#astra-stellaris

[fallesto]

“If  I  tell  you,  everything  changes.  And  I  don’t  know  if  I  can  handle  that.” (for michi)

"This wine is quite sour, as sour as the sound of your voice as well."

Aegon commented, yet he continued to sip it with a slow, deliberate rhythm. He lounged in a sturdy oak chair, one leg draped over the other, observing the crimson droplets cling to the edge of the gilded chalice.

His gaze was not on the advisor; rather, he was captivated by the flickering candlelight dancing in the deep red liquid, pondering whether the vintage had truly soured or if his own taste had simply grown weary of such opulence. It was a minor, trivial disappointment, yet it loomed large in the heavy stillness of the solar.

"Then spare me the details, it bores me." Aegon replied, his voice a dry rasp. He had no interest in the riddle or the cautious hesitation of the woman before him. All he desired was to fill the void in his chest with something weightier than anxiety.

He tilted the chalice back, gulping down the sour vintage in one long, ungainly swallow that left a bitter residue on his tongue. But he didn’t stop there; he reached for the decanter, pouring another generous serving of wine until it threatened to spill over the golden rim, splattering onto his velvet doublet in dark, irregular stains.

“Everything changes, for the better, look at me, they crowned me king.”

The advisor’s voice faded into a distant hum, akin to the buzzing of a fly trapped behind a window. He observed the man’s lips move, forming words about logistics, fleet movements, and the shifting allegiances of the Reach, but the sounds failed to form any coherent meaning. Instead, he concentrated on the sensation of the wine gliding down his throat, a slow burn that temporarily dulled the sharp edges of his own inadequacy.

He wondered if the idiot realized he was addressing a ghost, or perhaps just a crown atop an empty shell. It was far easier to pretend the room was vacant than to confront the silent judgment he felt emanating from every corner of the solar.

“Is that all you have to say, small council indeed, with such small thoughts and words to offer me.”

[fallesto]

ʻ it's everywhere... your blood... ʼ (muse of your choice)

He just lay peacefully by the coast, nestled in a hollow of salt-bleached limestone, where the tide softly caressed the shore. His golden scales glimmered in the afternoon sun, scattering light into a thousand shimmering needles that dazzled the gulls soaring above. With each slow breath, he released a rhythmic puff of steam, carrying a hint of ozone and heated stone, which mingled with the salty mist of the Narrow Sea.

His pink wings were tightly folded against his back, sparkling like crushed opals under the midday sun, while his amber eyes remained narrowed, observing the slow journey of a crab across the damp sand.

He truly felt utterly at ease. He had entered a state of heavy-limbed tranquility where the distinction between his golden belly and the warm limestone faded away, making him a permanent part of the coastline. He shifted slightly, a slow, languorous motion that made the salt-encrusted rocks beneath him creak under his massive weight, yet he kept his eyes closed.

The sun's warmth pressed down on him like a tangible force, pushing him deeper into the hollow, echoing the internal blaze that constantly simmered within his chest.

The sound around him was delicate, the rhythmic crunch of sand and shell, but to a dragon, it resonated like a drumbeat in an otherwise silent hall. He didn’t open his eyes right away; instead, he let his awareness drift toward the source, savoring the air. The scent was not the sharp, metallic odor of a knight’s armor or the heavy musk of a stable hand, but something more subtle: crushed wild mint, aged parchment, and the gentle, salty sweetness of a coastal breeze. It was human, young, child? Teenager? Did it matter, it was female and it was speaking to him.

"Skoros iksis ziry riña, issa daor ñuha ānogar." (What is it child, it is not my blood.)

[fallesto]

OUR MUSES get separated briefly and panic sets in.

He quickly navigated through the underbrush with the nonchalant confidence of a man who believed he possessed the very ground he walked on. The foliage crunched under his boots, yet he remained unfazed, branches recoiled as he passed, as if they were repelled by his presence. His hunting companions followed at a respectful distance, exchanging furtive glances whenever he turned his back. None dared to walk alongside him. The air was heavy with the aroma of moist earth and pine, but he only breathed in the imagined stench of his own superiority.

The arrow hit the stableboy squarely between the shoulder blades with a sickening thud, causing him to collapse face-first into the carpet of leaves. He lowered his bow deliberately, relishing the sight of the boy's body twitching like a fish on a line. "Too slow, this is meant to be good sport." He whispered, though the servants were well aware of the unspoken rules, there were no rules. The hunt was simply his stage, and today's act required blood.

One of the younger slaves, a freckled boy with straw-colored hair, made the blunder of gasping. His head whipped around to face him, his lips curling back to reveal his teeth. "Do you disapprove?" The slave shook his head vigorously, but he was already preparing another arrow. "Run." He suggested, sweet as honey laced with poison. The boy took off. The hunting party collectively held their breath as Aerion aimed carefully at the fleeing figure, then suddenly redirected his bow toward a huntsman, releasing the arrow into the man's thigh. "I said he runs!" He shouted, as the huntsman stifled a scream.

The forest had fallen into an unsettling silence, as if the trees themselves were too frightened to move. He selected another arrow from his quiver, rolling it between his fingers like a noble might play with a wineglass. "My grandsire hunted rebels this way." He reflected, although everyone there knew his family from the past had favored wildfire. "A tradition worth reviving, wouldn't you agree?" He didn’t wait for a response. Somewhere ahead, the freckled slave was crashing through the underbrush, his frantic breaths audible even from this distance. He took a deep breath, as if savoring the boy's fear in the air.

“Come Astra, move, the hunt is on!”

[fallesto]

"Do you think pirates would live on spaceships in a galaxy made of milk?"

S T A R E S

“Ugh, it’s hideous .. and it speaks as well .. disgusting!”

[fallesto]

The waves crashed against the blackened rocks of Dragonstone’s shore, the salt spray stinging his lips as he grinned. He licked them anyway, savoring the burn. This is what power tastes like, he thought, dragging his fingers through the damp sand, feeling the grit beneath his nails. The island was his now. His seat, his dominion, his birthright finally acknowledged. The thought coiled in his chest like a dragon unfurling its wings.

He just watched the sea, his violet eyes half-lidded as the tide pulled back like a retreating army, leaving behind the glistening wreckage of shells and driftwood. The wind carried the scent of damp stone and something darker, char, perhaps, from the dragonmont’s distant fires. He flexed his fingers, imagining the water recoiling from his touch, as if even the waves knew their place before him. This is how it should be, he mused. The world bending. Always bending.

Slowly he smirked, fingers curling into fists as the sea wind whipped his silver-gold hair behind him like a banner. Prince of Dragonstone. The title settled into his bones, hot and heavy as molten gold. Next in line to the throne, though not for long, if the whispers in his veins spoke true. He would not wait. He had never been patient.

He crouched, plucking a flat, smooth stone from the wet sand. The weight of it was perfect, the edges worn down by centuries of waves. Like me, he thought. Polished. Unbreakable. He straightened, rolling it between his fingers before flicking his wrist sharply. The stone skipped once, twice— hen vanished into the churning water with barely a ripple. A waste. He scowled.

His scowl deepened as the stone disappeared beneath the waves. A waste, he thought again, but this time the words echoed differently in his skull. Everything is a waste until I claim it. He straightened, brushing sand from his knees, his fingers lingering on the fine velvet of his breeches. The fabric was rich, embroidered with thread-of-gold, but it was still just fabric. Still just cloth. His lip curled. He was meant for more than this more than mortal trappings, more than the petty squabbles of men who would never understand the fire in his blood.

"Astra, come here."

@astra-stellaris

[fallesto]

ONLY ONE COULD RULE THE SEVEN KINGDOMS. He has come too far and done too much to walk away from the lioness now. She gave him wealth, power and the means to conduct his research without outside interference. The pretender would not be so kind to someone like him whose methods were - questionable. No - it was better to SERVE than BETRAY and that was something he was going to TEACH this man, for who knew the QUEENS brothers better than him? “The pretender now only has TWO dragons, her allies have been cut in HALF - her time challenging for the IRON THRONE will come to an end.” Logic and reason. The pretender had lost a dragon, she was losing allies at an alarming rate as well, every since she landed in Dragonstone she has been losing.

“It is not the pretender I am here to speak to you about Ser Aruna.” This was not an honorable man. This was not a knight by any sense of the word. This was  cut throat, a man who sold his sword to the one with the most coin and that was something he needed now. “By the queen's own hand she made you a knight. She has showered you with riches for all that you have done - tell me what would she do for someone who brought her the heads of her brothers?”

@astra-stellaris

[fallesto]

THIS WOULD BE HIS ULTIMATE TEST - everything that he has done to reach this point in his life had been unchallenging. He had felt uninspired for so long that truly had Daenerys Targaryen not invaded the seven kingdoms he would have started to question his brilliance. Repairing bodies, healing wounds and curing diseases was childsplay to him. Even taking one who was on the brink of death, fading between one realm and the other hand been an easy task to someone with skilled hands such as he. He had brought one back from death itself and made him stronger than any army or dragon. All of this had been easy, but what was not easy for someone like him was Daenerys Targaryen.

The mother of dragons had not been a disappointment. She had been everything his little birds had told him and so much more as well. Daenerys Targaryen would be his ultimate challenge, someone that he could pit his mind against. Someone that had creatures the realms had never seen before, someone who you could not beat with force alone. The hordes under Daenerys Targaryen command outnumbered them three to one. She had an army that could not be bested on the open field - it had been tested and the cost had been a high one. Lord Tarly was dead and his support was nothing more than ash.

Daenerys Targaryen was brute force, you needed brilliance to overcome such a thing.

He stood before the woman and offered her a warm and gentle smile. He reached forward, loosening the restraints upon her slightly. There was no need for such things. She was not a fighter, he doubted she had ever picked up a sword once in her life. The security measures around her was overkill, but still it was needed. These were troubled times afterall and as hand of the queen the queens safety and the safety of the child that swelled within her was his only true concern. This woman was like him - she had no ability to fight with her hands, she needed her mind and before him that was not going to work.

“We are merely defending ourselves from foreign invaders. It is our duty to protect the people of the seven kingdoms from any hostile force.” He used logic and reason. This was the story that was told, fallen from the queen’s own lips thus making it the only truth that mattered. The mother of dragons was the enemy, and they - they were the protectors of the realm, they needed to stand up and defeat this frogein menace. “No my lady I am not afraid of your master, not anymore. The fact that you stand here before me means that my new designs worked perfectly.” Lord Greyjoy didn’t truly go into detail, he just uttered that the machines had worked, the dragon was dead and there fleet had sank to the bottom of the depths with it.

His machines worked.

It was not long ago that the reports said she had three dragons, but that had changed rather suddenly to two dragons and now - now she only had one dragon. It was proven that his work had bore fruit. His scorpions worked - that could not be denied and now all that was needed was to kill the final dragon and this war would be over. “Yes I hope she does come for you my lady. It was the only way to bring her to the table for negations.I only hope that she listens to reason - for I fear for your safety should she refuse our terms.” He kept his smile on his face, her threat lingered in the air - it was real, truly the mother of dragons could attack this city, but all that was needed was for one of his machines to strike her dragon and the beast and it’s mother will fall once and for all.

“The mother of dragons will come for you and she will do what all people of the seven kingdoms do when they come to the capital - she will bend the knee or she will be destroyed.”

@astra-stellaris

[fallesto]

HE WAS LOOKING TO WIN THIS WAR…

He was the hand of the queen and his duty rested in protecting his queen and the child that rested within her. The mother of dragons could not be bought, she could not be reasoned with and she could not be fought on the field of battle. On the golden road he had seen what she could do. He had walked that ash path, he had inspected the burnt remains and that was with only one dragon. The queen's army had crushed the reach and ended high garden once and for all. They had fought a war and won it with ease, but against a dragon - no man could best such a creature.

He had placed his faith in his machine. A tool he had been creating to take care of the dragons that would surely end this war before it even started, but that was only one mere problem they faced. There was another - the mother of dragons armies. They were vast and a mixture of fighting forces from across the sea and again, he held little faith in the queens men. Even the arrival of the golden company - would not be enough. This woman would be the key to ending this war. If he could harness her illness - if he could extract it from her and study it, research it, learn from it - then he could do what he did with everything his hands touched, he could turn it into a weapon.

“You need to REST. You truly have NO idea, do you? You are going to be a HERO. The person who ENDS this war and brings PEACE to the kingdoms. I am so CLOSE to understanding you, and I just need a LITTLE bit more time to learn how to use your -- INFECTION to my BENEFIT.”

@astra-stellaris