⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ɬɧɛ ʄıŋąƖ ɖąŋƈɛ ơʄ ɬɧɛ ʂῳąŋ ℘ཞıŋƈɛʂʂ
𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝔂 𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼. I dreamed I was me. I dreamed I was another. between the two dreams there's no connection. dreams give me strength. dreams take away my strength. women of my dreams, don't betray me, help me! can a dead woman dream she's living again while dreaming her most mutilated dreams? maybe now the hour of death has come, as my daughter electra wanted, in the name of truth and family order. If I die dreaming possibly I'll die happy. And yet is that a dream of life or a life of dreaming? somewhere, among dead dreams, I will keep on living, to keep on dreaming. -𝓬𝓵𝔂𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪
maesters have written many things of sabrina swann of stonehelm.
some call her the red swan. others prefer the stone maiden, or the stone saint. in king’s landing she is more often remembered as the alchemist of cape wrath.
yet none of these names capture her entirely. for sabrina swann has always been a woman difficult to place neatly within a single tale.
she was born the only child of hohenheim swann, lord of stonehelm, and his lady wife lavinia swann née hightower. hers was one of the oldest and proudest houses of the stormlands, descended from ancient kings and famed for their loyalty, their martial skill, and the white swans that adorned their banners.
the girl inherited much from both her parents— from her mother came unmistakable beauty and a natural talent for hidden crafts and from her father came mystery.
it is said that even as a child sabrina possessed the sort of beauty that caused grown men to lose their place in conversation. tall and graceful, with porcelain skin, long strawberry-golden hair, and eyes blue as a as the storming sea, she seemed less a stormlander maid than some fair spirit washed ashore upon cape wrath.
yet those who judged her by appearances alone rarely did so twice. beneath the silk and lace there was a steel so pure and expertly beaten it rivaled even the valyrian long swords of old.
when lady lavinia died of illness, sabrina was but nine years old. and when lord hohenheim vanished shortly thereafter, she was left with no answers and few certainties. whether her father perished, fled, or simply wandered beyond the reach of ravens remains unknown even now, and is still highly debated among the maesters.
the sea keeps some secrets, the stormlands keep others. neither one a force to be reckoned with.
sabrina learned early that waiting for answers was seldom useful and so she preferred to seek them herself. while other noble daughters occupied themselves with songs and courtship, sabrina buried herself in books. histories, mathematics, languages, philosophy, natural sciences—nothing escaped her curiosity for long.
most of all she loved the hidden and ancient practice of alchemy.
the records of stonehelm speak of furnaces burning deep into the night, of laboratories cluttered with glass vessels and strange metals, of servants carrying foxglove blossoms by the basketful at their young lady’s request.
foxglove was her favorite flower.
beautiful. deadly. useful.
qualities she admired greatly.
yet she was no reclusive scholar— sabrina danced beautifully, sewed expertly, spoke with elegance, and played the game of courts with uncommon skill. lords twice her age often left negotiations believing they had won, only to discover later that the lady of stonehelm had quietly claimed the better bargain.
she never sought power for its own sake.
but neither did she permit insults to pass unanswered.
in the forests surrounding stonehelm she could more often be found dressed for the hunt than for a feast, accompanied by her two beloved afghan hounds, sattin and famia.
the grey wisp like dogs followed her everywhere. some men claimed they obeyed her better than knights obeyed their kings. others whispered the hounds understood her speech.
such stories grow in the telling.
still, few who met the lady of stonehelm ever forgot her.
perhaps it was her beauty or her sharp wit, or perhaps it was the unsettling feeling that behind her pleasant smile she understood far more than she chose to reveal.
for storms, like alchemists, are masters of transformation.
and sabrina swann was born of both.
maester osmund, in his observations upon the lesser houses of the stormlands, once wrote that no two servants in stonehelm could ever agree where their lady might be found at any given hour.
on paper her days appeared orderly enough.
she rose with the sun, broke her fast, attended correspondence, received petitioners, reviewed household accounts, and oversaw the countless duties expected of the lady of stonehelm.
in practice matters were seldom so simple.
a steward seeking her in the solar might discover she had vanished to the kennels before dawn to feed sattin and famia strips of venison with her own hands.
a septa expecting her at embroidery could find her instead in the forests beyond the castle walls, bow in hand and hounds at her heels, returning by sunset with enough game to feed a dozen households.
more than one visitor arrived hoping to discuss politics only to discover the lady of stonehelm standing over an alchemical furnace, sleeves rolled to her elbows and fingers stained with charcoal.
she loved beautiful things.
she loved dangerous things even more.
the greenhouses of stonehelm overflowed with rare flowers gathered from across the known world. roses from the reach, lilies from lys, orchids from yi ti.
her afternoons were rarely idle.
if she was not hunting, reading, negotiating, or experimenting, she could be found bothering the cooks for an array of sweets— lemon cakes were her favourite.
and in the evenings she transformed once again.
the huntress became a lady.
the alchemist became a courtier.
arrayed in silks and jewels, she presided over feasts with effortless grace, dancing beautifully, speaking elegantly, and charming suitors and enemies alike.
the red swan was darling to everyone who knew her, and even the most conniving noble man would hesitate to slight her.
of course this hesitation would be their downfall as the lady of stonehelm believes that every relationship is a dance of give and take. and no slight should be returned without interest.
beautiful, graceful, charming, intelligent, and unexpected as the lady was.
forgiveness was not one of her god given qualities.
I haven’t written anything super long in a while lols I’ve been super locked in at work so everybody say thank you for showing up and showing out (kidding kidding 😖😖)
this is a second asoiaf dr but instead set in the main “game of thrones” series (the book though not the show bleh) because I’m re-reading the books and I forgot how good they were lols
im conflicted on what timeline I want to set it in though!! like the main war of the five kings plot in the main books is cool and all but if I can already read about it I’m thinking maybe I should try to shift to explore some of the lesser thought of events? like maybe I should shift to roberts rebellion instead or or or or or
