#absolventiia

[zaldriakhzan]

' you would get yourself into trouble between a wench & her brother. typical. '

[sparedson]

@absolventiia requested an audience with the prince !

" i thought i would find you out here, " the young prince speaks with an uncharacteristically gentle tone, walking slowly towards his betrothed. it feels as if the sun is closer than usual these past few days the flowers wilt slightly and the coastal wind poses no relief as it normally does for it is too warm. most are seeking the shade where they can but maryse. . . she revels in it. the corner of his mouth twitches upward at the sight of her. the light of the sun illuminates her in a way that he could only compare to that of a goddess. truly ethereal. once aemond is stood next to her, he reaches for her hand. " i fear i may have to drag you back inside at some point. "

[hightowerqueen]

A RAVEN HAS ARRIVED FOR THE QUEEN FROM AURANE TARGARYEN: 

" mother --. " aurane's breath is caught in his throat, and the basest of instincts return to him. the nightmare has dug far too deep, burrowed into veins and caused a fire to run through him ; aurane targaryen, all of fifteen, is more frightened than he's ever been before. he wakes and feels the earth tremble beneath bare feet as he runs to his mother's chambers, as if he can still hear the sounds of fighting, dragon screeches, and the noises of men calling for help as their innards fall from wounds too severe. he can still see aegon suffocating on red flowers as he reaches alicent's door, and the guards do not stop the young prince as he stumbles into the room. his instinct is to find his mother's embrace, for who else can shield him from the pain that has so suddenly been inflicted ? tears burn in his eyes as he tugs at alicent, a choking whisper finding its way out : " mama, help. i -- aegon, aemond --. "

(@absolventiia)

it is seldom that the queen is disturbed during the late night hours for the king has not visited her bed in many moons and her children are far past the age where they fret through the night. or so she thinks. the opening of the door to her chambers is not enough to rouse her for she has grown accustomed to the comings-and-goings of servants as they prepare her chambers for her rising in the morning but the frightened tenor of her son's voice is enough to make alicent startle awake with bewildered, fluttering dark lashes. 

the initial grogginess that often follows disturbed sleep is a difficult combatant to best but for the sake of her child, alicent is stern in her handling of it as she blinks rapidly and sits upright while drawing in a steadying breath to orient herself.  ❝ aurane?❞ the distress etched upon his features, a face as dear to her as her own heart, is enough to make her skin prickle with terror. 

❝ what has happened? ❞ who has dared to cause her son such distress? for it can be no small, trivial thing that sends him seeking refuge in his mother's chambers. after all, as much as she sometimes likes to pretend otherwise, her children are rapidly outgrowing the age where they were inclined to take shelter from the world behind their mother's skirts. 

when she speaks again, she is hastily untangling herself from the sheets of her bed to stand while grasping for her son's hands, ❝ what is it? what has happened to your brothers? ❞ it takes considerable self-control to banish the terror she begins to feel from her voice. what has befallen her sons? 

urgency shifts her hands to her son's shoulders as she fixes her gaze upon his with desperate anxiety, ❝ tell me so that i may help. ❞ 

[thebrokenhelm]

@absolventiia asked: ❛ you’re mine. mine, as i’m yours﹙ jena ﹚.

𓍼ོ ─── 𝗵𝗲’𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗹, had returned, and quite frankly, there’d been no doubt that he would. 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗰𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗱. though he could still understand, with clarity that only comes once his blood has cooled, that certainty and safety weren’t the same thing. he felt it in the mud of 𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌, still caked into the creases of his 𝘀𝗼𝗻’𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗿, and he saw it in his 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲’𝘀 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀, still wet with what he could never bring himself to call fear.

he reached for her without a word, cradling her face in his hands the way one might something fragile or broken, though 𝗷𝗲𝗻𝗮 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 — had never been either. still, he wiped her tears away all the same. his thumbs moved across her cheeks with a gentleness that felt, somehow, like 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓅𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓎. though whether it counted as one, he wasn’t certain. a proper apology implied a promise not to repeat the offense, and that was one he could not make. 𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁.

he let go of her face, his palms skimming down her arms, and took her hands in his. “𝗶 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒.” then he leaned in, tilting his head until his forehead came to rest against hers. “𝗶 𝗮𝗺 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀.” he couldn’t help the smile that found him then. she bore the weight of who he was and what he would be called to do, and it cost her — he could see that plainly enough. but, “𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀, 𝗮𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲. 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲, 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀, 𝗺𝘆 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃.”

[loreforged]

ABSOLVENTIIA  sent:   ⭐

PROMPT :  send a " ⭐ " and i will list muses i would be interested in throwing at yours.    /   STATUS :  accepting !   /   @absolventiia

alyrie florent, jaehaera targaryen & otto hightower + aurane targaryen ( family dynamics !! always love to explore those. )

daeron & valarr targaryen + dyanna dayne & jena dondarrion ( the boys and their mamas... )

doran martell & young griff / aegon targaryen vi + maryse martell ( i love getting into the politics of dorne and their relationship to the iron throne, i cannot lie. )

dunk + valarr targaryen ( the tragedy of it all... )

[bryteflame]

@absolventiia asked: Send me “♦” for a random headcanon. And send “♢” for a random headcanon involving our muses. ♢ // dyanna

Aerion was raised with stories of Dorne. Besides drowning himself in Valyrian folk and stories, he loves reading and learning about Dorne and her side of the family. He always hoped to get send there but there was never a chance. He would had prefered his "exile" to have been done in Dorne rather than Lys.

Dyanna was the only person who could calm Aerion without challenging him directly. Perhaps the only person he thinks understood him without asking reasons as to why he was the way he is. He never truly felt accepted after she passed.

Aerion loved his mother fiercely. He was a very jealous kid and his love was possessive, almost devotional, shaped by the belief that she was the only person who truly saw him. After her death, that love had nowhere to go and it shaped into his devotion for history and dragons.

Dyanna once told young Aerion that House Dayne followed a falling star, not a dragon, and that some destinies burn briefly but brightly. Aerion twisted this into prophecy: believing himself chosen to burn brighter than all others, even if it destroyed him. In his mind, his mother believed in what he would become—even if she would have recoiled from the reality.

Aerion’s obsession with transformation—fire, dragons, rebirth—was partly rooted in grief. He believed that if he could become something greater, something divine, then his mother’s death would mean something. That she would finally look upon him with pride rather than concern.

[fatestaken]

aurane / @absolventiia said: 'I have made many mistakes this week' for alicent

⸻ the confession should draw forth frustration or unease but instead, its a sigh of exasperation that falls from the queen's lips as she surveys this son of hers who, unlike the rest of his siblings, favors her in appearance. 'the brothels again?' she is still struggling, and often failing, to learn that it is impossible for her to mold her sons into men they will never be at heart. how she managed to birth three sons and a daughter with such drastically different temperaments is beyond understanding, but try and understand she must for if their mother will not speak for them, who will?

'do not let your grandsire hear of it.' she warned before she softened as she extended her arm forward so that her hand fell against his son's shoulder, 'you are young, aurane, but youth cannot be your excuse forever. you are a prince of house targaryen and my son, it is not becoming of you to while away your hours in such pointless pursuits. all of us have a role to play and you must learn to play yours.'

[cataschism]

@absolventiia. | aurane & fern.

The Red Keep is a monstrous place. It’s a mausoleum of its own breed; she’s never been in a place before where the walls breathe such as these, or where there’s so mournful an energy. Brought here by decree of her abilities, her dreams, she knew where she was headed when she crossed the sea from Driftmark. And yet this place unnerves her still. ( Fern keeps finding herself believing that a dragon will be free roaming the halls—isn’t that silly? As if they’d let one of their own freely wander, both vulnerable & volatile. They’d never risk such a thing, she knows. )

Here, the prayers for the gods were strong. Fern hoped they’d protect her now. Both closer to her family, however frayed and distant it may be in reality, than she’d ever been in her life prior, and farther. The sea can’t touch her here. Isn’t that horrifying?

As it’s not yet her meeting time with the former Queen, she wanders idly in the hallways of the Red Keep. She must always be watched by the royal guards here, as assassin attempts are common after all, but she cannot keep still. She runs her fingers across her leatherbound journal & paces. ( A fatherly gift, a proud one, the only one she’s got, the one least filled, the journal most precise. )

She catches wind of the young prince, the only one in the royal clothing with dark hair. She starts to speak, but clamps her mouth shut, whistling air through her nose. She hopes, despite herself, for a look. They say he looks a bastard, merely an impostor wearing the title of prince. She wants to see if it’s true, despite her own heritage. Are they anything alike?

❛ Don’t be stupid, ❜ Fern tells herself and her journal, running her fingers along the etched design, stylized currents of the sea & its depths. ❛  He’s busy, you know. Doing princely things, whatever it is. Praying, or something. ❜