ASOIAF WEEK 2026 ; day two, parallels // mythology [psd]
A note from the creator : we're going to ignore how crispy Vaelor looks I cannot find good quality scenepacks of this man in TWP. Now enter into the summary that is not entirely accurate to Greek Mythology, but is basically the plot of a one-shot I'm brewing.
They had grown to be brothers, in a way. The favored child of the king, and favored child of the queen. One trueborn, the other born of dubious means, none in truth could know if he was the queen's child, or that of a monsters that she took pity on. One waged his battles, kept to the sword and helm, while the other fired his furnace and drew towards the hammer and anvil.
When the Lady of Seafoam arrived at their keep, she had no delusions of marriage - in truth, it had not been of her own making to attend the mount at which their keep laid on. It was, that she had risen from her sleep, from her bed of seafoam, at the willing of a God, the very King of Gods.
As she lounged in her gilded chambers, one golden morn - it was always a golden morning on the mount - a devoted maiden came to her and announced the intention of the lesser son for her ladies' hand. The Lady of Seafoam denied the proposal. She had not heard a word from the lesser-son, she doubted he could even speak, yet, her maiden told her that he held the King hostage, and lest she submit to the proposal, forevermore would the King be frozen upon his throne.
"Should he take the throne from the King?" The Lady of Seafoam asked the Maiden, "He, the crooked son of a beast, would he claim a throne for the pity of my admiration?"
Our lady, however, did not refuse the Warrior when he came to her bed. He may have jested of what warmth the throne had succumbed to, but he offered no illusion that he might take it for himself. Rather, he stayed true to the pledge he had made to the sword and helm. Nonetheless, the Warrior would bid her to try and see the Smith to her bed.
The pair had been plotting, it seemed.
"You would not make a queen of me?" She questioned the Warrior in the dark, her hand resting on a silken pillow.
The Warrior had laughed, his head bowing back into the feathered pillow beneath his head. "What need have we for queens?" He paused for a moment, then turned his head to meet her eyes, "We would make you one, of course, if it pleased you."
"I will welcome your man," She conceded, fingertips running the field of his jaw, "but if he displeases me, I will abandon all comfort here and be made to return to my home. The King is captured, I might yet have my freedom."
So the Lady of Seafoam would invite the Smith to her chambers, and he would bring her a dove carved from the myrtle tree. "A peace, my lady, a peace." He told her, quivering hands holding it out in offering.
"You will release your father," She told the Smith, carefully taking the dove from her grasp, "and you may make me your bride, if you will demand that I be allowed to walk freely."
The lips of the Smith would then creak upward, splitting into a grin. "My lady ends my torment!" He cried, plucking her feet from the earth and spinning her about, "I shan't have you kept here, you may see all the world, for it is our sky, and you must take flight!"
There came, then, the release of the King, and the wedding of the Lady of Seafoam to both the lords blessed with the titles of Smith and Warrior.
2087
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