to her while she was here before? If not for Robb, the rest of their family, why come? She wouldn't have. If it had been anyone else being held in the capital, she wouldn't have bothered coming. Would have sent people to deal with what needed to be dealt with instead of doing it herself, would have remained sat safely in Winterfell where everything was familiar and yes, sometimes the walls spoke to her there too, but rarely. Only on her bad days.

"Oh yes," she mused, smiling even though her mind was racing with the fear that suddenly rushed to her from being within the walls of King's Landing. "If it were not for my brother's position, I'd be sitting in Winterfell, enjoying the chill of the air." Her eyes leave the young Lord, going out over the crowd that was chatting, dancing, and laughing. She wondered how any of them could find the comfort to enjoy themselves, knowing what terrible things had happened within the walls of the Red Keep before, knowing that they were under another tyrant, knowing that another mad king sat on the throne. How any of them could be having fun knowing that they're all prisoners.

Prisoners were exactly what they all were, too. Even those that lived in King's Landing, even those that were loyal for the moment to the King and the Princess. They were all prisoners, and they would never again be able to make any move that was of their own choice. They would never be allowed to come and go as they pleased, they were lucky that the King was even letting them interact with one another, she was sure he was paranoid over the schemes that could be brewed up between his enemies, now all prowling about the one room together. She should have been prowling too, searching for cracks in his alliances so that she could finally end the reign of terror before it began.

Her eyes go back to the young Lord and she offers him a polite smile. She knew that the Tyrells were on the side of helping the Targaryen's reclaim their throne, but she wondered if they truly supported Viserys. He seemed to be mad, she had yet to even interact with him but she had heard so many terrible things, heard whispers about him. She couldn't really see the Tyrells wanting to have another Mad King on the throne - she wondered what their overall plan was in all of this, for there had to be one. "Have the rest of your family joined you?" She asked him, curiously. "I stumbled into Loras awhile ago, but I haven't so much as heard tale of Margery or your Grandmother. They helped me quite a bit during my time here with the Lannister's, I believe it would only be right to speak to them and offer them my thanks."

[morosc-blog]

event starter for @crppldheir

Delicate fingers fold over the soft grey fabric of her dress. The feast and the ball definitely did look beautiful, and if Sansa had seen such a thing a few traumas ago, she would have loved it. Once upon a time, this would have been her element, dancing to good music, sipping on wine, and flirting with some wealthy Lords who caught her eye. Looking around now, she could almost name all the ones that would have caught her untainted eye. Ones that she would have batted her little eyelashes at and let them dance with her for hours on end : but Sansa was no longer an untainted bird, with the traumas that had passed she was now a wolf. And wolves did not bat their pretty eyelashes at men who paid her no attention.

So she sat by herself, a glass of wine neatly placed next to her, waiting to drink. But the untrusting side of her wondered if it was poisoned, she had heard of the Red Wedding's original plan, how they were going to kill them all in the midst of the event. What would stop the King from doing the same thing? And what a better, easier way to do it than the poison the cups of those who he wanted dead? She had no doubt she was on that list, knew that the King had to be keeping a close on her and her whereabouts, knew that she would be nothing but a pawn here in the capital, just another object used to keep Robb obeying every command. But she did not plan on being a quiet pawn, not this time around.

Her eyes were scanning the crowds, noticing how some of the people actually looked genuinely happy. She supposed not everyone had the senses that she had, and not everyone was so untrusting of the world around them. She knew that for some, having the Targaryens back on the throne was a good thing. But she also knew that many did not accept the King, knew that they thought him to be mad like his father. Her mind drifts to the Princess : negotiations would likely be so much easier with her, level headed as she seemed.

She had yet to spot a familiar face though until her eyes fell on the sharp features of a man that she knew could be none other than a Tyrell. Willas, she supposed. It had to have been.

The Tyrells had never been allied with the Lannisters. She could remember how fondly Margery looked at her, and how the High Garden's little rose smiled and tried to give her the best advice she could given Sansa's pitiful situation. She also remembered Loras, and how he was willing to wed her before she'd been ripped away from that bit of freedom too. Remembered Olenna being so kind to her, all throughout their meetings. Perhaps if she was able to ask the elderly woman for the help back then, she would have been free of King's Landing and all the trauma that came with it. She considered them friends, figured she could trust them enough not to turn and stab her in the gut when she wasn't looking.

Smiling only slightly, the girl stood and made her way to the young Lord, a glass of wine in hand. It had been a dog's age since she had heard anything of the wounded Lord, and was glad to see that despite all the disputes and terrible things that had happened within the last while, he was here, alive and well. As far as she could see.

"Lord Willas," She greeted fondly, dipping her head to show her respect, but would go no further than that. "I hadn't expected to see you here."

[morosc-blog]

time : mid day event : the great tournament 

Watching the traitor King finally get crowned was sickening. Watching as her brother's fate was more or less solidified. Her only options now were clear: kill the king or smuggle her brother out of the capital. Both of which were far more easier said than done. All the Gods had witnessed how hard she had fought to get free of her cage here, everyone who had known her during her time at Kings Landing prior to this knew that it had taken her far too long to find a way out, though now looking back she had come to realize that the Lannisters were laxer: she had been given so many opportunities to leave here, but it had been her fear and anxiety that kept her caged. Those realizations did lift some weight off her shoulders, perhaps there would be such easy openings for her brother as well.

But push comes to shove she would kill what needed to be killed. Dragons had gone extinct once before... It was possible to create that world again, recreate and recreate until those things were impossible to resurrect. She had people behind her willing to do anything for their King : Robb. The North did not kneel to this false King on the Iron Throne. They did not recognize him as their leader, did not accept him as their true King. But they pretended, she noted. Had observed several of the Northerners and people who were backing her brother playing nice at the coronation. Watched even her siblings seem to bat their pretty eyelashes and act as if they were here by choice for the Dragon's events, and not to steal away a wolf in the middle of the night. They would all help her when the time was right, she knew. They'd come to her aid if she wanted it.

She had Theon Greyjoy and Sandor Clegane at her disposal as well: two very powerful pieces that would no doubt aid her in the saving of Robb. Sandor himself would cut the self-claimed king to the ground with but a word from her, and she knew that. Knew all she had to do was tell him and he would. And that would be a death that the King no doubt deserved, she would guess. A slow and painful one. And Theon was just as important too, for she could put him to use being her eyes and ears, and then later, have him assist her by picking guards off while she tried to get Robb out of the city if that was how she wished to play it.

Or she could summon all the knowledge she'd gained from Cersei. That woman was not stupid, evil and cruel, yes, but she was far from stupid. She was a woman who understood that the men around them expected stupidity and obliviousness from the women and knew how to play into their hands to get the information she needed. Perhaps she would take a page out of her book and use her new title as a Lady in Waiting for Princess Daenerys to get closer to her. Sansa knew she was good enough at acting that she could pretend to be on good terms with the Dragon mother. Knew that if there was a hole in the sibling's relationship, she could take that hole and turn it into the biggest rip... Turn her against him, if need be...

She knew so far that the Princess had a thing against slavers, hated the idea of slaves and anything along the lines. Knew that a slave was exactly what Viserys had kept Robb as. If she could get the chance, the opening, and the alone time with the girl, then surely she could coax her into lending a hand to getting her brother North before it was too late, before his life poured onto the concrete as their fathers had.

But that meant playing a part, the part of a person who existed in the capital willingly. Even if she was only here for one reason, she wished she hadn't been. Had it been up to her she would have skipped all the events today, made a  statement by not showing. But she needed to be, so here she sat, waiting for a tournament to begin so that people saw her there, so that the King and the Princess saw that she attended, so that it could create this vision of her that she needed them to believe in. She was quiet, not speaking to those that passed by or sat with her, barely cheering when a person was announced victorious. She was here for appearance and appearance alone.

[morosc-blog]

task 001

How does your character feel about being in King’s Landing?       It’s no secret that Sansa hates everything about King’s Landing. Since she’s been stuck there for too long a prisoner before she managed to get a taste of her newfound freedom, she’s still finding it hard to walk the walls of the castle without feeling like she’s going to be trapped or injured. Every step she takes she can hear the Lannisters laughing, including Joffrey. On the hard days, she hears the dead King telling her how foolish she is for once again getting herself trapped in King’s Landing, that the pretty little song bird has been returned to her cage.

Viserys has been on the throne for nine months. When did your character arrive?      Sansa has only been in King’s Landing for three months. After she came to realize that there was no way her brother and King was to return home without the help of the North, she took it upon herself to go south, to try to brew a plan to save him.

Has your character made any acquaintances, friends, courtships, or enemies?      So far, no. Sansa has no intentions of playing nice with the other nobles, and she is not in King’s Landing to find love, friendship, or anything else. Her only goal in the cursed capital is to save her family.

Has your character made any political advancements?         Actively in the process of making a few, Sansa’s only focus is her brother and his safety, so her time in the capital has consisted of her trying to gather information about the King and the Princess, along with the three dragons they possess, so that she can perhaps make a play at getting Robb Stark back to the North.

How does your character feel about King Viserys III?        To put it nicely, she wants him dead. Sansa views him as a traitor and a coward, and believes that the dragon is just as mad as his father was, which makes her all the more panicked to get Robb as far from King’s Landing as she can.

Has anyone caught your character’s eye?       No. Sansa’s too busy fretting about her family to even think about love.

What will your character be wearing for the coronation? (You can describe, post photos, or both!)        In typical Sansa style, the girl plans on showing off. She is going to wear a nice grey dress with white detailing that drags on the floor and sports some nice white fur around the collar, to keep true to her Northern roots. Along with the dress, she will wear a garment resembling a veil, pale white that flows from the mid back of her head to the floor. ( vaguely pictured above )