crown of embers

a crown of embers There are rulers who measure their strength by what they can seize. I measure mine by what I can refuse. To take what is not mine would not make me greater. It would make me smaller, though the maps might say otherwise. Mercy is not softness. It is the discipline of power. group-versed, highly selective && private canon turned original character swanwhite i stoneshire of the chronicles of narnia. as loved by jess. 30+. ( she / her )

[oathboundfire]

𝐈𝐅 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄 ———

group-versed, highly selective && private SWANWHITE I STONESHIRE — a canon turned original character from c.s. lewis' the chronicles of narnia. as loved by jess, she/her, 30+. 

highly plot driven, slow activity. this blog uses the beta editor for replies! established 2018. this blog will not shy away from triggering content and taboo subjects!

a look into: unlocking ancient magic. having fire in your blood. mother of dragons. teaching “monsters” restraint. power that refuses to seize. sovereignty without conquest. inheritance and integrity. ancient power and careful hands. women returning women to power. what grief can birth.

pinned post banner template credit to apocalypseresources

[theinnocentdragontm]

closed except for @oathboundfire

location: Lake Lacreymose, Narnia

April 11, 702.

They had not wanted him to go. They never wanted him to do anything. Always seeking to protect him. But he was a part of this family and he wanted to help. So behind Lorr's back, behind Lyssie's, he had begged Mother to let him go. Besides all he was doing was reconnaissance. What could possibly happen?

He felt the blow from the ballista before he ever heard Phaedron scream. A searing pain ripped through his chest, as if it were he who had struck, rather than the dragon. It was all Luceryan could do to hang on, as suddenly, they were no longer flying but falling.

Phaedron turned to look at him once, his eyes filled with confusion and fear, a mirror of Luceryan's own thoughts. Then, the light left his eyes as his soul left his body. Phaedron was dead, and Luceryan would be right behind him.

End over end they careened towards the ground until Luceryan could no longer tell which way was up. Perhaps it was better this way, being unable to watch the ground and his imminent death approach. Luceryan closed his eyes and thought instead of Lorrcan. What was he doing right now? Would he know what was about to-

Luceryan didn't feel himself hit the ground, crushed under Phaedron's weight. Instead, it was like everything had shifted. He opened his eyes and he was home. How was he home? Was it all a dream? Was it-

A soothing hand brushed his hair from his brow, and his immediate thought was Mother. He turned to look and recoiled sharply. The face he saw was not his mother's, but familiar to him all the same. It was a face he had gazed at hundreds of times...in a portrait. For this was the face of his grandmother, who had died before he was born.

His heart sank. It wasn't a dream, was it? "Oh, I'm dead...I'm really dead, aren't I?" He asked her softly.

[oathboundfire]

In less than a year, Swanwhite had lost two grandchildren.

Both young. Both lives taken. Both by the hand of the Seymour family.

Of them, she had met only Lamina before her own passing. Their reunion had been warm, almost merciful in its gentleness. Lamina had remembered her. Luceryan had not met her. Still, she had watched him all his life.

The knowledge did little to ease the ache that came with his death. Nor the loss of the dragon that had carried him — one of the sacred line she herself had restored to the world. A life extinguished for a war that had already taken too much, and would take more before it was finished.

Swanwhite did not dwell on it. Grief, like fire, had its place. It did not rule her.

She waited for him in a chamber shaped by memory — a quiet reflection of his own room at Cair Paravel. Not all souls woke easily in Aslan’s Country. Familiarity softened the crossing.

When he opened his eyes, she was already there. Her hand moved first, brushing the fair hair from his brow in a gesture as gentle as breath. It lingered only a moment before returning to rest in her lap. At last she saw him not through distance or prayer, but before her.

Luceryan recoiled. She did not move. ❝ You are,❞ Swanwhite said simply. Her voice was calm, even, as though speaking of an inevitable tide. ❝ I grieved to see it happen.❞ A quiet pause followed. ❝ And yet… it is good to meet you at last, Luceryan.❞ Her gaze softened, though her posture remained composed. ❝ Though I would have preferred to greet you many years from now.❞

[calisources]

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑? 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different media and some made from scratch about the royal succession line and the troubles it brought during a medieval/fantasy period. Change pronouns, names, titles and locations as you see fit.

You poison a king so that they may take his place.

Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It's not a very comfortable seat, I'm afraid.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.

Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance.

If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.

Princess Catherine. Your loss has endeared you to the people. They share your grief.

 You've had your courses for days, but you do not tell anyone. I don't understand.

God would have me wed Prince Harry.

But you are his brother's widow. It is impossible. It is forbidden.

I am every inch the soldier... And commander.

In England, widows don't handle swords, much less a widow carrying a prince in her womb. 

And I'll wager that you were praying for a boy.

My mother is already planning my next marriage, though in God's eyes it will be my first marriage.

If you are still a maid, then, Catherine, I can be your husband. 

I will raise you up, you... you and all of England. You will be my princess and... and my queen.

Ten years since the king has been on the throne and there is no heir apparent. Only his brother, gods forbid. 

Daughters don’t inherit, sons do. 

You have a son but you must have a spare too. Gods know what would happen if the boy dies.

The line of succession is clear on these matters. Girls are the last resource.

I am a woman, whoever I marry must be clear on his duty. He is not the crown, I am.

His Majesty has no male heir and will have none but he, Buckingham will succeed to the throne.

By assassinating His Majesty.

Right of Conquest is still a rightful way to gain a throne. Has anyone banned it as a law?

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

 God forbid that the king should abandon her just to ease his own conscience. I don't think the English people would ever forgive him.

She is threatening the peace in this realm by playing the king with empty promises. No one can predict a son. 

Perhaps the succession must change, this dynasty is large and will survive.

Your Majesty, I beg that you yield to the King's will.

To your wife, the mother of your child. You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.

You think he might invade England in support of the queen?

You underestimate the support he/she has with the smallfolk and highborn alike. They would  go to war if you dismiss them.

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

Now I am indeed Queen.

Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine! 

Perhaps there should be reasons to annul the marriage and make the king consider marry another. He is still young. 

Nothing like a young bride to make a man forget his troubles. 

He will have his heir or else he will have my head.

Tell Sir Francis to double the guards around the Princess Mary and defend her with their life- for if the King dies, some will be for the boy, others for her.

There shall be a proclamation soon, the king shall announce his heir and the realm will rest.

A lifetime of building an empire can fall in a day because of the wrong successor to the empire.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.

He became their king by right of blood; he's held the position by beating the crap out of anyone who tries to take it away.

When the crown is weak and struggles, anyone can come and sweep it away. And in this world, it is allowed.

This small council tried to work out what that meant for the line of succession.

If she were to wed him, her claim to the throne will increase, as her popularity. 

While the king entertains the highborns, the prince/princess makes friends with the people they rule. The decision is easy.

Whoever he marries is as important as how many heirs he can produce. 

Sons are good for the realm, Daughters are good for alliances. 

My father chose me, his firstborn child, to succeed him. He held to his decision until death.

They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.

I would rather feed my sons to the dragons, than have them carry spears and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a king.

I understand why you're angry. And you are my sister and technically have a claim to the throne. And believe me, I would love for someone else to rule. But it can't be you.

Father would hate to see you sit in his seat, when it was never you he chose.

The pretty decent king split the crown between his heirs.

Proclamations are good, but this should have been in written, send to every corner of the world. Now we have war.

When the king needed to be replaced, one of the royal family would be elected to be the new king.

Succession is never peaceful. The King new this and the reason he called a council for his new heir to be chosen.

The line must always continue.

That little bit of dragon blood in him allowed Robert Baratheon to sit on the throne and continue.

Our son is a wastrel and a halfwit. We shudder to think of the throne in his hands.

My greatest hope is that you will surpass me in every way, consigning my name to some forgotten corner of history.

What's most important is what he isn't like—his father. I think you'll find him to be a reasonable man.

The King is easily controlled by those in his council. All too happy to give some of the power away to another.

A king is a martyr to their ideals.

If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne.

Women can rule as wise as men, perhaps even more.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield.

Ten years you’ve been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand.

The princess remains your best bet to step closer to the throne. Seduce her, marry her. 

In the end, history will remember little, as history is written by the winners.

You have not one son now but two, Your Grace. Perhaps some changes to the successions are to be made.

I know why you are here. Men want my crown as much as they want the pleasure of a woman. 

I need to give the realm an heir and plenty of spares. 

What use is to gain a throne if you are already in crisis by having no heir by blood?

I can give you what she never gave you. Another son. 

Are the rumors true, then? There is a child in your belly? 

All of my father’s work will crumble if I leave it all to a weak sickly child.