#› thoros of myr ╱ ic

[knightsickness]

thoros’ ‘some knights are dark and full of terror’ joke is made funnier by him being aware brienne doesnt know anything about r’hllor and won’t understand that its a pun. that one’s just for him and the reader

[volukyrja]

Hanged man

[jaydeewis]

“We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch us. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches, that keep the savage dark at bay.”

[wodania]

New poll time!

Does betting your money mean you think your man (or lady) is going to win? No! Sometimes it’s just funny to bet on the person people least expect to win. Do not fight each other, this is not a melee tourney.

[vrshxw]

Vengeance.

Sandor Clegane x fem!Martell!OC

Fucking a stranger while being held prisoner by the Brotherhood Without Banners wasn't Adora Martell's brightest idea.

warnings: sexual content (piv), slight!irrelevant!bondage

word count: 1.2k

A/N:!this is only the first chapter of my ongoing fanfic on wattpad (vrshxw), so for additional content check it there!

The small ray of sun that glistened through the cracks of the wooden caravan was the only thing that kept her sane. It was a hope, a reminder of the freedom she had and could reclaim.

The time spent locked away was measured by the strained, drunk voices of the Brotherhood, mainly Thoros'. As long as the sun was still shining he was chirping and groaning and humming. A not so foreign want to smash her head against the filthy wood of the caravan crept in again and again until he went to sleep. But even then, the bastard will start moaning and bluffing.

Adora could only wait patiently and enjoy some of the only moments of silence she'll get until the thieves finished their meal. She only ate during supper, enough to survive and be able to sleep without having a growling stomach and the Brotherhood quickly realised that after some failed attempts to shove food up her throat, thinking she'd starve herself.

The small door suddenly opened, pulling her out of thought. A couple of hysterical laughs were loudly audible, as she heard them throwing some other cursed soul in. "We have found you a friend, princess!" The archer's comment brought an even scowl to her figures.

And then, it was dark a quiet again. The new companion was silent as fuck, not even moving from the place in which the thieves put him. Adora cleared her throat, trying to get some reaction out of him. A man it seemed he was, a voluminous man, by the struggle of the Brotherhood to get him in. What kind of man his size let some cunts like them to capture him? She was dying to get the bag off her head and see him. The tight ropes around her and the smelly bag on her head that caused more grease to appear in her hair were the aftermath of a failed attempt of escaping. Damn the archer! If it wasn't for him she'd be far already. But no, he had to fire his arrow right into her already too weakened calf. The wound was long forgotten, one of their pathetic excuse of a healer made sure to add some salve on and bind it with rags. That was several weeks ago, months maybe, she was sure it was healed, however she couldn't test it due to the bindings around her.

She cleared her throat again, louder this time, bored by the man's quiet nature. After some minutes of listening to his even breath that reeked of cheap ale, Adora finally realised that he was unconscious. She huffed loudly, the first sound she let out for some good days.

Was it a couple of hours? Or just mare minutes? The dornish princess couldn't say. The man finally moved, letting out a hoarse groan.

He attempted to move, and only after he tried he realised that there were ropes that bound his whole body tightly.

A bitter voice laughed at him.

His eyes travelled in the dark of the caravan to catch the glimpse of the figure of a woman. Her binds were matching his, however she had a bag over her head, that prevented her from seeing his face.

The man's gaze continued to scan his surroundings, only finding unknown, the small ray of sun on the roof that allowed the smallest amount of light in showing him just that.

"Lost?" The woman's mocking voice stopped his gazing around. It was almost like her stare could burn through the bag on her head, allowing her to see every one of his chaotic moves, that ideed signaled that he was confused.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked, thankful she couldn't see the look on his face, because if she did she would've seen a perplexed idiot.

He could feel the woman's smirk under her bag. "Someone not very differed from yourself"

The man let out a sound that could be classified as a laugh, even though it was more like a sneer. "I doubt that"

Her nostrils flared "You might be right actually, I could never stink the way you do"

He scoffed at her response, yet finding it quite appealing. He was need of a bath indeed. He could tell the woman also haven't got the chance to bathe in a while, but it was clearly not as bad as in his case.

"You don't know what I'd give for a bath" He grumbled, now paying a precise attention to the smell of his sweat.

"And perhaps a maiden or two to massage your shoulders as you do so, I take it?" She rose a brow inside the dullnes of her bag, her tone obvious, familiar to the nature of men.

"I might make you to do so, you seem quite content with it" He straightened his posture, stretching his tired bones.

She let out a 'hmph', tilting her head. "Well, I am quite entertaining"

The corner of his lip twitched. "Bet you are." For the first time he took his time to check her out and analyse every inch of her.

Feeling his deep stare, she crawled closer to him as fast as she could due to the ropes. She stopped next to him, bringing her chest forward. He somehow twisted is hand in the bindings and made a move to grip her arse.

She let out a faint chuckle, understating he had the same desires-no, desperations as her.

It was plain that neither of them had the chance to fulfil their needs. He took advantage of the fact that she wasn't able to see his face. She might be the only woman who fucked him wiggly, except the older whores that would fuck any man without remorse, but still they were paid whores and she was a willing woman for all he knew.

She ended up in his lap, undoing her breeches as his hands were tied behid his back unable to move, leaving all the word to be done by her.

Both of them groaned feeling her grind against him before succeeding to slip inside her with an even guttural moan. Her shoulders were pressed against his armoured chest, leaning on it to help herself ride him with the lack of balance the ropes around her legs gave her.

Adora found herself letting sounds loud enough for the members of the Brotherhood outside to hear them, the rough slapping of her bottom on him, along with his groans there and there. A faint headache would root at the level of her head from all the noise she was doing, as she felt herself tightening around him, but it was good, not only because she was close to her peak, but because it felt like revenge, like those thieves outside were paying for it with their ears falling off and unsuccessful curses.

And she continued to do so, until she, herself was tired of the vengeful sounds she was making.

read future chapters on wattpad

[bookgendrya]

She looked at their filthy hair and scraggly beards and reddened eyes, at their dry, cracked, bleeding lips.[…]The water splashed across her fingers and down her sleeve, but Arya did not move until the cup was brimming over. When she turned back towards the cages the townsman moved to stop her. “You get away from them, boy-“ “She’s a girl,” said Harwin. “Leave her be” “Aye” said Lem. “Lord Beric don’t hold with caging men to die of thirst. Why don’t you hang them decent?”

Her face throbbed. Her shoulder bled. Breathing hurt. The pain crackled up her arm like lightening. She cried out for a maester. “We have no maester,” said a girls voice. “Only me.” […] “She can’t go much further. She’ll die.” “One less lion. I won’t weep.”

“You stand accused of murder, but no one here knows the truth or falsehood of the charges, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by battle.” The Hound frowned suspiciously, as if he did not trust his ears. “Are you a fool or a madman?” “Neither, I am a just lord. Prove your innocence with a blade, and you shall be free to go.”

At the hollow hill, what you said about being King Robert’s men, and brothers, I like that. I like that you gave the Hound a trial. Lord Bolton just hanged folk or took off their heads, Lord Tywin and Ser Amory were the same. I’d sooner smith for you.”

“…till you stand before m’lady.” Renly stood behind the girl, pushing hair out of his eyes. Not Renly, Gendry. “M’lady means for you to answer for your crimes.”

“Whatever treachery you think I may have done, my lady, Podrick and Ser Hyle were no part of it.” “They’re lions,” said the one-eyed man. “That’s enough. I say they hang. Tarly’s hanged a score o’ ours, past time we strung up some o’his.”

[silverflameataraxia]

Arya hoping the brotherhood without banners rescues her from the Hound and they're either not looking for her or they just haven't found her yet 😭😭

There's no way across, she thought. Lord Beric will catch us for sure. Clegane had pushed his big black stallion hard, doubling back thrice to throw off pursuit, once even riding half a mile up the center of a swollen stream...but Arya still expected to see the outlaws every time she looked back. She had tried to help them by scratching her name on the trunks of trees when she went in the bushes to make water, but the fourth time she did it he caught her, and that was the end of that. It doesn't matter, Arya told herself, Thoros will find me in his flames. Only he hadn't. Not yet, anyway, and once they crossed the river...

- Arya IX, ASoS

[lego-asoiaf-fan-minifigs]

Thoros of Myr and Anguy the Archer, members of the Brotherhood without Banners

Here's my LEGO adaptation of alexandrokayart's Thoros and Anguy fanarts, linked below

Thoros:

Anguy

[siravalondulac]

xiv. songs connect me to my people

a heart so golden, a sun so bright

asoiaf ff | fem!oc centric

summary: elle meets the people who worship her word count: 2119 warnings: none author's note: final part of the "brotherhood arc"

masterlist

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She had expected much and more when Beric Dondarrion had told her to follow him, but to be taken to a cave entrance on the side of a hill was not amongst that.

Thoros approached her with a piece of fabric, moving behind her to lay it over her eyes.

“Do you not trust me?” She winced as strands of her hair got pulled into the knot.

“Just a precaution.”

He laid a hand on her back and pushed her forward.

She hated, hated, hated losing her sight. Oberyn had tried to blindfold her during training a handful of times, and she had always ripped the fabric off after just a few minutes. She had been trapped in darkness before - she would not let it happen again.

But she played nice this time. At least there was some light soaking through to her eyes. Not that that made the steep descent any easier. She stumbled over roots and stones and bumps in the ground, and Thoros had to grab her waist to keep her from falling more than once.

“Didn't know the great Paladin would be so uneasy on her feet.”

She huffed. “Usually, I am able to see-”

The blindfold was suddenly removed from her eyes, revealing the enormous cave before her. Its walls and floors were covered by white roots, with a fire burning in its middle and colouring the ceiling above it black.

Yet more curiously, there were people here, and quite a lot at that. She saw men, women, and children, chattering, working, going about their day. It looked… peaceful.

“What is this place?”

“Welcome to Hollow Hill,” Beric said. “What started out as our base quickly transformed into a refuge for anyone who needed it. Stark, Lannister, Baratheon - all those names mean nothing here.”

“It is wonderful.” Her gaze wandered across the cave. “But I still do not understand why you brought me here.”

Beric smirked. “They sing your songs at night.”

“What?”

“That is how we learned of you,” Anguy, one of the Brotherhood's archers, said. “Thought you were a myth at first, but then people arrived who claimed to have met you personally.”

“At this point,” Beric continued, “your mere existence gives them hope.”

The news of her arrival had spread like wildfire amongst the people, and soon after, the singing had started. A woman had brought out a fiddle and another a lute - not that either of those could be heard above the plethora of voices.

She had never even heard of half of the songs, and yet she had also never felt this good. Dancing at festivities, singing with the people around her, with no manners or rules to tie her down. She could be around whomever she wanted and talk to whomever she wanted.

A frog had called for a celebration

Of the victory over his people

Little did he know

It would all turn sour

The moment he’d let go of his arrow

For a hero had arrived

Determined to end his rule of terror

No matter the cost

She entered the tourney

Unseen by all

And with her golden curls swaying about

She threw her dagger

And buried it into his heart

They sang her songs, just like Beric had said, each and every one that was known to these people. Putting her at the centre of attention - in more ways than one.

Perhaps she was taken

By the king's enemies

Dragons, Snakes, or even the Others

Perhaps she was mistaken

For a lone orphan child

And sent to one of the brothels

Songs about her disappearance had even reached Dorne while she had been living there. After an initial scare that this could mean she could be found, she had started to like them. A lot. She had memorised each and every line to every song about herself she had access to, and sung them loudly at festivities. Oberyn had loved it, Doran… not so much.

Yet the people also sang songs she did not know what to feel about.

He sits alone on a giant throne

Pretendin' he's the king

A little tyke who's rather like

A puppet on a string

Too late to be known as Joff’ the First

He's sure to be known as Joff’ the Worst

A pox on that phoney king of West’ros!

This was her brother they were singing about. Her brother whom they were insulting. Sure, she had not seen him in years, nor heard anything substantial about him - besides what little Jon had mentioned - but she could not forget their childhood. He had been her only friend in the Keep, that had to count for something. Yet now, as she heard what these people said about him…

She’d been away for too long.

Whatever. Didn’t matter. They were in King’s Landing, she was here.

“Who is that up there?” she asked Harwin, pointing towards a lone figure sitting far up on the roots.

“That’s Arya Stark of Winterfell.” He laughs at her shocked expression. “I know, I know. But I remember her from my own service to her father, so you can trust me on this.”

She stared at her. “I met her brother.”

Oh no, oh no - why had she said this? She couldn’t just mention Jon like that! And in such a simple sentence as well.

“Which one?”

Should she expand on this? She could just walk away, leaving Harwin deadly confused. But that was not who she was.

“Her- Her half-brother.”

“Ah, Jon Snow. I remember him. Fine young lad.”

She quickly left his presence, making her way over to the other side of the cave. Climbing the roots, she ignored Beric sitting on a throne-like chair in their midst (without fucking banners they said), and settled a short distance away from Arya. The girl stared at her in confusion.

“Harwin told me who you are,” she said. “I'm Elle.”

Arya studied her, likely evaluating whether she should run or stay.

“What happened to your face?”

“That?” She grazed her fingers over the wounds. Still not healed. “Animal attack. Nothing serious.”

“Did you kill it afterwards?”

“No. It was merely hurt, and lashed out at me. I freed it from its pain and sent it on its way.”

“I would have killed it.”

They fell into silence. Elle's gaze wandered across the cave, across all the dancing and singing figures, before settling on Arya again.

“Why are you not joining them?”

“Why should I?” She seemed almost offended. “I am a prisoner. Prisoners don’t dance.”

“Would you like to?”

“Yeah, sure. But that has never been my world, always only Sansa’s. I forced Jon to take lessons with us, so that I wasn’t so alone, but I don’t think I will ever fit into that.”

Thank the gods for Arya Stark.

“You look like him, you know?”

The girl suddenly went wide-eyed, whipping her head around to her. “Do you- Do you mean Jon? Have you met Jon? When? Where?”

Elle chuckled at her excitement. “I was at Castle Black before coming here, that’s when I saw him.”

“How was he? Did he talk about me?”

“He's doing well. We did not really get to talk much, so he only got to mention you.”

A lie. A blatant, faulty lie. But she didn't want to squander that hopeful look on the girl's face too much. Nor did she want to talk about him too much. She couldn’t talk about him too much, the pain of leaving him still too big.

“I wish I could see him again,” Arya said.

“Aye, me too.”

The girl stared at her again, and cocked her head. “Who are you exactly? Everyone seems to know you.”

“They don't, they just-” She laughed. “Have you heard of the Golden Paladin?”

“Yeah, I heard the Lannisters in Harrenhal talk about her… Wait, are you saying that's you?”

Elle nodded.

“With the way they talked about you I would have expected you to be more…”

“Evil?”

“Yeah.”

Elle pondered. “You were at Harrenhal?”

“Against my will,” she said as if in defence. “Me and my friends had been taken prisoner, and they forced us to serve them. Tywin Lannister took me as his cupbearer, and I was scared he was going to find me out, but I think he was too occupied with his generals.”

“Do you remember what they said about me specifically?”

“Not really. Just that you were a threat and needed to be dealt with.” She played around with the threads on her sleeve. “There was one man who said he was going to hunt you. That he - what was it? That he would use your love for the people against you.”

She looked at the festivities dispersed in the cave once again. All these people had already suffered so much through this pointless war - she could not bear to see them harmed. Attacking them to get to her… It was certainly the easiest way to get her to behave.

A group below them had struck up a song of their own. Elle tried to listen to the words, yet she couldn’t make them out.

“What are they singing?”

Arya scratched at the white bark beneath them. “Some song about wanting to go home but not being able to. It’s in the Old Tongue, that’s why you don’t understand it.”

Griechischer Wein ist so wie das Blut der Erde

Komm, schenk dir ein

Und wenn ich dann traurig werde, liegt es daran

Dass ich immer träume von daheim, du musst verzeih'n

Denn ich fühl' die Sehnsucht wieder, in dieser Stadt

Werd' ich immer nur ein Fremder sein und allein

She slowly made her way through the crowd. How they were still able to go about their singing at such a volume was a mystery to her.

Sitting towards a cave wall was Thoros, staring into a fire. She had seen him throughout the entire night singing and drinking (a mad priest was one thing, but a drunkard, mad priest?), and decided to join him by the small fire.

“I cannot see you in my flames,” Thoros said. “When I ask the lord to show me anything of you, all I see is a dark void.”

“Perhaps my gods shield me from yours.”

He laughed, and took a swig of his bottle. “You don't think much of R'hllor.”

“My gods have never betrayed me. I feel little need to abandon them at this time.”

Again, that quiet laugh. “You'll see. You'll see.”

A change in song. She was unfamiliar with the tune echoing throughout the cave, so she tried to listen closer. And she truly wished she hadn't.

It was not as with the Northern song, where she truly had not understood the words - this time, she understood each and every one. Yet she could not make sense of what they meant.

“What-” She had to swallow. “What are they singing about?”

“Huh?” Thoros looked up in confusion. “Oh, that? That's about the queen's affair with her twin brother.”

Her heart stopped.

“What?” she whispered.

“Haven't you heard? All the queen's children are bastards, born of incest. It's why Stannis and Renly think they have a claim to the throne.”

Bastards. Incest.

“Are you- Are you certain? This is a serious accusation.”

“Oh, yeah. I am. You only had to look at them. Not a drop of old Robert's blood inside those kids.”

Later on, once she had excused herself, she found a small pond in one of the tunnels. Putting up a torch beside it, she stared at herself.

Her hair was her mother’s - it was what she remembered her by. And if she truly concentrated on her memories, she could see how she had gotten her build from her as well. The king had been big and intimidating, her mother lithe and graceful. Just like her. And just like her uncle.

Only her eyes were her own.

The king had never cared about her, she had known that even before she had run away. He had looked the other way when she had talked, had preferred his drinks over her, had never once been concerned when she had gone exploring. Perhaps he had not wanted a daughter - he did pay at least a sliver of attention to Joffrey - or perhaps he had known deep down.

Her uncle had cared. A lot. He had been her constant companion, always encouraging her interests, the only one able to find her whenever she had disappeared into the city. He cared about her more than a normal uncle should.

Her mother’s necklace hung before her, the golden lion glinting in the water.

Jaime was her father.

She buried her face in her hands.

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[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

Previous Next

Chapter Thirty

Fraye can't believe Sandor isn't putting up more of an arguement. He agreed so quickly to fight Beric. She almost hates him for it.

The large fire pit in the middle of the cave shines bright. It's  warm enough to make her injured skin tingle.

She watches Thoros stare into the fire.

"Lord, cast your light upon us.", he says.

"Lord of Light, defend us.", all the Brotherhood say in unison.

Fraye's heartbeat quickens as Anguy unties Sandor.

She watches him roll his shoulders and straighten out his armor.

"Show us the truth. Strick this man down if he is guilty. Give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom. For the night is dark and full of terrors.", Thoros preaches.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors.", the Brotherhood repeats.

Someone hands Fraye a sword and she walks up to him, handing it to him.

"Please. I'd appreciate it if you lived.", she tells him.

He takes the sword.

"Just stay back and don't interfere. You aren't ready to fight yet... I don't go down easily so don't worry your pretty head.", he tells her, leaning down to kiss her forehead and give her a small glimpse of the Sandor she's used to.

She nods, forcing herself to move away from him.

Fraye gasps when Beric's sword ignites into a wild blaze of fire. Fear runs through her. She looks at Sandor and sees fear. She's never seen this kind of fear in him before.

Someone hands Sandor a shield and he twirls the sword around his hand, readying himself.

They both suddenly charge at each other. Sandor lunging for him but Beric dodges it. Everything moves so fast for Fraye's eyes as their swords clink together.

Fraye watches people scurry out of the way as their swords barrel through the air, knocking down everything in their paths.

Sandor knocks Beric in the shoulder, almost causing him to lose balance. He regains it quickly, twirling his torched sword through the air and stricking Sandor's sword without missing a beat.

Irritation runs through Sandor as Beric is able to handle every blow so far. Anger takes over and Sandor lunges his sword once more, missing as Beric ducks under. Fraye watches as Sandor tries again, only landing a blow to his opponent's wooden shield.

Fraye thinks of running toward Sandor when she sees Beric knock him into a lit fire.

Sparks fly and Sandor yells.

"No!", Fraye yells moving to run after him.

She's grabbed by two men, forcing her to stay put.

"Please! You can't let him burn!", she pleads with them.

"I'm sorry M'lady but his life is in the hands of the Lord. We can't interfere.", one says to her.

Sandor angrily emergers unharmed and kicks away the vases on the dirt floor that lay in his way. Beric and Sandor clink swords once more and Beric twists around, knocking Sandor to his knees.

He's quick to recover, turning around and blocking Beric's sword.

Back on his feet, Sandor barrels his way toward Beric, throwing blow after blow at him. Beric doesn't seem phased and returns the attack, throwing equal blows and knocking Sandor to his back.

Fraye holders her breath as Beric lands a hard blow to Sandor's shield, lighting it a blaze.

Sandor shoots up off the ground, trying to fight off Beric.

Fraye can see the anguish in his eyes as he tries to put out the fire. Slashing at it with his sword is no use and rage takes hold of him.

Fraye tries to fight the men holding her. Pleading with them to let go.

They refuse, holding her so tightly they dig into her wounds.

He fights Beric with all his might.

Everyone around Fraye starts to chant, "Guilty! Guilty! Guilt!"

She even hears Arya screaming, "Kill him!".

It makes Fraye's ears ring. She can feel herself start to breathe heavier and her whole body starts to shake.

The only sound bringing her back down is Sandor's battle cry.

•○•◇•○•♡•○•◇•○•

Sandor breathes heavily as he pulls his sword from Beric's shoulder. He falls to the ground, remembering the heat surrounding his arm.

He can feel panic set in. He hits at the ground hard, doing anything he can to exstinguish the flame. Childhood memories flash through his head of his brother. His whole body shakes with fear.

He doesn't even realize Fraye is next to him until she's got the shield off of him. He looks up at her and sees worry in her eyes. Seeing her face, grounds him.

He remembers where they are and turns his head just in time to see Arya Stark running at him. Her friend tackles her to the ground and Sandor finds himself laughing at the twisted fate. He killed Beric and the girl didn't manage any revenge.

He thinks their god is nothing but horse shit.

"Looks like their god likes me more than your butcher's boy.", Sandor laughs, taking in more deep breaths.

He leans his head back and feels Fraye again.

He closes his eyes for a small moment as Fraye cups his face in her soft hands.

"Are you alright?", she asks him.

He opens his eyes and looks at her. She is frantically searching his body for wounds.

He nods, turning on his side and spitting a bit of blood from his mouth.

She leans down and kisses his forehead, her touch calming Sandor's racing heart.

The "Burn in hell!", Arya yells at Sandor fading in the background.

The feeling of Fraye's touch and love is more holy than any God to Sandor.

Their focused is pulled from each other as they hear Beric speak.

"He will. But not today."

Confusion runs through both of their heads when they see him alive as if Sandor didn't just put his sword clean through him.

[a-fire-of-ice]

I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way.

But never before had I felt a dead man shudder as the fire filled him, nor seen his eyes come open.

gay people will literally recreate snow white before admitting their feelings

[mattyalwayssmokesweed]

Modern Setting AU where the Starks find out where Arya is because she keeps posting selfies with Sandor and the Brotherhood without Banners on Snapchat

[g0lightly]

Speaking of musicals that i think inspired asoiaf … Thoros and Beric are a bit like Grantaire and Enjolras from Les Misérables! A leader of a vigilante group serving the underclass amid a corrupt monarchy and his totally-not-boyfriend who drinks too much who’s with him when he dies? GRRM i know what you are (theater kid)

The BWB in general reminds me of Les Amis de l��ABC (in French sounds like “friends of the debased” aka friends of lower classes). I like to think that the tunnels in the weirwood cave at the hollow hill might be like a version of the Paris sewers in future plots with the brotherhood. I also think there’s some clear Jean Valjean imagery happening with Sandor at the Quiet Isle.

The name “Riverrun” always made me think of these lyrics from the song introducing Les Amis (Red and Black) and sometimes I wonder if it’s not a coincidence:

Students, workers, everyone There's a river on the run Like the flowing of a tide Paris coming to our side!

Considering that the Freys hold Riverrun... super interesting to consider in the context of a possible Red Wedding 2.0.

There are also some other lyrics in the song that make me think of the bloodshed in the riverlands -- be it the WOT5K or the Red Wedding -- as well as the long night in the context of in-universe history:

Red – the blood of angry men Black – the dark of ages past Red – a world about to dawn Black – a night that ends at last!

He's posted on NotABlog about seeing musicals before, so... maybe he's not inspired by Dune but I do think he was inspired by Les Mis!

[inlovewithquotes]

"And justice? Can that be found in caves?"

"Justice." Thoros smiled wanly. I remember justice. It had a pleasant taste. Justice was what we were about when Beric led us, or so we told ourselves. We were king's men, knights, and heroes......but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all."

-A Feast For Crows

[aegon6targaryen]

AO3 - Of Kings and Bastards - 5

Here we have the next Midjourney-images for the characters in my fanfic Of Kings and Bastards. This time, we see the red priests Melisandre and Thoros. Melisandre of Asshai:

Sadly, the choker with the glowing ruby around her throat is missing, but I do like the rest. :-)

Thoros of Myr:

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Part XXVII: Sansa II

Drawing Every Named Character in A Song of Ice and Fire

By Alejandro Kay

Chapter I: Prologue

Chapter II: Bran I