Which Kind of Element-Based Symbolism Do You Connect With?
Water as an Equalizer
There are some things that are necessary for us all, that remind us that we are all ultimately equals—including our basic need for water. Not even the privileged among us can control when the rain falls.
You value fairness above almost anything, and your sense of morality is strong and clear. You have immense compassion for those who have been given bad lots in life, and little patience for those who lack this compassion. You think often about the nature and destiny of humanity as a whole, choosing to focus on what connects us rather than separates us. You value justice and community, and refuse to accept when people tell you that “that’s just the way the world works” as if it cannot be changed.
Remember that you don’t have to be weighed down by every one of the world’s problems: you do what you can, and the sea takes the rest.
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fullrangeofemotions asked: “I’ve never seen a dragon before. What are they like?”
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{ @fullrangeofemotions }
“Nor had I until the hatchlings came forth,” Laira reminded, palm pressed against the swell of her pregnant belly. Six moon turns had already passed since the revelation of her pregnancy. It would not be much longer before she and her husband welcomed their daughter or son into their world. Her husband was adamant that they would have a Princess when the time came. Laira could only hope for a strong and healthy child.
It had been a time since she and Hal had returned to the capital from their progress north. The dragons that had revealed themselves among the wilds of the Vale and the mists of Dragonstone now resided within the restored Dragonpit there within the city. The hatchlings, in contrast, remained within the Red Keep, still far too young to house with the three mounts that had fought in the blood and carnage of the Dance.
For then, her personal gardens had become a place of refuge for the hatchlings when they were not being housed within the Keep. Laira could hear them out among the branches of the lemon tree just beyond her balcony doors, chirping and calling to one another as they lounged in the warm midday sun. The flutter of wings sounded a moment later, a dart of pale pink and magenta fluttering in to the Crown Princess’s rooms a moment later.
The hatchling was no bigger than a young kitten, more wings than anything more. Still, the little dragoness alighted upon the Crown Princess’s chair with little difficulty, a trilling chirp echoing through the space as she stretched forward to nuzzle at Laira’s belly. It was there that the hatchling remained, hopping nearer until she could curl herself into the bend of Laira’s elbow and rest her small head against the woman’s pregnant belly.
In response, Laira felt her child move within her, something that always seemed to occur when this particular hatchling lingered near.
“To attempt to describe them would be a disservice, I believe, Lady Donna,” Laira continued, looking to see another of the hatchlings come gliding into the space. The second was gold and onyx colored and landed upon the back of her chair. It was but a second later when Laira felt warm scales curling themselves along the back of her neck and draping over the line of her shoulder. “Intelligent, I must say.”
And fierce. How could they be anything but when three now slumbered within the Dragonpit, fully grown and hardened survivors of the Dance.
fullrangeofemotions asked: “My magic is useless against them. I’ve never felt so powerless.”
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{ @fullrangeofemotions }
“I did warn you,” Laira murmured, her back turned to face the other occupants of the room. Her most trusted companions from the Freehold sat near to her, their silver-gold hair glinting in the firelight. Their gazes never faltered from the other occupants within the space, their expressions grim. They knew what was drawing near. They had seen up within the skies, slinking through the frozen lands. The dead would be upon them in a matter of days. Sooner, even, should the weather set before the, remain favorable. “You shall not find victory over the approaching dead through mere steel and earth magic.”
Were such a thing possible, the Freehold would still be across the sea. Were such a thing possible, the Dragons never would have journeyed so far west.
“Perhaps if you had listened to reason when it was offered to you, the outcome you are facing might have been a different one.” As it was, there was little help that could be offered to the occupants of this foreign country. Three dragons would not turn the tide in the favor of the living.
And, Laira would not ask her cousins to risk their lives for a people that had only asked for their aid as a last result. They would be better off to wait the threat out, to extinguish it once it had run its course there within these strange lands.
“Your only chance for survival now is to flee,” she went on. Her cousins murmured in agreement at her side. There was nothing else for them to do. “You would be wise to do so before your enemies arrive at your borders.”
neverflownwithme asked: "Leaving you here was like having a rib wrenched from my side."
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{ @neverflownwithme }
There were times when Reina’s cries woke her from sleep and she was surrounded by the clash of steel and the scent of blood. There were times when she woke to the sting of armor striking against her own flesh and Robert’s form looming over her there within her apartments.
Tonight was such a night. Her daughter’s first piercing cry had woken her instantly and Laira had been immediately overcome with the scent of blood, the sting of steel striking flesh, and her own panicked screaming.
Bolting up, covers half flung from her as she went, Laira made for the bassinet only steps away from her and her husband’s bedside.
It was there that Reina had been sleeping since the Sack had been put to heel and Robert had lost his head during his attack against her. The traitorous Griffin and Spider had followed after him, put to the sword for the treasonous attempt on her life as well as her daughter’s. Though their enemies were gone, Laira still preferred to keep her daughter near. She was still uncertain of what dangers lurked within the Red Keep and out among the streets of King’s Landing.
And, she had come much too close to losing her when Robert had broken down the doors to her rooms in blind outrage and fury.
Reaching and gathering the little Princess into her arms, Laira held her securely against her, murmuring soothing things to her as she began to rock her. As Laira had seen so many times before, Reina’s cries began to lessen as soon as she took her into her arms. In the moonlight streaming in through her balcony doors, her daughter’s cheeks remained ruddy, though, and tears tracked down her face as she continued to whimper in the safety of her mother’s hold.
“She’s still unsettled by everything that happened.”
The sudden voice in the darkness would have startled her days before... had, in fact, when Reina had first woken her with her heart wrenching cries. Now, Laira felt the tension that had invaded her limbs with her wakening lessen. She felt herself breathe in sudden relief when the warmth of Hal’s hands settled at the swell of her hip and over her silk covered middle. She could not stop the quick smile that she gave when his own mouth brushed gently against her temple.
“Perhaps I should send for my midwives again,” she murmured to her husband. They had already examined the Princess a dozen times over, searching for injury or some other grievous ailment that could be plaguing the Queen’s infant daughter. Each examination had yielded nothing. The Princess was in good health, her midwives always assured her. She ate well and she showed no signs of discomfort or pain when she was held by her parents. There were no scrapes, no cuts, and no bruises to be found upon her.
She was merely fussy.
“I’ll fetch them myself if you would like me to,” Hal answered. In his wife’s arms, their daughter had calmed substantially. “She seems to be at ease now,” he went on. As he spoke, his hand left Laira’s middle, reaching so his thumb could brush across their daughter’s little round cheek. She briefly wriggled in Laira’s hold, turning so that she was nuzzled more against her mother’s chest. Her cries having gone completely quiet by then, Reina’s dark orchid eyes slipped closed as she drifted back into slumber.
“We will watch her for a time,” Laira said, gaze lingering upon Reina’s now sleeping form. “To be certain she continues to rest.”
Hal made a murmuring sound of agreement, leaning to press another kiss to her temple. “Come back to bed, at least,” he told her. “You will be more comfortable there than among the chairs around the hearth.” While perfectly comfortable to converse or read in, the chairs would do little for Laira if she attempted to rest in them.
Laira could not argue against him. More than once in recent days, she had attempted to rest among the chairs that her husband had mentioned. All that she had gained in the process was an aching back.
As her husband stepped away from her, Laira turned to move back to their bed. The moonlight streaming in through her balcony doors and through the windows along the walls gave her enough light to see Hal as he moved to the hearth on the opposite side of their apartments. The solid thud of wood being cast onto the coals of the dimming fire that had been burning before they retired echoed through the space.
“I am sorry for waking you,” Laira murmured, carefully sitting back upon the edge of their bed. It seemed as though that was all she had done since he had returned to her. Neither of them had slept a full night since the Sack.
“You didn’t,” Hal told her, moving until he was seated back in their bed. He braced himself against the headboard, reaching until he can help her slide back to him. He was mindful of their daughter and the still healing wounds along Laira’s own back. The flesh there was still bruised and battered, raw where Robert had struck her down upon the stones of the gardens. Once she was pressed against him, form seated in the space between his legs and reclined against his chest, he continued, “And, you shouldn’t apologize for such a thing.”
It had been Reina who had woken him, her cries jarring him from sleep just as they had jarred Laira from her own slumber. Hal would gladly wake, no matter the hour, to such a thing, though. Heart wrenching as his daughter’s cries were, he could only be thankful that he was still able to hear them. Robert had come far too close to silencing them completely.
“You are far too good to me,” Laira spoke, shifting to find a more comfortable position against him. Her back still ached and burned when her skin was scraped and bruised. Each day was better, though.
“Not nearly enough, love,” Hal muttered back, leaning to press a kiss against the line of her shoulder. For a moment, he braced his chin against her skin, watching their daughter over Laira’s shoulder. His mind whirled with unpleasant possibilities. “I was almost too late,” he admitted. The admission hurt more than he ever believed possible.
“But, you were not,” Laira reminded him. It had been no fault of his that Robert had entered the Keep through the passages that ran among the walls. Varys had been working against her even before Rhaegar had met his end upon the banks of the Trident. All that mattered was that he had reached them in time. “You saved us both,” she said. “You and Moone.”
Moone had taken Robert’s arm from him. Hal had taken his head.
“If I had lingered as you’d wanted, you might not have been hurt.” The Sack may not have occurred. She might have been saved the terror and the pain that Robert’s attempt had caused her. He would have been with her when their daughter had been born.
“Or, something more grievous could have occurred,” she reminded. “Varys might have betrayed me in some other manner. He might have made an attempt against you.” Had the Spider done such a thing, Laira would have seen him suffer until he begged for death. “You chose correctly.”
It had pained her, seeing him leave and worrying that she may never see him again. But, he had chosen correctly. He had done the right thing. Had he not departed after Rhaegar’s demise, the Crown’s forces would have never returned to the city in time.
Her daughter, her life, and her reign would have all been lost.
“Leaving you here was like having a rib wrenched from my side,” he admitted, the words muttered against the line of her shoulder. Leaving her alone, knowing that there had been spies among her own walls and enemies within her court, had plagued him. “I worried about you in my absence.”
“I worried over you as well,” she said. They had only just been granted a chance at happiness when he had left. It had seemed unfair, to be granted something she had desired for so long only to have it pulled away from her only after obtaining it. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Hal told her. He had missed her for months, from the moment that her father had forced her to become Rhaegar’s bride. He’d thought he’d never see her again after she married, had resigned himself to keep his distance to protect her. And, now, he was there with her... with him as her husband and with a healthy daughter of their own.
Perhaps the gods were not as cruel as he had thought them to be for so long.
When he felt her shift against him once more and hiss in discomfort, Hal said to her, “I visit to the hot pools would do you good.”
“If only Winterfell was not such a lengthy journey from here,” she murmured back, a hint of a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. He had told her of the hot pools on more than one occasion, had promised to take her there so that she might see them and the ancestral seat of the Starks for herself. In time, she knew. She could not afford to be absent from the capital for such a time just yet. Not so soon after the Rebellion and the Sack. “Dragonstone houses similar springs,” she commented, “and is not so far away.”
“You could rule from Dragonstone for a time,” Hal said. Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, Laira’s own great aunt, had become Hand of the Queen at the Rebellion’s end. She would see to the immediate matters there within the capital while Laira recovered on the island if she desired it. “It may help Reina as well.”
If it could help them both, the distance did not matter to Hal. He would travel to the ends of the earth if it meant a chance to see them happy once again.
“I have not been to the island in a time.” It had been before her wedding to Rhaegar... before everything had come crashing down all around her. She had been happier, then. She had been happier there among the smoke and mist of the island. “It would not be so bad to return there for a time.”
fullrangeofemotions asked: “I’ve heard your name before, in songs and lengthy ballads.”
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{ @fullrangeofemotions }
“And, what name have you heard in such songs?” Laira questioned, eyes flickering across the board set before her. The other’s forces had dwindled. Laira need only set her dragon forward to take the last remaining piece from the other woman and conquer the game for herself.
This was not the first time that a resident from across the sea had made such a statement. The Northern Wolf had been the first to speak such things. He had been the first to determine her true lineage. And, now, there was this one.
“It seems unlikely to me that residents among the Sunset Kingdoms would sing songs or ballads of the Dragonlords of Valyria and Yi Ti,” she spoke.
They would have been more likely to whisper warnings and spread tales of terror instead. After all, Valyria’s influence had long spread through Essos under her command, pushed forward by the power of their dragonmounts and the power of her YiTish and Lengii armies.
Perhaps, the Sunset Kingdoms had heard talk of the Dragonlords and all that they had done as they amassed their own kingdom. There was something more that the other alluded to in her statement, though. A name that had long been whispered and yet fallen to practical myth and legend.
The Amethyst Empress had died among blood and betrayal ten thousand years before. To the rest of the world, such a tragedy had been answered with the destruction of the Bloodstone Emperor and the rise of the Valyrian Freehold. It was best that the rest of the world continue to believe such a story. It was best if the Amethyst Empress remained a fallen martyr.
“You have confused me with another,” Laira went on, picking up her onyx colored dragon. She set it forward, taking the other’s last cyvasse piece. “An honest mistake, I am certain.”
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whether it’s your sharp tongue, your tendency to blow hot or cold, or the familiarity of you, you’re the coffee. don’t immediately assume that your undercurrent means you’re bitter, a common misconception, because people who like coffee always make it work for them. coffee doesn’t always have to be dark, it can be a warmth that’s comforting and the first start to a day. you aren’t nearly as tough as you make out to be, but we’ll keep your secret. you’re a constant, won’t ever go out of style. not everyone’s taste, but what is these days? an unknown quote reads “I like drinking coffee alone and reading alone... I realize that even though I like being alone, I don’t fancy being lonely” remember you don’t always need to face things yourself, there’s a reason people suggest “coffee?” when they want to spend time together.
𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃. a modern manifesto. silver nail polish. layers of clothes in the cold weather. conspiracy theories. refusing to be a part of the mass. sounds of the city. aging but remaining youthful. rebellion.
𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀. quiet evenings. playing the strings of a guitar. busy days in the city. heavy coats in cold days. burnt orange. the lonely sound of an harmonica. the taste of honey in your tongue. the cold breeze greeting you in the morning. letting your hair wild. mixing patterns. soft fabrics. ancient tapestry. finding peace in your busy routine. opaque lipstick.
𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐎𝐑𝐒. disco balls. the thrilling bass on a song. smiling as you walk towards the place you belong in. loud, fun rebellion. wearing fierce hats. the wind hitting your hair locks. leather jackets in the heat. using fashion as a statement. large sunglasses. fierce haircuts. sequin dresses. not apologizing for your choices. the glamour of the seventies. wearing your party clothes to work.
𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐁𝐒. dramatic violin playing in the distance. hiding behind a coat. walking by yourself. being spotlight - blind. tragic romances. a mysterious glare. quiet mourn. leaving the house with no make up on. bright colors shining in the dark. the agony before a climax.
𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐄. pumpkins. golden chains. band t-shirts. the fresh feeling of modernity. paths that will always cross, no matter what. not being afraid of your rebel side. a mix of colors as messy as your feelings. oversized coats. wearing sunglasses to avoid looking someone in the eyes. leather. wearing high heels with socks. a busy day to day. the will to let go of your past and the inability to do so.
fullrangeofemotions asked: “And what renders him so unmarriageable?”
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{ @fullrangeofemotions } continued from { x }
The garden was filled with the quiet chirp of songbirds among the trees and the scent of blooming lavender mingling with the scent of salt from the breeze blowing in off the sea. Beneath one of the flowering apple trees in the garden, Laira listened to the conversion that floated about her.
Since returning to the capital, the Queen Consort had kept her distance, she and her ladies twittering and whispering each time entered or departed a similar space as them. It was an old game, one that Laira had grown used to before she and Hal had ever married. It was one now that she knew to expect, one that she could easily combat should she wish it.
Thus far, there had been no need to. Laira knew the venom that could spread through a court through gossip, how favor could be slip away through a perfectly crafted web. Caroline had yet to show herself capable of weaving a web, though.
"Ser Guy is a member of the Kingsguard, Lady Donna," Laira reminded, her attention drawn down to the tome resting in her lap. "Knights who choose to enter the Kingsguard do not take wives, father children, or own land. They forfeit that when they don the white cloak."
It had been Visenya Targaryen who formed the Kingsguard, crafting their vows after those of the Night's Watch. Those vows had lasted since the Kingsguard had come into existence.
At her feet, Moone growled, a low and guttural sound that drew Laira's attention to her. The black she-wolf remained motionless, still resting at her feet. No imminent danger was near, merely an unwanted guest. One of Caroline's ladies was lingering nearby, near enough that anything said could be heard.
There was nothing that Laira had to say that she would not say to Caroline or any other member of her brother's court. Laira had never been one to hold her tongue on the basis of fear or intimidation. She would not begin now.
"I see no reason for you to be fretting over Ser Guy or his ability to take a wife," Laira went on, her gaze turning to Donna, unbothered by the lingering spy in their midst. As she spoke, she spared a glance at Donna's arm, the skin visible.
The bruises that Laira had spied the week before had faded, leaving behind faded yellow marks where they had once been shades of onyx and navy. "Your arm seems to have healed well since we last saw one another, Lady Donna. Did you seek a maester's aid for it?"
