spoked wheels

🌼🔮 A Summary of the Sabbats for Southern Hemisphere Witches 🔮🌼

As a kiwi witchling, sometimes it’s tricky celebrating the opposite sabbat to our Northern hemisphere friends! For example, while (what feels like) everyone is gearing up for Samhain, the days are getting warmer and Beltane is on the way for us!

I’m no expert but I’ve done my best to summarise the sabbats below with dates for us Southern hemisphere babes.

Credit to @myhiddenworldblog for the original post and idea 💞


🎃 Samhain 🎃

April 30th/May 1st

Considered to be the witches new year, Samhain is a cross quarter day; it is situated between the Autumn Equinox and the Winter Solstice. It is a time to remember lost loved ones, and a time for reflection. Samhain inaugurates Winter and is the last of the three harvesting festivals.


🎄Yule 🎄

June 20th-23rd (on the Winter solstice)

The shortest day of the year marks the turning point in the sun’s descent; from here, the days begin to grow longer. Also known as the Winter Solstice, we celebrate this as a time of renewal and hope.


⛅ Imbolc ⛅

Aug 1st/2nd

Imbolc marks the end of winter and the return of the sun. A celebration of light, hope, and spring being just around the corner. This is a great time to clean and cleanse your home, making way for new things to come.


🌱 Ostara 🌱

Sep 20th-23rd (on the vernal equinox)

Ostara celebrates the coming of fertility and is the time to plant seeds for the year to come. Just the act of planting a garden is a magical act in itself.


🔥 Beltane 🔥

Oct 30th/31st

A celebration of fertility and the season of fire, Beltane is a celebration full of joy. Many rituals contain sexual symbolism and some choose to conceive children at this time.


☀️ Litha ☀️

Dec 20th-23rd (on the summer solstice)

Midsummer or summer solstice, this is a celebration of the sun, the longest day of the year and a reminder of the shorter days to come. Midsummer is also a good time to collect herbs, flowers and other plants.


🌾 Lammas or Lughnassadh 🌾

Feb 1st/2nd

This sabbat is the first of the three harvesting festivals. Celebrations focus on grain, the harvest and being grateful for the food on our tables. Baking bread is a common ritual.


🍁 Mabon 🍁

Mar 20th-23rd (on the autumnal equinox)

The second of the three harvesting festivals, Mabon is the last spoke in the wheel of the year. The days are growing shorter and colder, and witches give thanks and reflect on the year.



Originally posted by thewitchesvoice

(Gif by @thewitchesvoice and isn’t it amazing? 💞)

My favourite thing to remember about the wheel of the year is that these celebrations are not man-made. They are a basic part of how our earth works and they are holidays of nature 🌎🌿

Feel free to share for your Southern hemisphere friends!

running buddies waiting for the train to pass

Full Disclosure

destiel, PG-13, 3.7k

This fic was inspired by the following prompt I received from @imsounoplogetic:
So I recently came across this video. And me being the trash that I am, I immediately though of destiel. I was wondering if you could write something base off of this video where Dean is popular kid who Cas thinks is a jerk. Cas is a theatre boy and Cas comes by the rehearsal room and hears Dean singing and is completely shocked?

Thanks to @captainhaterade for their beta work!

AO3 link

Summary: Dean’s the popular kid, and Castiel’s the drama kid who holds a grudge against him due to an incident on his first day of school. They’ve stayed out of each other’s way ever since, until one night Castiel stumbles upon something completely unexpected in the drama room… 


“Cas? Did you actually hear a word I just said or are you too busy checking out Winchester’s ass?”

Ash’s typical laid-back drawl cut through Castiel thoughts, and he turned to the long-haired boy with a scowl.

“I was not looking at Dean’s ass,” he said, though it sounded more petulant than aggressive.

“Sure you weren’t.” Ash’s raised eyebrows were a pretty good clue that he didn’t believe Castiel at all. “So what did I say, then?” he challenged.

“You were talking about…” Castiel frantically cast his mind back to the last two minutes. Okay, so he had perhaps been looking at Dean. But certainly not at his ass. Not that there was much to look at (or so Castiel had convinced himself). His face, now there was a work of art. Especially those freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks and –

Castiel forcefully cut off that train of thought. Freckles or no freckles, Dean Winchester was a jerk. One of the popular, “cool” kids who looked down on Castiel and his nerdy, geeky friends. He was good at sports, got above average grades (to Castiel’s annoyance) and had a line around the block of boys and girls wanting to date him. Naturally, he only dated the prettiest people, and his circle of friends were similarly aesthetically blessed.

Of course, those things alone would not merit the descriptor “jerk”. Dean’s attitude towards Castiel, however, did. Castiel had transferred to Lawrence High at the start of his senior year, and he’d met Dean on his second day of school, in front of the classroom where Mr. Thompson’s English class was about to start. Dean had been chatting to one of his friends (Castiel would later find out that her name was Bella) and was blocking the doorway.

“Excuse me,” Castiel had said politely, meeting Dean’s ridiculously green eyes. Dean had given him a once-over, making Castiel feel like he was on display in a zoo, before grabbing Bella by the arm and pulling her towards him so Castiel could pass by.

“Sorry, dude,” Dean had said, frowning and looking troubled. Castiel had stepped into the classroom without another word, but he could hear Bella giggling and whispering something to Dean, to which Dean had responded with a derisive snort and a “he’s all yours – not interested.”

Castiel had felt humiliated, and ever since he’d avoided Dean like the plague, scowling at him whenever their eyes met, which usually had the effect of Dean looking down with a tight, unhappy expression. Dean was a shallow jerk, plain and simple, and Castiel wanted nothing to do with him.

The only good thing about him was that he was a member of the school’s LGBT+ Alliance, which was headed by Charlie Bradbury who was also their only mutual friend. But Castiel had always taken care to stay away from Dean during those meetings, and had sometimes avoided them altogether if he knew Dean would be coming. It exasperated Charlie to no end, as she was convinced they’d be great friends if they would only talk to each other and give it a chance.

But she was wrong – they were too different. Getting closer to Dean would only lead to disappointment. It wasn’t worth trying.

“About what, Cas?”

Oh, right, his conversation with Ash. Damn, Castiel really needed to sleep more – he was having a hell of time concentrating lately.

“About who we could cast to replace Bradley as Mal,” Castiel said confidently. He hadn’t been that zoned out, thankfully, and remembered just enough to answer Ash’s question about The Addams Family musical performance the drama club was holding at the end of the year.

Ash regarded him suspiciously for a moment, but then shrugged and let it go. “Yep, so me and Jo were thinkin’ maybe Garth could do it?”

Castiel considered it. “Maybe. But I’m not sure his singing voice is strong enough to carry Mal’s solo songs. Besides, didn’t he say he’d rather work behind the scenes? Last I heard he was helping with lighting and sound. Don’t we have any other candidates?”

“Not really – everyone else either already has a part or is helping out backstage. Yeah, Garth was assisting Kelly but she can probably do it on her own. I don’t see how we got much of a choice. We ain’t got much time left.”

True enough, they couldn’t afford to wait much longer to decide on a replacement for Mal’s part. Why did Bradley’s family have to take him skiing, anyway? Such a dangerous, expensive and completely pointless sport.

Castiel wondered if Dean skied.

Standing up with his now empty lunch tray, Castiel nodded at Ash. “I see your point. I’ll go mention it to Jody and Donna, then. See what they think.”

Ash waved his hand in a lazy salute. “Thanks man, ‘ppreciate it. Oh, and Cas?”

Castiel turned back around.

“You really should give Dean another chance. I know you guys got off on the wrong foot, and I don’t blame you for that, but he really ain’t all that bad once you get to know him.”

“And since when do you hang out with Dean Winchester?” Castiel asked, feeling betrayed. He’d had no idea Ash was even on speaking terms with Dean.

“Since he gave me a ride home in that beautiful car of his ‘bout a month ago when I was stranded here after my sis bailed on me. We got to talking after.” Ash waggled his eyebrows at Castiel. “He really isn’t just a pretty face, y’know. And don’t pretend you don’t think he’s pretty. You’re a terrible liar.”

“So what? The guy’s an arrogant jerk - his looks mean nothing to me. He basically gave me the Darcy treatment on my second day of school, Ash. Before he even knew me! As if I was even interested in him!”

“Yeah and we all know how that story ends, don’t we?” Ash was grinning now. “Look, I ain’t gonna deny that was a dick move, but from what I’ve learned about the guy, he tends to put his foot in it when he’s flustered.” He looked at Castiel pointedly. “Maybe something about you just throws him off his game?”

Castiel had had about enough of this conversation. The memory of their first meeting always left him feeling hollow and in a foul mood, and he needed to keep his spirits up to survive ethics class with Mr. Adler later this afternoon.

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested in finding out. I doubt I’m missing out on much. I’ll see you at rehearsal, Ash.” He walked away before Ash could say anything else.

Keep reading

2

Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell. They’re all just spokes on a wheel. This one’s on top, then that one’s on top. And on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground. I’m not going to stop the wheel. I’m going to break the wheel.

Here’s one of the best essays I’ve read concerning the Azoëtia which I found online couple of years ago. For those who haven’t read it, enjoy

THE AZOETIA, Thoughts on the Grimoire, by Andrew Logan Montgomery.

(2013)

The Modern Necronomicon


If you are a serious occultist, you’ve probably heard of the Azoetia already. For the more casual reader, let me give you some background. In May, 1992, British “cunning man” Andrew Chumbley self-published a new occult work in limited edition. By 2002, Azoetia: A Grimoire of the Sabbatic Craft, was ready for re-release in another, slightly more deluxe edition (the Sethos edition, named for the book’s “guardian daemon”). It was already by that time a sensation. In today’s esoteric market, everyone seems to want to imitate the late Anton LaVey, whose 1969 Satanic Bible was a mass market grimoire written for the Everyman.  Aleister Crowley had attempted such a thing decades earlier, but his work proved too dense for the non-specialist. The Satanic Bible, by contrast, was a little paperback anyone could purchase, read, and then completely apprehend all the “secrets” of magic with. When LaVey published this book, it was a landmark. Since then, however, everyone under the sun has tried to do the same thing, flooding the world with mass market self-help mumbo jumbo. Most of these modern New Age books are to the medieval grimoires, or Crowley’s Equinox, what the Big Mac is to filet mignon; cheap, filling, but utterly lacking in substance.


Chumbley decided to go against the current. It is the oldest magical formula in the book: do the opposite of what everyone else is doing. Thus, the Azoetia was neither mass market nor for the Everyman. Chumbley’s esoteric group, the Cultus Sabbati, released the volume in a very limited number through a publisher (“Xoanon,”) specifically created for the purpose. The book was exceedingly rare, and possession of it suddenly put you in an elite club.


By 2004, it seemed as if everyone in the occult community had heard of the book, but few had every actually seen it. Like Lovecraft’s Necronomicon, it seemed quasi-legendary, an urban legend for modern Magicians. And then, the unthinkable happened. On his 37th birthday, Andrew Chumbley died of a sudden, severe asthma attack.


Another thing Magicians share in common with Artists is that death makes their work even more valuable. In Chumbley’s case, this was triply so. Not only had he died young, suddenly, and unexpectedly, the very date of his death had eerie occult significance. There is something weird—in the classic sense of the word—about dying on your birthday, particularly given Chumbley’s profession. Add to this the fact that the number 37 has tremendous qabbalistic significance; 37 is the number of the “Perfected Man,” the three divine Sephiroth of the Tree of Life balanced above the 7 manifest Sephiroth below the Abyss. In addition, 37 is the seed of all triple numbers. 37 x 3 = 111, 37 x 6 = 222, 37 x 9 = 333, and 37 x 18 = 666. These coincidences all coalesced, turning tragedy into a kind of frenzy. On the internet, people started to compare Chumbley to Lovecraft’s Abdul Alhazred, who penned the infamous Necronomicon before himself dying a mysterious death. The Azoetia was lifted from legend to myth. The result was a kind or viral marketing campaign. Copies of the Azoetia couldn’t be obtained for love or money.


Well…not exactly. People were willing to part with their precious Azoetias for absurd amounts of money…usually in the range of $1500 to $2500 US. Worse still, one was expected to shell out the cash sight unseen. If you went on Amazon to read “reviews” of the book, for example, no one seemed willing to talk about what it actually said. All you got was a bunch of scary hoodoo about the book being a “True Grimoire,” “not for the weak-hearted,” “a text only for the most serious student,” etc, etc. As I started to research the book, it became clear to me that most owners weren’t willing to divulge its contents mainly because it’s very mystery ensured its value.  I began to wonder if anyone actually used it.


More fuel was added to the fire by the Cultus Sabbati themselves. In an age where every “secret,” “occult” order has a website and runs around constantly blabbing about it’s teachings and trying to recruit new members, the Cultus was truly closed. Few knew what they stood for, what they did, or how to get in. Possession of the Azoetia seemed to be the only glimpse inside a secret order that really was secret.

I had gotten my hands on Qutub, Chumbley’s second work, some time before and found it astounding.  This made me only more determined to read the Azoetia.  Reasoning there is no point calling yourself a magician if you can’t even conjure up a book, I sent out a sigil for it, Austin Spare style, and went about my business.  About three months later a friend put me in touch with a young woman who had found religion and wanted to get rid of her “devil books” as quickly as possible.  It turned out she had an Azoetia, and I picked it up for little over it’s original price.  That was back in 2007.  I’ve had to re-read and digest this extraordinary book for five years before feeling like I could start to discuss it.


But not all in one post.  So here is the first of an eventual series of essays on the work.   

A Book By Its Cover


The Sethos edition is indeed a handsome book. Hardbound with the very highest quality binding, the spine is stamped with the title, the publisher’s imprint, and a sigil that resembled the god Set crossed with a Spare-type sigil. This would be the mark of Sethos, no doubt. The cover bears a mandala-like magic circle, an eight-spoked wheel bearing 22 mystical letters, around the circumference of which are words of power in the same characters.


The title is itself provocative. “Azoth” was the Universal Solvent or Medicine of alchemy, the “quintessence” from which everything else was made. Lovecraft might have been inspired by this term when he created “Azathoth,” the mindless, nuclear chaos from which the universe emerged. In any case, Azoth plays a key role in the book, as we shall later see. “Goetia” (perhaps the source of the second half of the title) is the fabled medieval Lesser Key of Solomon, the grimoire of grimoires concerned with the evocation of fallen angels.The title Azoetia is suggestive of both the original essence of creation and the calling up of spirits. One might wish to translate it as “the calling of daemons from primal quintessence,” which given the contents of the book is not so radical an interpretation.


Tradition


The first thing readers will wish to know is to what tradition does the Azoetia belong. Is it Wiccan? Satanic? Hermetic? Thelemic? Voodoo? Sufi? Chaotic? The answer, it seems, is “all of the above.”


“…it has been my endeavor,” the author writes in his introduction to the first edition, “to define those Principles underlying the many different paths of Magick and to unify them within the single body of a working grimoire…” It would seem, therefore, that the author is working from a Perennialist viewpoint, the assumption that there exists a universal truth or set of truths in all schools of magic and philosophy. He confirms this a few paragraphs later;“…all currents of Magick flow from a single fountain, and I, in drawing this Grimoire from my dreams, have hopefully filled a cup from a pure source…” For Chumbley, the dogmatic differences of occult traditions are veils, masks concealing a single, hidden source. The Azoetia is an attempt to tap directly into that source.


The skeptic might say that Chumbley is not so much as tapping into the primordial source of occult traditions as synthesizing a new one from diverse schools of thought. Either viewpoint is valid with regards to this text. The final point is that virtually any Magician, working from any tradition, could find in the pages ofAzoetia some portion of teachings or practices mirroring his or her own.


For example, despite consciously distancing himself from the modern schools of Wicca, Chumbley’s “Sabbatic Craft” shares a great deal in common with them (at least on the surface). This text is very much concerned with a God and a Goddess (the former embodying Death and the latter coming in triple forms). The working tools mirror those of Gardenarian or Alexandrian Wicca; the wand, a black handled Arthame (Athame), a white handled working knife, a Pentacle, a Cup, a Cord, a Circle, an Altar, etc. The opening ritual closely resembles Wiccan Circle Casting, and there is even a wheel of the year. However, elements from other traditions are clearly woven in here. A magical quill is included, which recalls the Peacock Angel Melek Taus (a key figure in Qutub). The altar is a double cube (more Hermetic than Wiccan). The temple includes a central pole, or “fetish-tree” which is nearly identical in function to those in voodoo honfours.


But all of this, the author asserts, is just set dressing, with little bearing on the truth of the text. A constant theme throughout the Azoetia is the reminder that all the tools, rituals, incantations, and even the text itself are just outward expressions of inner truths. Without getting too far ahead of myself, the last page of the Azoetia reads; HERE ENDETH THE GRIMOIRE AZOETIA…MISTAKE NOT THIS BOOK FOR THE WORDS UPON ITS PAGES. Chumbley earnestly wants us to understand that the grimoire, and all the tools, are physical representations of something else, something without form. For him, Magick is tool of working backwards from the trappings towards that inner source.

Again, back to the introduction; “…the Quintessence of Magick is not to be found by the combination of externals, but solely by the direct realisation of innate source. It is not to be discovered by system with system, belief with belief, or practice with practice; it is not found by uniting the “elements” in their temporally manifest forms. For beyond the Outer, beyond the dualistic and substantive manifestations of element with element, the Quintessence is already attained…when this Mystery is understood, the secret of the Azoth is revealed in truth…”


Like the Chaos Magicians, or to an extent Anton LaVey, Chumbley is telling us that the dogmatic elements of Magick are all mechanisms to tap into its noumenal source. Writing from this standpoint allows Chumbley to imbue his grimoire with a quality which transcends divisions of tradition. A Hermetic is going to read the Azoetia and say “Chumbley was really one of us.” But the Wiccan, the Satanist, and the Thelemite might all come to the same conclusion. Whether you feel that this is evidence of Chumbley’s “Quintessence,” or just a skilled job at integrating diverse forms and practices, is up to you.


Sethos


The second edition of the Azoetia bears the name of the entity watching over it, and opens with a dedication to him. Chumbley explains “Sethos” as…“the Daimon of the Grimoire Azoetia; a noetic emanation of the Magical Quintessence; a mediator between Abel, Cain, and Seth, that is, between the Sacrificed Man of Clay (the Uninitiate Self), the Transformative Man of Fire (the Initiating and Becoming Self), and the Self-Transformed Man of Light (the Initiatic Self-existent One)…” p. 361


Chumbley is drawing on a bit of Gnosticism here. For the Gnostics, ideological rivals of the early Christian Church, the Hebrew God described in the Old Testament wasn’t the Good Guy at all, but rather the Villain. He and his angels were merely lesser emanations of the True Deity. The Gnostics called the false god Ialdabaoth, and explained that he had fashioned the world of matter as a prison to hold captive human souls (which were, in fact, tiny sparks of the True God). Ineffable, invisible, and intangible, the True Deity was far removed from the material world. He did not act directly, but only sent forth emanations. For some Gnostics, Jesus was just such an emanation, sent by the True God to liberate people from the captivity of false one.

While this may seem odd to the modern reader, it does explain a great deal of the Bible’s inconsistencies. Any objective reading of the text leads the reader to wonder how the jealous, vindictive, and murderous God of the Old Testament could possibly be the beneficent and compassionate one spoken of by Jesus. In addition, it explains the problem of suffering and evil a lot more efficiently than the more standard “blame-it-on-Lucifer” line. Regardless, this is what various Gnostic groups believed and taught down through the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd centuries, until the Christian Church got organized and started putting them out of business.

Now, if you reread the Bible with Gnosticism in mind, several things change. For example, in Eden, Ialbadaoth and his angelic cronies suddenly appear to be keeping Adam and Eve naked and stupid, like apes. Then along comes the serpent, who actually helps the couple by persuading them to rebel. He talks them into eating the fruit of knowledge and becoming self-aware. They stop being animals and start being human. For this reason, there was an entire Gnostic sect known as the Ophites (snake-worshippers).


But there was another Gnostic sect known as the Cainites.  To understand why, we must consider the next biblical drama; Cain and Abel. Cain, the eldest son of Adam and Eve, is the first farmer and blacksmith. Abel is a herdsman. God (ie Ialbadoath) commands the two to make a sacrifice to Him. Cain sacrifices the finest fruits of the harvest. Abel slaughters an animal. As a result, God favors Abel’s sacrifice and scorns Cain’s. Message? This God wants blood. As a result, Cain murders his brother and as a result undergoes a mysterious transformation.  Though sent into exile, he is somehow “marked” with a sign of God’s protection.  If anyone tries to punish or murder Cain for his crime, they themselves will be punished by God.  This is completely bizarre, given Yahweh’s “eye for an eye” mentality.  Even more odd, in the wake of losing two sons, Eve conceives a new son, Seth.


Seth is a very curious figure in both Gnosticism and mystical Judaism. Many sects regarded Seth as an emanation of the True God.  The line of Seth was called the “sons of God,” and believed to be holy.  Adam is said to have given them the secrets of the Kabbalah, and many Gnostics belived that Seth—not Jesus—was the savior who would return at the end of time.  


For Gnostics, Seth’s incarnation was made possible by Cain’s sacrifice.  Abel was the first human being to die, and by killing him Cain had opened a path into the otherworld, a path along which the True God could send part of Itself into Ialbadaoth’s creation. Perhaps Yahweh couldn’t punish Cain because he somehow enjoyed the protection of the higher, true God.  


With all this in mind, we are ready to tackle the dedication opening the Sethos edition of the Azoetia;


O Sethos! Rise up and remember!

Recall the Promise once stain’d in red upon the primal dust of the earth!

By baying dog and moon-beam, by lantern, stave, and upright stone,

Come fathom the starlit heights of Heaven in the Old Dew-pool of Cain.

Come ring the blood round with the Serpent, Come turn the skin of time,

Come pace about the corpse of Abel, here break the Fate of Mortal Man!

Here cast forth the Visions from Yesterday, from Tomorrow, unto Today.

Here open the way for the Crooked Path, for the Pathway forever to be!

O Sethos! Rise up and remember,

‘Til thy Namesake, the Man of Light, is born!


The Crooked Path is the one opened by the sacrifice of Abel, and it leads directly to the Azoth. And Cain—the first Magician—is held as the psychopomp, the opener of the way.


Now on one level, Abel is the Uninitiated Self, the normal, everyday mortal held captive by the system, subject to all the laws of nature and time. Cain is the Initiate who rebels against this, sacrificing his old life up in an effort to tear free from the bounds of time and space. And Seth is the Divine Self, the perfected being born from Cain’s sacrifice, the magician who completes his quest. We are seeing the old alchemical formula, solve et coagula, again.


In purely psychological terms, this myth reflects the fact that our lives and identities are hollow constructs, forced upon us by heredity, society, and experience. It urges us to murder these identities and to replace them with entirely self-created ones, to transform ourselves into who we want to be rather than who we’ve been told to be.


But on another level, Abel represents what Chumbley calls Zoa—the life force present in all human beings, analogous to the alchemical mercury. Cain is his darker twin, Azoa, the force of death equally present within us, analogous to salt. And Seth/os would be Azothos, the magical force that unites and transcends both, the divine fire analogous to sulfur. The work of the magician is to liberate himself from both the forces of life (with its pains, cravings, and instability) and death (with its limitation and finality). He must murder Abel and exile Cain, so that Seth (transcendence) might be born.


Aleister Crowley touched on all of this in his Book of Thoth, particularly with regards to the Trumps “Lovers” and “Art.” Another excellent source for further reading would be the writings of Julius Evola (the best being The Hermetic Tradtion).

Blue Winter Roses

Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark’s love started the war, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen’s love will end it. Spoilers for season 7.

Pairings; Rhaegar Targaryen/Lyanna Stark; Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen

Blue Winter Roses

“A blue flower growing from a chink in a wall of ice, filling the air with sweetness.”

Rhaegar Targaryen was the fiercest warrior in all of Westeros. The son of the “mad king” Aerys Targaryen II and the beautiful Rhaella. Rhaegar was the crowned prince of Dragonstone and the heir to the iron throne, set to take over the mighty House Targaryen when his father succeeded the throne to him. He was said to be one of the most beautiful men in all the realm with flowing silver hair, a body like one of the gods, and violet eyes. Rhaegar had a special talent that was one of his most admired traits. He loved to sing. The bards would sing songs of just how beautiful his voice was. Rhaegar was never one for the song of swords like his rivals Robert Baratheon and Jaimie Lannister. He always preferred his golden harp to the cold silver steel of his sword.

Rhaegar would often visit Summerhall and bring only his harp. His songs were said to reduce women to tears. He was desired by all the Dornish and Westorsi princesses. Rhaegar had chosen his bride to be Elia Martell, the beautiful Dornish princess. They had a lavish wedding and she birthed him two children, Rhaenys and Aegon. Rhaegar believed Aegon to be the prince that was promised, born to make the world a better place. Elia had grown bed-riden due to the demanding births of her children. She was told she couldn’t have anymore children due to the harsh births of Aegon and Rhaenys. All the more, Rhaegar had kept his vow to his Dornish wife. That is until the tourney at Harrenhall.

Rhaegar had succeeded tremendously at the tourney, even beating Ser Arthur Dayne. He had won the opportunity to crown the queen of love and beauty. A beautiful crown made of blue winter roses. The whole crowd has expected him to name the princess his queen. After all, she was the future queen of Westoros. Rhaegar gave his crown of winter roses to another, Lyanna Stark, Robert Baratheon’s betrothed.

Lyanna Stark was beautiful, although her beauty was thought to be of a wild kind. Lyanna didn’t share the features of Elia Martell. She had long raven hair, a thin frame, and eyes of grey. She was a noble and righteous woman, but wild at heart. She was born to the broody Stark family of Winterfell. She loved her brothers Brandon, Benjen, and Ned with a fierce loyalty. Lyanna was betrothed to Robert Baratheon, as her father Rickard had promised her to the young lord of Storm’s end. Lyanna had confided in Ned that Robert wasn’t one to keep his marriage bed vows.

Lyanna had come to the tourney at Harrenhal and noticed three men kicking a boy no younger than 15. The boy was Howland Reed who happen to be employed by her father. Lyanna saved the boy and cleaned up his wounds. Lyanna was a kind soul at heart. Howland Reed would always remember that women who saved him from the squires. Lyannna had attended a feast and saw the crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen play a beautiful and sad song on his harp. It made her weep. Rhaegar later crowned her the queen of love and beauty placing a crown of blue winter roses on her lap.

If the rumors were to be believed, Lyanna was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen with the help of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent. Many tales have been told about the wolf girl and the dragon prince. If they were to believe Robert Baratheon, Lyanna was taken against her will and raped by Rhaegar Targaryen. If they were to believe others, Lyanna went of her own free will with the handsome prince. Tales of songs and stories never to be forgotten some would say. Only the truth remained for those who were there.

The real truth behind Rhaegar and Lyanna’s story was simple. A true love story. Although the rumors told of a grim tale of the two star crossed lovers, the reality was far from it. Lyanna had willingly gone with her prince to Dorne. Against the advice and pleading of her brothers and family, Lyanna had unwittingly caused a War in the Seven Kingdoms that would last years. Much like Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships. Rhaegar abandoning his duty to wife Elia Martell, and Lyanna abandoning her duty to betrothed Robert.

Rhaegar had his marriage to Elia annulled. A secret hidden away in the lost pages of the citadel. Until a man named Samwell Tarly came upon them years later, but that’s a tale for another time. He and Lyanna married in a forest wedding deep in the woods of Dorne. Lyanna had looked truly radiant in a deep blue violet gown, flowing raven hair, and a bouquet of winter blue roses. Rhaegar looking like the Targaryen he was in full red and black armor with three dragon heads on the crest. They had recited their undying love for each other in the woods on the that moonlit night.

The tales tell of the love that started the war, or as many know Robert’s rebellion. Robert seething with jealousy and wrath at Rhaegar for taking the one women he couldn’t have. He became obsessed with the wolf princess, even as he took Cersei Lannister as a bride. Cersei knew he never truly loved her, but Cersei had a secret of her own. She was fucking her twin brother, Jaime. Although that’s a tale for another time as well. This Jaime Lannister, also known as Kingslayer, had slayed Rhaegar’s father “Mad King” Aerys Targaryen II. Aerys wanted to burn King’s Landing to ground with wildfire. They say Targaryens are born with the flip of coin due to the rampant incest in their lineage to keep their bloodline pure, one side is madness the other side greatness. Aerys had landed on madness. Rhaegar on greatness.

Although Rhaegar had greatness in him, his love was selfish. He chose love over duty and honor. He had foolishly and recklessly caused the marriage of three great houses to collapse. One with a mad king, one with a jealous fat cunt, and the other with wolf blood. This selfishness is what ultimately led to his death at the trident at the hands of Robert Baratheon. He had fought valiantly. Although Rhaegar had betrayed his marriage and family name, the people still loved him. He was brave, noble, and kind. Rhaegar was foolish though, blinded by love for a woman who smelled like winter roses. The fall of House Targaryen laid at his feet. Robert Baratheon crowned king of the seven kingdoms after the Kingslayer killed Aerys. Robert later betrayed by Cersei, and the Lannisters held the throne for years. Alas, the wheel continuing. “Starks,Lannisters, Baratheons, Targaryens, Tyrells, they are just spoke on a wheel. This one is on top that one is on top and on and on it spins.” It wouldn’t be until 20 years later that the wheel was finally broken.

Howland Reed, the young boy Lyanna saved from the squires, happened to be there that day Ned Stark brought a screaming baby boy from the Tower of Joy. A beautiful boy with grey eyes and dark hair. ”Promise me, Ned.” Lyanna begged of her brother to keep the boy a secret. If Robert knew of her child with the dragon prince, he would kill the boy. Ned had tried to urge Lyanna to keep fighting for her life, but a bed of blood claimed the light from her eyes. Ned would keep this promise till his death at the hands of the Lannisters on the block.

Ned had taken to name him Jon, and passed him off as his own. The boy Jon growing up to be Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell. Ned Stark had told his wife, Catelyn Tully, of the bastard boy fathered by him and a tavern wench and she had despised the boy his whole childhood. Ned loved Jon as if he was his own flesh and blood, although never revealing to Jon the truth although Jon begged him to tell him of his mother. Jon growing close with siblings Arya, Bran, Robb, and Rickon. Sansa Stark learning from her mother’s hate never treated the boy with kindness when he was a child. Ned had been summoned by Robert Baratheon to be his Hand. Ned took Sansa with him to the capital. Sansa always dreamed of marrying a young price. Catelyn had forbid Jon from Winterfell. Jon went North and took the black becoming a man in the Night’s Watch. He was to take no wife and have no children. Jon believing to be a bastard never thought he would find love as he had been looked down upon by Catelyn his whole life, never knowing a mother’s love. Little did Catelyn Tully know that boy would become King in the North, and command the very castle she forbid him from.

The King in the North was much like his father, but his looks took greatly after his mother. Jon was brave, noble, and kind. He was selfless and honest as well, a trait Rhaegar lacked greatly. Jon always assumed he gotten those qualities from his mother. Jon still baffled by the whole reveal of his lineage. He never truly thought of Rhaegar as his father. Ned Stark being the one who raised him from birth and taught him the morals of honor and integrity. He was never a Targaryen, he’d always be a Stark. Jon wish Ned would have told him of his mother, Lyanna. He had only heard tales from Howland Reed of how she saved him from the squires during the tourney at Harrenhal. Howland Reed told Jon as much in the tents outside of Greywater Watch during the War of the dead. So little time did he have to learn of his mother. Jon knew she loved blue winter roses and he somehow came upon them when the war ended at the remnants of the wall. He would always pick them for his wife after she had told him of her prophecy so long ago in the House of the Undying. “A blue flower growing from a chink in a wall of ice, filling the air with sweetness.”

Jon’s wife, Daenerys Targaryen, was the most beautiful women in the world. Long silver blonde hair and violet eyes like her brother Rhaegar. Daenerys was the very embodiment of house Targaryen, she favoring with the side of the coin that held greatness. Daenerys was strong, fierce, compassionate, and selfless. She had committed her dragons and armies to the war of the dead after rescuing Jon from his foolish attempt at trying to capture a wight to show Cersei Lannister the threat. She had lost one of her children that day, Viseron, named after her madman brother Viserys Targaryen. Jon had nearly lost his life that day after falling into a frozen lake. He will never forget the awe he had when Dany rode her three dragons into the battle against the army of the dead beyond the wall. She had saved all of them that day. When he awoke from his state of unconsciousness to her sitting at his bedside, Jon knew he had found the love he had been craving since he was a boy.

Jon had been in love once before, he thought. Circumstances and deception at play when he met the wilding Ygritte. She had been kissed by fire with a head full of bright red hair. Wild, bold, and fierce she worked her way into Jon’s heart without him knowing it. Jon knowing fully well the deception he was doing for his brothers, as he pretended to deceive the Night’s watch. He broke every vow he had with Ygritte that night in the cave. He only ending up leaving her, while she put three arrows in him. Funny how fate has a way of being cruel to him, as his wilding girl died in his arms with an arrow to the heart. Knowing the love he holds for Dany now, his love for Ygritte was a foolish youthful obsession and lust. He always had a place in his heart for Ygritte, but he had felt he didn’t love her out choice only out of sheer and dire circumstances.

His love for Dany grew out of choice, although the timing couldn’t have been worse. They were first at odds when he came to Dragonstone seeking help for the war against the dead. He furiously demanding her help and alliance, she furiously demanding he bend the knee to her cause. Daenerys was the rightful and last heir to the throne and Targaryen dynasty she thought at the time. The war for the throne still ongoing years after Rhaegar and Lyanna had died. Cersei Lannister the crowned queen of three, not seven, kingdoms Dany would always joke as Dany had alliances with Highgarden, Dorne, and the Iron Islands. Jon had grown to respect and admire Dany after he saw what kind of leader she would be. Still unwilling to bend the knee to, she let him mine the precious dragonglass under Dragonstone.

Jon, unaware of his blood at the time, even had the courage to pet one of her dragons. Dany teases him that he accepted them as his children that day even though he didn’t know it. Jon only truly realized his love for Dany when she sat at his beside and pledged herself to his cause while asking for nothing in return. He eventually bent the knee, although Dany never took the Northern title from him after the war ended. Jon’s love for Dany ran more deeply than even he could process. She had been afraid at first to accept his love and show her love in return. They were at war, and there was no time for such things. Selfless they were always putting their duty and their people before their own desires. Dany ending her war with Cersei Lannister to fight with the dead, Jon nearly giving his life fighting the Night king beyond the wall.

The difference between his love for Dany, and his father’s love for his mother was that his father was selfish. Rhaegar didn’t think of the consequences of running off with his mother. Blinded by pure love his father started a war that killed him and his mother. Lyanna no better herself as she left her family and brothers behind. He didn’t blame them for their selfishness, if he had the choice to do the same with Dany he may would have in different circumstances. Jon didn’t have that choice as Ned Stark had fashioned him for duty and honor. The War for the dead loomed upon them when they met, and the Night King wouldn’t wait.

Although Jon was different from his father in many ways, he was somewhat the same. He held a fierce, true love for Dany bound by an unwitting, stubborn honor for his pride and morals, and sometimes it made him think unrationally. When the war for the dead had ended, and Dany and Cersei battled with what armies they had left, Jon found out his true lineage from Bran and Sam. He was shocked to say the least. His whole life seemingly a lie now. Jon was no Targaryen. Dany had been thrilled when she had found out. “Blood of my blood.” she said to him as tears of joy streamed down her face. Jon wasn’t having much joy. He and Dany were related by blood. Dany being his father’s sister. Jon was at a standstill, Dany was the love of his life but his upbringing had taught him incest to be immorally wrong. His Stark values getting the best of him, he told Dany it better to not be together.

Furious and heartbroken, Dany took off on Drogon to go burn King’s Landing and take what was rightfully hers. The dragon blood of the Targaryen running through her veins, Dany was venomous towards Jon. How could something they could do nothing about tear them apart? He was a coward, just like his father. Rhaegar abandoning his house to run off with Lyanna Stark and starting a war, and Jon being the stubbon Stark he was ending any hope she had for a future with him and a house with a red door. So different father and son, yet so the same. Dany was no fool. She would never be like Lyanna Stark and foolishly hope for love and run away from her path. Dany would forget about Jon, and take what was rightfully hers. How had she strayed for so long from her goal? The war of the dead being a rightful purpose, but now that she had defeated the Night King with fire and blood why had she waited so long? Just like her brother, blinded by foolish love. Jon had torn down her walls and she felt as if she could finally be the girl she was again. She loved him like she had loved no other. How could he abandon her after all they had been through? Dany cried as Drogon flew towards the mad queen’s keep. Dany hadn’t wanted the throne after the war was over. She would defeat Cersei of course, but she had wanted to marry Jon and live in Winterfell. How desire can make people do such foolish things. Rhaegar was killed for it. Lyanna as well. Dany would not be.

It took Dany two days to burn King’s landing to the ground. Drogon spewing fire on the city below. Luckily most of the residents fleeing south to Dorne during the war of the dead. Jamie Lannister eventually slaying the mad queen with his own hands. King’s Landing lie in ash. Dany had become the queen she had never wanted to be. The queen of ashes. Most of her armies gone, Daenerys stood in the rubble of the Red Keep with her hand Tyrion at her side. What would Rhaegar think of her now? He always the valiant fighter and noble prince. He would never use dragons to burn the world.

Too enthralled in her fury when leaving Winterfell, Dany had forgotten Rhaegal was behind in Winterfell. Choosing to stay with his rider Jon. Dany seethed at the thought of one of her children staying behind. As much as Dany wanted to hate Jon with all her veins, she couldn’t. He was only doing what he thought was right. How could she blame him for choosing honor over love? His honor one of the qualities she loved him most for. Dany thought of Lyanna Stark. Dany may be more like the wolf princess than she thought. Jon had taken greatly after her. Daenerys had hopelessly followed Jon until the ends of the earth when the Night King arrived. Long forgotten her duty to the crown. Lady Lyanna had followed her brother to ends of the earth, not thinking of the consequences. Hadn’t Dany done the same? Risked her life for the one she loved. She had nearly lost it when following Jon by herself when he charged at the Night King. Only to be protected by an injured Drogon’s fire when a walker almost toppled her over into the frozen ice lake. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the ash of the Red Keep. She didn’t want the crown anymore, all she wanted was him.

It took Jon two days to realize how stupid he had been. He always chose honor and duty over love. This time it had cost him the one thing he only ever chose for himself. Truth be told, Jon didn’t care about the blood relation. He had never known Dany growing up, and they got together without even knowing of the relation. He loved her, and he had broken her because of his own foolish pride. As little as he thought of his father, they did have one thing in common. A desire to be with the one they loved. His father risking everything to be with Lyanna. What had Jon risked for Dany? She had given him everything to defeat the night king. She had given him her word, her body, and her heart. She never strayed from her promises. Jon broke her trust at the first sign of misfortune. Jon raced to his dragon, named after his father, Rhaegal and flew for King’s Landing.

It took him a day’s ride to get there. Plumes of smoke rising from the city. Rhaegal sensed where his mother and brother dragon were. It didn’t take the dragon long to land on the ground right by them. He saw her there staring at the burned down Red Keep with her back to him. The Imp noticing him first with a hard stare. He made his way over to his queen. He knew she could sense him behind her and she tensed.

She looked at him with heartbreak and sadness behind her violet eyes. What had he done?

Dany felt his presence when Drogon screamed for his brother. Had he come to mock her for rushing off furiously to defeat Cersei? No that wasn’t Jon. He had come to say goodbye. Tears sprang in her eyes. This was it. She would accept his decision because she loved him. Even if he didn’t want to be with her, she would still respect his choice. She still needed to clean up the mess from the wars and she needed his help to unite the people.

To her surprise, Jon had tears in his eyes when she looked at him. They just stared at each other and she began to understand. He hadn’t come here to say goodbye, he had come back for her. They had always said their emotions through their eyes. He had grabbed her and pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered deep apologies to her and told her how much he loved her. Dany melted in his arms. She told him that the world needed them to help make it a better place. She couldn’t do it alone, she needed him to help her. Together. They flew on dragon back to Winterfell the same night.

Like time repeating itself Jon and Daenerys got married in the moonlight under the godswood, just as Rhaegar and Lyanna married under a beautiful tree in the forest in Dorne. Jon wore grey and white armor with the stark direwolf on the crest. Dany wore a dress of black and red with flowing braids in her silver hair, and she carried a bouquet of blue winter roses.

Dany and Jon later ascended their claim to the throne to Tyrion Lannister as Warden of the Seven Kingdoms. A democracy with each Kingdom choosing their own leader. Jon had named his sister Sansa head of the North, and Gendry Baratheon warden of Storm’s end. Daenerys gave the Iron Islands to their rightful owner Yara Greyjoy, Highgarden to Bronn (he had always wanted a castle), and Casterly rock to Jaime Lannister. Tyrion diplomatically bringing peace and diplomacy for years to come.

Spring had finally come for Westeros, the wars coming to end. Peace and prosperity raining until their deaths. The love that had started the wars long forgotten in song. The love that ended the wars sung to all the children in the land.

Rumors were told of the great love story of the dragon queen and the wolf prince. Some say they ended up traveling to Essos and disappearing from the world, and some say they ruled secretly with Tyrion Lannister the whole time. Only the people who were there knew the truth.

Lyanna Targaryen told her children the tale of two star crossed lovers who ran away together and married in a forest. Their love had started a war for decades.

Lyanna Targaryen also told her children a tale of two star crossed lovers who raised her in a house with a red door and lemon tree growing outside in small village outside of Winterfell. Their love had ended that war.