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It is currently WINTER in WESTEROS during the year 303 AC. The new moon cycle marks a full twenty years since the Mad King was murdered, and his son King Rhaegar ascended the Iron Throne in his place. Though the year is fresh, war in the Narrow Sea has left the Free Cities of Volantis and Tyrosh in ashes, and the Long Night continues to beckon from the Northern fringes of the Seven Kingdoms. With the Queen Lyanna presumed dead, the citizens of the realms look only to each other for survival.
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Born: 1 September 1991
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Alias: Eph
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Age: 17
Sworn To: Targaryen
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Location: King's Landing
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AELIX TARGARYEN

CROWNLANDS

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Apr 6 2018, 04:40 PM
... but in and out until I can figure out my computer situation. I can still write posts, but it will be slow as shot getting things done. Just ... FYI. Lol. Sorry.
Mar 11 2018, 05:46 AM
SORRY to anyone who's waiting on me to respond to my PMs or Posts. I just haven't had the strength. I've got my Aelix reply to Valarr nearly finished, which I should hopefully be able to complete (IE: edit) later today/night - whenever I get off from work (because, unless I'm dead, I still have to go to the office).

I never get sick. Seriously. The last time I was ill I ended up getting an appendectomy on my 16th birthday. I actually went to the Urgent Care the other morning 'cause I was confused AF as to why I felt like I was dying. Ugh. So, crazy high fever? Check. Advanced lung infection? Check. Inability to breathe or sleep? Check. Blech. FML.

BUT! I think I remember posting to Marg a while back (so that one's good), I should have Aelix's post for Val up sometime today, and except for PMs ... I think I'm caught up? Feel free to yell at me if I've totally missed something. O_O My brain is goo right now. GOOOOO. I'm on a shit-ton of meds so hopefully I will be resemble the rest of humanity in short order.

Allow me to apologize to the world of ATEAONE again. <3 Eph
Mar 7 2018, 12:19 AM

What does a flame remember? If it remembers a little less than necessary – it goes out; if it remembers a little more than necessary – it, too, goes out. If only the flame could teach us all, while it still burns, to remember correctly. When the war was over, when the wounded and dying and the dead were returning home, when everyone began to count heartbeats and heads ... it had been difficult for Aelix to fathom the empty losses and broken souls he’d been force to stare down blankly. Nothing that these returning soldiers had witnessed could compare to the relative simplicity he’d dealt with while keeping those spoiled, obnoxious brats here at home from doing anything spectacularly stupid. Aelix spent the whole war wishing he could have done more for his people, more for the war effort, more to protect the ones they had all lost. Inaction will cost you the stars, they say. That which is important never changes. That which becomes important changes everything.

The weight of understanding that you are useless was like the weight of mountains, crushing his spirit. Carefully, that pain was exquisitely judged so that he may maintain the faintest spark of self-awareness, which was where the purest torture lived. That he would forever know who he was and what he should have been able to do to help his father, his siblings, his people; the prince felt pressed flat beneath the weight of his guilt. And then he decided to get back up. He straightened his back, of his own free will, no lectures were necessary this time. Aelix looked out from amethyst eyes, reached back into his memories, and clung to the ones that bound him to his family. Aelix knew now that he could speak, in his own voice, and not the voice he borrowed from his father or his siblings or from Barristan, when commanding the civilians to step down. In his lone control of the city, he’d finally learned what it meant to become his own man.

Now, his mind was his own. His voice was his own. Aelix might be the youngest prince, but he was, too, the Commander of the City Watch, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Somehow that legacy didn’t feel as though it was so much a burden. Finally, finally, Aelix and Andracarr had proven that they could serve King’s Landing and Westeros together in whatever capacity was needed. Granted, that blasted emerald dragon still strayed towards laconic stubbornness, but they were one. Together. The plain fact was that Aelix had become tired of who he had been. Which only partially explained the upheaval of his personality, a character that had, in truth, long ago worn he and everyone else down. There are too many unfortunate roads between the Aelix of now and the one he’d woven out of bleeding hearts and stars and sadness and hate, and there’s only so much respect he could wring out of any of it. The neutral observer could draw a fairly direct line from his successes to his self worth. But he lives in this skin of competition, knows its motivation. And nothing inspires a fierce competition quite like loneliness.

Time seemed to change, to slow unbearably, once he’d entered his brother’s room and shut the door behind him quietly. He saw his brother’s head propped against his pillows, but his eyes were closed; it seemed forever for Aelix to cross the room and take a seat in one of the chairs next to the bed. Regardless of what the maids, servants, or Maesters thought or said before he entered, he was here, and he would not be leaving. Aelix did not think his brother was conscious, so he gently grasped the wrist of his uninjured hand, afraid to cause any more damage, but he needed to reassure himself that his brother’s pulse was still beating beneath the skin. Even at rest, Valarr seemed to be smiling. It had always been so easy for his older brother. Between Matarys and Aelix, they could have frowning competitions. Visenya, too, he supposed. But never Valarr. Though, if he were being honest, Valarr was likely drugged to the gills on milk of the poppy and whatever else they’d given his elder brother to dull the pain. Sighing, he pulled away and crossed his arms over his breastplate to wait.

He’d come to Valarr’s room wearing the full City Watch regalia, as though daring anyone who came across him to turn him away. The heavy, gold-dyed wool of his cloak kept out the chill and covered an impressive set of armor, marked with the distinct three-headed dragon, several hidden dirks, and a long sword hanging on his hip. Overall, he felt completely ridiculous, especially considering all he was there to do was check in on his injured siblings one by one, but he absolutely refused to be sent away, even by those who meant well. If a show of force was necessary to get his way, than they would have it. No one was going to question the Commander of the City Watch when he was in full regalia. To his immense relief, at least the armor, boots, and gloves were all in black. Aelix didn’t think he’d ever live it down if he ran around the Red Keep looking shiny. He didn’t know how his uncle Viserys did it. All that bloody white, he shuddered inelegantly and then sighed.

It didn’t seem to be right anymore. The world, that is. Life. It was too big and too small, it itched the skin across his ribcage and it seems like there were so many pockets that he doesn’t know where to put his hands. Aelix thinks that it used to be different, that it all used to fit better before he stretched and grew, but he stops that thought there because he honestly can’t bring himself to care about it anymore. What’s done is done. All the same, he has inherited this life; it would be impolite to complain, and Aelix Targaryen likes to believe that has manners. The seventeen year-old prince, still not yet accustomed to thinking himself a man-grown, employs an impatient hand to push away silvery locks from his face. Aelix sat, solid and still and silent, pale and perfect, like all those who visibly bore Valyrian blood. He gazed at the wall blankly, like he always did when he was pretending not to be paying attention to everything around him. He’d wait here as long as he had to: either until his brother woke up, or he was chased out. Aelix knew he’d sit here all night if he had to. He’d gotten good at waiting. The prince waited out an entire war at home. He could wait a few more hours.


OOC:: I am sicker than a dog right now. I'm going to bed. I'll write more when I don't feel like I'm going to die.
Mar 3 2018, 06:12 AM
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precise, obsessive, loyal, quiet</div>
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This here is Aelix Targaryen: the youngest Prince (thus far). He was made the Commander of the City Watch during the war and the King (proud of what his son accomplished) allowed him to maintain that position. The death of his mother and the ice-cold of his dreams haunt his every night, and he lives each day burdened with a heavy heart. He worries about how he can protect everyone, especially from an enemy he has never seen anywhere except in his dreams. There was a period when he was very young where everyone wondered if he’d lost that infamous "coin toss" everyone likes to talk about, but age has matured him into an honorable young man who cares about others deeply. Perhaps too deeply. He hates anything that has to do with the Court or “Court Life” and will do whatever he can to avoid having to watch the pampered version of a "dog fight". Aelix is still a bit particular compared to some of his siblings, as well as peculiar, but he can be reigned in by those closest to him. He is extremely driven to do whatever needs to be done, to the point where he can become slightly obsessive when it comes to even the littlest details to achieving his goals. He assigns his worth directly to his accomplishments and he does not want to take "second best" in anything when he knows he can "win". When he’s given something to do, he does everything in his power to achieve his goals. Short of an order from the King, there is nothing or no on that can stop him when he sets his mind upon something.
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Friends will be few and far between. He was a loner as a child, and is still kind of a loner. His position as Commander of the City Watch will have introduced him to more soldiers and more people, so hopefully fellow soldiers will come to view him as an ally that they can "corrupt" or introduce to "fun". Aelix would be extraordinarily loyal to whomever will put the effort to actually get to know the young Prince without wanting something (anything) from him in return. He loves the people, loves serving his King and the Kingdom. He loves his family, directly or indirectly related to him, and takes comfort in the knowledge that he will one day serve his half-brother Aegon as King and his sister Visenya as Queen.
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I am near positive he’s angered people in the past, either as the angry child he once was growing up, through the people he was forced to “subdue” during the riots, anyone who threatens King’s Landing and Westeros, and anyone who is an enemy of his family. ... Basically anyone who threatens the status-quo is considered an enemy in Aelix's book. He desires peace, but that is almost an abstract thought for him. He fully understands that sometimes force is necessary to accomplish peace. And Aelix has a dragon who is more than happy to shed a little blood for the sake of said "peace". Also ... Anyone who has even a niggling thought in their brain to flat out eliminating Andracarr (Aelix's dragon) is due for a short, brutal death that Aelix will seek forgiveness from his father only after he is done with you. Andracarr holds a gigantic piece of his soul. To kill his dragon would be to kill him. Aelix would burn the world down before he would that happen.
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Lovers? Nonexistent. I imagine he’s kissed a couple girls in the past, never getting beyond a fondle here or there, but nothing ever beyond that. He’s very concerned about his family’s reputation and would hate to bring shame to the Targaryen family. I've also always, personally, figured that, as he is the youngest Prince, girls might have used him for “target practice” so they could get closer to his other brothers rather than actually being interested in Aelix himself. Once he figured that nonsense out, he wiped his hands clean of all of them. He does not trust women to look at him and see just him: Aelix. So that created his opinion that it is unwise to bother with girls until his father decides on a betrothal, that way whomever is chosen would be interested in him and not one of his siblings (oh, that poor, naive boy). As of right now, the plan is to eventually get Margaery Tyrell and Aelix Targaryen betrothed and married. Aelix does not believe in extramarital affairs, so any child he would have would be born by Marg alone. Little does he know that there are other women from across the Narrow Sea that have their eyes set upon the youngest Prince. At the very least, the future should be interesting.
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Feb 24 2018, 03:41 PM
Aelix had woken with one hell of a splitting headache this morning. He wakes most mornings these days with a splitting headache. Sometimes he wakes, as he did this morning, with nonsense syllables and strings of meaningless words echoing in his aching skull. The words were all clickety-clack-sounding, like children making up vowel-heavy clicking noises as though to find the right number of syllables for an old, long-since forgotten war song, but they seemed to mean something in those painful seconds before he comes fully awake. The prince feels mentally exhausted all the time now. Sometimes the only thing keeping the Targaryen out of bed to face each new day was that blue flame burning in his chest. The more tired and empty and sad he was, the hotter and fiercer that flame burned. He knows it’s not simply some metaphor for his determination. Nor was it optimism. That blue flame in his chest is the core fo his conviction that he would do whatever he had to. Anything. He’s beginning to think that, at seventeen, he’s right at the cusp between being weary and wanting to live forever.

In his dreams, Aelix feels like he is swimming in a white sea beneath a white sky in a world of white snow. Though he could feel the ground beneath his feet in these dreams as he slogs his way through the cold, he never could catch a glimpse of it under the enduring white torrents cast down upon him. Disorientation was an unremitting threat in the bleached land of his dreams. The baleful wind shrieked without cease, blew snow in his face, and forced him to bow his head. It had shoved him off his feet more than once and had become almost as real an adversary as any other he’d been pitted against before. He cursed the wind as though it could hear him. Instead of soft flakes, the snow was coming down in sharp-edged crystals, almost like grains of sand. The wind drove hard enough to sting his eyes, nose, ears ... it seemed so real in those moments that, if he wasn’t waking in a cold sweat, he wakes shivering with the phantom cold.

He slipped out of his bed and dressed in the faint light that poured in through the solar. A sleek, crimson doublet, a black cloak with the three-headed dragon stitched onto his back in a matching shade of red that he pulled together with a simple broach in silver, and a pair of soft, black riding boots. Shoving his fingers through his hair to get it under some semblance of control was always difficult, but he believes he’s gotten all the knots out of it at the very least. He walks out the door and into the hallway before he can rationalize his desire to see his mother’s favorite garden in the Red Keep away. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return and prepare for the rest of the day; with Tyrion Lannister’s trial rapidly approaching, securing the city had become a near obsession for the Aelix. So rough mornings like the last grated even more than usual, made him tense and angry and anxious, made him eager for the respite that the garden provided; he flatly ignored everything and everyone else around him as he walked through the halls and down stairs. Luckily, it was so early that the only faces he glimpsed where those of the servants.

When the young prince finally arrived, he paused a moment to breathe in the fresh air before he walks through the archway. Aelix remembered coming out here with his mother when he was very young. The former queen used to say that it was healthy for a prince to get outside beneath the sun, and she’d coax him into staying without putting up a fight by, and telling him stories. So he’d sit there bathed in sunlight, his fingers idly petting Muna’s fur, or playing with the blue petals of the winter roses - content as he so rarely was as his mother read to him, or spun her tales from memory. Even though she was gone, he’d still return whenever he could, especially when he was experiencing another rough morning. So there he was, beneath a beautiful morning sun, with dew clinging to his fingertips from flowers buds he examined, walking unhurried through the paths. Slowly, he felt himself unwind and relax. It was hard to be stressed when surrounded by so much beauty.

Aelix could not say how long he lingered before he heard a soft sound behind him. Curious, he turned, but instead of the servant or soldier he was expecting, it was a woman. Blinking placidly, as though that would make her disappear, she did not, in fact, do so. “My Lady,” he began, facing her fully. It was difficult; to focus around the spongy ache still residing in his temple, to choose the right words and remember to say them aloud. Almost no one, save members of his family, would come to this garden anymore, except out of morbid curiosity. “Perhaps I can assist you. You appear to be lost.” The prince was unfailingly polite, but he stands at stiff attention with his hands held firmly behind his back. He did not recognize the young woman, but he spent so much time avoiding court that that was hardly a surprise anymore; he hadn’t had this much interaction with the court since before the war ... the Lannister trial was certainly becoming a nuisance.
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