#Dornish Queen Jewelry

[dornish-queen]

This will be available later today on my Etsy store. Please check the Etsy store in a few hours.

Dornish Queen Jewelry

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hey dear! I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if I could get a imagine/oneshot Daemon x wife!poc fem Reader (dornish maybe?) inspired by "jhute ilzaam" by Umrao jaan, please? (with happy ending) feel free to ignore.

AN- I loved it! Thanks for the ask sweetie. Hope you find it as per your liking.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading

False Accusations

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

Summary- And sometimes false accusations end with a beautiful evening...

Tag List- @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenx, @instabul, @shine101, @hyacinthus007, @mcam623, @eudximoniakr, @carissa_griffin7777, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @deltamoon666, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @savagemickey03, @sunmoon-01, @literishdegree99, @watercolorskyy, @Lady-Juliettes, @cherryaemond, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @nats-whore

Warnings- Tooth-rooting fluff and it gets steamy at a point. Implied smut.

GIF Credits to @thelekhikawrites

Kaun kisko yaha bhala samajha

Humne kya samajha tumne kya samajha

"Do what I hear is right?" The Dornish princess asked, her fingers combing through her dark tresses. Her dark eyes gazed accusingly at her husband who seemed not fazed by her statement, casual as always.

Instead, the Rogue Prince drew closer to her, like a moth to burning fire. His long fingers caressed the dusky skin of her shoulder; the thread of her heavy necklace sat sternly on the bare skin, barely grazing the rough padding of his digits.

"And what do you hear, my little sun?" He called dearly, fingers running down to the thread which held her translucent nightwear together. "Now, that you are here, make some work on the threads of the necklace."

With a roll of his eyes, Daemon started to carefully undo the knots holding one of the symbolic representation of the riches of House Martell of Dorne. But whilst his pursues, he observed the little frown shadowing over her face.

"What has stolen the smile of your face, beloved?" He asked, once all the knots were undone and the jewelry was placed carefully on her vanity. His fingers massaging the muscles of her tensed shoulder.

"Queen Alicent had decided to enlighten me upon a particular... interest of yours," she said, her teeth sinking into her lower lip while her hands slapped his hands off.

"Which one?" Daemon asked with a frown tugging over his eyebrows. His hands crossed over his chest; eyes skimming over his lady wife; his little sun; his Dornish princess.

"Were you in an intimate relation with Rhaenyra?"

The prince was left in a deep silence; his eyes boring deep into her brown irises which resembled the drenched soil after the arrival of first rain; the earthen warmth they held were lost as tears welled up in them.

"Were you, Daemon?"

Of course he was. How could the prince forget it. But that was before (Y/N) came in his life; dancing and singing like one of the angels from the heaven, with hair so dark that they could challenge the Maiden herself.

Her smile which brightened up his entire life; making him forget about the misery of his life and drown in the rain of love she showered over him.

"I was."

"And does the relationship still exist?"

The hope in her eyes resembled the flame of a burning candle; little but bright. Her pink lips resembled the petals of the softest rose. Her skin like gold; or the beautiful colour of tea she makes when he couldn't sleep.

"No."

"And how shall I accept that it isn't a lie?"

Daemon chuckled, his hands guiding her to stand up. Forcing her to face him, to look into his violet eyes with her dark ones. In her eyes, he saw in them the childlike stubbornness and with them was love.

"What can I do to make you believe it?"

Meri aankho me jo achhe nahi lagte aansu

Toh jalaya na karo mujhko sataya na karo

"I hate it when you cry," he whispers, cupping her cheek as his fingertip massaged the muscles beneath her eyes, softly with great care. "Then don't make me cry then," she replied in an equally low voice, the stubbornness leaking through her voice.

"Apologies, my love," he says, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the corner of her lips. The sharp intake of breath pleased the prince as he retracted his face only a few inches.

"Apologize better," (Y/N) argued, turning around with her arms folded in front of her. Her eyes focused over the reflection of herself and her now smirking husband, who only stepped closer to her, towering over her petite stature.

"I. Hate. Tears. In. Your. Beautiful. And. Erotic. Eyes."

Each word was accentuated by a kiss, starting from her shoulder to her neck. The shiver which ran down her spine excited him.

"Stop the seduction," she hissed, eyes widening as she took a few steps away from her prideful husband, unconsciously moving towards the bed she shared with her lord husband.

Daemon only huffed a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he stepped closer to her; like a predator hunting it's prey in the quiet of a dense forest.

"Those are just another false accusations, ñuha byka vēzos," (My little sun) Daemon said, his fingers slowly crawling over the expanse of his broad chest, undoing the ties which hold the black tunic together, slow as a turtle.

"It hurts me, Daemon," she whispers with a bite on her lower lip, blinking her lashes to prevent the fall of her tears.

Jhute iljaam meri jaan lagaya na karo

Dil hai najuk ise tum aise dukhaya na karo

"These false accusations hurts my weak heart as well, my lady love," Daemon admits, exposing his lean chest to the hungry eyes of his wife. His tunic was left abandoned on the floor, while his finger grazed the covered skin of her side, just below her bossom.

"My lord, I was just... scared to lose you."

"You would never lose me, my sunshine."

His lips touched the smooth skin of her collarbone, a small hum of pleasure leaving the throat of the exotic beauty he was fortunate enough to marry. The little moan had him growling; his teeth biting the skin below her ear softly.

"Daemon, please."

The smirk on his face grew, his fingers finding home on her waist. Her dark brown locks touching his rough fingers, a soft touch like a mother's to her little child.

"Lets remove the false accusations from your mind."

[farity]

Mistaken Identity, part 2

OG story.

I really wasn't going to do a part 2, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

The palace was a whirl of activity, with servants carrying furnishings and linens to the guest suite. You watched, amused, from one of the many balconies surrounding the main garden.

Tomorrow, Aemond Targaryen would arrive in Dorne along with his brother the king and their mother the dowager queen. It had been a few months since your own visit to King's Landing, and the thought of him made your breath hitch every single time.

You sank into your perfumed bath, your attendants brushing various oils into your hair. Your skin had been scraped and anointed into perfection, the various jewelries and gowns you would wear during the visit set up in your dressing room. You waited for Aemond to arrive in less than a day.

* * * * *

It took him less than a heartbeat to find her. There was none other with her beauty and poise, and she stood next to her brother as he welcomed them all into the Old Palace.

"We are delighted to receive King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, to Sunspear!"

Aemond nodded at the Prince but his eye soon turned to her, and found her watching him. Her dark eyes closed as she sank into a curtsey and he felt the same pull of lust that consumed him whenever he thought of her.

The Prince of Dorne walked up to Aegon and his mother while he could only focus on her. She walked up to him, a small smile on her face. "Prince Aemond, it is good to see you again," she said softly, offering her hand.

He took it, kissing it gently before looking up at her. "I am delighted to see you again, Princess."

They were all soon ushered into the dining hall, a large expanse with clusters of heavily embroidered floor pillows scattered about. Servants stood around the perimeter with large fans.

"We must do something about your clothes, Prince Aemond," she said, and Aemond nearly choked on the drink he'd been handed. He turned to her and found her eyes sparkling with mischief. "We wear much lighter fabrics here in Dorne."

He was sitting on the floor, which was very odd, and he was sure his mother was quite uncomfortable, but Aegon had taken to it as if he was Dornish-born. His brother was happily reclining next to the Prince, picking at food from various small plates on the low table next to him.

"This is great," Aegon said, "maybe we should do away with all the furniture in the Red Keep."

"I am sure your mother would be delighted with that," the princess whispered next to him before taking a piece of fruit from the plate between them. He watched the orange fruit disappear between her lips and felt himself getting hard. It was good he still wore his heavier jacket for now.

"My mother would not approve of most of Aegon's choices."

She smiled and took a sip of her own drink. "We have made arrangements for clothing to be readied for all of you so you may be comfortable here. I took the liberty of selecting yours, I hope you approve of what I have chosen for you."

"I have something for you as well."

* * * * *

Aemond stared at the array of garments that had been made for him. He smiled when he realized all of them were made of various deep blue fabrics, some as dark as night, some with a grey tint to them. He ran a hand down the dragons embroidered along the edges of a silk jacket, the shape much like the ones worn by most of the men in the palace. There were linen tunics, so finely woven that light shone through when he lifted them up, loose trousers that he immediately wished he could wear during training sessions, and more jackets like the first one he'd looked at. There were also, and he shook his head when he saw them, several eye patches, some with silver thread embroidery in the shape of the Targaryen sigil, some plainer in darker hues.

She had planned this for a while. For him.

He walked into Aegon's rooms and found him slack-jawed, staring at a set of garments, and smiled to himself when he noticed they were not only fewer, but also less intricately detailed than the ones Aemond had received.

His mother came in then, in a glorious, green and gold gown, loose, airy layers of barely there fabric over a more demure underdress. She looked uncertain until Aegon, probably realizing that if she didn't like her Dornish garments, none of them would be wearing theirs, said, "you look wonderful, Mother."

Alicent smiled at her oldest son, "you should change, Aegon. These are really much more comfortable then our heavier fabrics."

Aemond went to his mother, took her hand, and made her take a turn, and for the first time in many years, saw a genuine smile on her face. "They suit you very well," he said, and kissed her hand.

* * * * *

You had made the palace seamstresses work day and night for the Targaryen visit, given them extra gold and free time when they were done, and as confident as you were in their skill and your taste, you were still nervous about seeing Aemond and his family, hoping they had liked everything.

"Princess."

You turned to see Aemond standing there, and your mouth fell open. The midnight blue jacket made his pale skin almost shimmer, and he wore the pale grey silk eye patch that matched the grey embroidery. You smiled.

"Am I acceptable?"

"You'll do," you said coquettishly.

He was holding something, a small parcel, and he walked closer. "I promised you something the last time I saw you." He offered the bundle and you took it and began opening it.

Inside was a gossamer-fine shift, so fine that you inhaled at the delicate beauty of it, and when you held it up by the shoulders, you saw the intricate embroidery and felt your face warm.

The three-headed dragon that was the sigil of House Targaryen was depicted in gold thread, two heads curling around where your breasts would be, the third one aiming lower, and you looked up at Aemond.

"I did promise I'd replace what I destroyed."

"It is beautiful."

It was almost time for dinner, and you knew you could not linger, but you walked up to Aemond and raised your mouth to his. "I have missed you."

He brushed his lips over yours, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You will wear it for me when you come to my rooms tonight." He turned around and left, and you took a few moments to compose yourself before placing the shift on your bed.

* * * * *

Dinner was endless. He was sitting across the table from her and as much as he would have loved to have stared at her incomparable beauty all evening, he knew someone would catch him and he couldn't risk it.

So he waited, through the endless toasts and endless courses of food. He glanced at her a couple of times and both times felt his heart squeeze in his chest. If he had ever written down the perfect person to have on his arm to represent his house as his wife, she would have met every single requirement.

Intelligent, for he could not abide simpletons; beautiful, of course, so he could gaze upon her in bed and enjoy himself; clever enough to know when to speak and when to keep her own counsel.

She was undaunted by his status as a prince of the realm, one of the ruling house, she had teased him from the moment she'd met him. And she was passionate, the way she surrendered into his arms and how she clung to him when they had been together. No prudish modesty for her, she gave all of herself to him and demanded the same. She met his fire with fire and demanded they burn together.

Finally, it was time to head back to their guest rooms and he bid goodnight to them all, including her, his manner the same with everyone in her family.

In his room, he stayed in the loose trousers he now liked, let the evening breeze cool his heated skin, when he heard the door open. He turned to find a servant bringing linens in. "Will there be anything else, Your Highness?"

"Thank you, no."

The servant bowed and left quietly, and he wondered if maybe she would not come to him. Perhaps she could not get away. Perhaps she wanted him to wait. Aemond sat on the chaise in the balcony, and closed his eye.

* * * * *

He awoke to the gentle caress of her fingertips on his cheek, opened his eye to find her next to him, and when he looked down he saw she wore only the shift he had given her.

"Am I acceptable?" she asked, a smile on her lips.

"You are breathtaking," he answered and pulled her to him.

She landed on his lap and he kissed her the way he had wanted to since he'd seen her earlier. Her mouth parted for him, the flower and honey scent of her filling his head as he tasted her. He ran his hand up her arm, speared his hand into her hair to hold her in place.

When he ended the kiss, she was breathless, her eyes dazed, and she wrapped her arms around his neck when he rose, carrying her back inside.

He placed her on the bed and shoved the shift up her thighs. Kissing the inside of her knee, he asked, "do you want to come on my tongue?"

"Yes."

He pushed her legs apart, licking his lips when he saw her already wet for him, and then buried his face between her thighs.

She moaned, letting her head fall back, and he slipped his hand up to her throat, fingers encircling the slim column and he felt her hips pulse against him. He worked her, the flat of his tongue sliding over her repeatedly until he felt her little whimpers grow in volume.

He pushed two fingers inside her, spreading them open, and she gasped. He curled his fingertips and she whined. He sucked her flesh into his mouth and her moan became a scream as she came, her thighs tensing as the lashings of pleasure tore through her.

He rode it out with her, not stopping until she started pulling his hair. Kneeling between her thighs, he ran a hand up her belly and between her breasts. "I want this off," he said, indicating the shift.

"Do not tear it apart," she smiled, rising on her elbows.

"I will unless you take it off this moment," he warned, and she laughed. "Although, I might have made a mistake."

She looked up at him. "What are you saying?"

Aemond ran his hand back down, pulling the shift down so the main dragon head was right between her legs. "I don't want another dragon's mouth near you."

Before she could react, he grasped the hem of the shift and ripped it in half.

"Aemond!"

"I'm the only one who shall taste you, Princess, or be anywhere near your delicious cunt." He looked back down at her, and grabbing his cock in his hand, began pushing inside her. "No one else."

She raised a hand to touch him and instead he grabbed both of hers, pinning them above her head as he began fucking her. "Say it. No one else."

Her eyes closed and he snapped his hips hard, making her gasp. "Fucking say it."

"Aem-" his name on her lips was cut off by another hard thrust, and he took her mouth instead, tongue delving inside her sweet warmth. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and when he let go of her hands she grabbed his face, delicate fingers caressing every sharp contour and every scarred inch.

She tore off the eye patch, tossing it away, still kissing him back, but he had to know, he needed the words, and he pulled back. "Say it."

Her eyes were on his, "no one else."

"Ever."

He was pushing her to another orgasm, and she was panting with need, and he slammed into her again, making her whimper.

"No one else," she repeated, "ever." Her hand ran down the scar on his face with such tenderness he felt hot tears begin to form.

He buried his face in her hair, holding her as he felt her start to flutter around him, as she clung to him and inhaled before she found her release and screamed. He let her take him with her, accepting his need of her, his desperate want of her.

When he finally opened his eye again, he realized she had been caressing his hair and turned to kiss her palm. "Marry me."

"Aemond." His name was but a breeze on her lips.

"Marry me. I don't give a shit about uniting the realms or whatever political bullshit happens. I want you. Marry me."

She smiled. "I do not think I fit in in your pious, quiet court."

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. "Princess, I have never belonged anywhere. And yes, I can marry the quiet, pious girl who will give me children and not-"

"What is her name?"

He turned at the ferocity in her voice to find her eyes fixed on him. "No one. There's no one." He didn't tell her about Floris Baratheon, whom his mother had at the top of her list for him, and the thought of her being jealous over some hypothetical bride-to-be made him smile to himself.

She placed her head back down on his chest. "Good." Her arm went possessively across him and she sighed. "We could spent part of the year here in Dorne."

"There is plenty of space for Vhagar to roam."

"Would you really do that, live here part of the time?"

He caressed her cheek. "With you by my side, I could live anywhere. Marry me."

She rose on one elbow, watched as he took a lock of her hair and twirled it in his fingers, then twinned his hand with hers, kissing the spot where his ring would go.

"I will tell my brother, then. When he agrees we can decide when we can marry."

"We can marry tomorrow, if you wish."

"Aemond," she said gently, "I want a wedding gown so heavy with gems that I can barely walk, and every dish in the land made for the banquet, and every noble in Westeros to see me as I walk to you and take you as my husband."

He pulled her down for a kiss. "I see we shall have a modest, quiet wedding." She laughed against his lips and then laid her head back down, and he held her. With her, he belonged.

* * * * *

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[steelfyre]

࣪𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         melisa asli pamuk,  33,  cis woman,  she / her.    announcing  the  arrival  of  alara  of  house  dayne,  the  heiress of starfall.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  fierce  and  vindictive  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  archery.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  the  light  of  the  full  moon  illuminating  an  oasis  where  huntress  waits  with  a  silver  bow  held  in  steady  hands  ,  its  arrow  ready  to  strike  ;  a  change  in  the  winds  carrying  the  promise  of  divine  reckoning.  she  does  not  tremble  but  smiles  ;  galloping  across  the  desert  on  a  white  stallion  ,  you  were  never  made  for  ivory  towers  and  needed  no  knight  to  save  you  ;  a  beauty  more  wild  than  serene  ,  more  sharp  than  gentle  -  something  mythical  lingered  within  mortal  flesh  ,  waiting  ,  raging.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  dorne.

basic information.

official name: alara dayne. nickname: none. noble title: heiress of starfall , lady of starfall. date of birth: march 24. age: thirty-three. birthplace: starfall , dorne. home: starfall. nationality: westerosi. gender: cis woman. pronouns: she / her. orientation: bisexual , biromantic. monikers: starmaiden , lady starfire / starfyre , the star of dorne. languages: the common tongue , fluent. familiar with some essosi dialect. accent: a traditionally dornish accent spoken in a steady , gentle tone infused with warmth.

physical information.

faceclaim: melisa asli pamuk. ethnicity: rhoynar. hair: brown with soft gold highlights. eyes: golden brown. height: five feet , ten inches. build: taller than most women of westeros with a hunter's build, lean, not bulky, muscles visible, particularly in her arms, but not detracting from the lady's elegance. dominant hand: ambidextrous. allergies: none. scars: none. distinguishing features: her height and the birthmark above her lips. clothing style: traditional dornish style regardless of where she currently resides. favors loose and light dresses in warm shades on normal days but oft chooses more revealing outfits when attending events. can also be spotted in pants and shirts when training, horseback riding, or hunting. the jewelry she wears is not excessive, normally limited to a necklace and bracelets. she also has a pair of favorite hairpins that double at daggers in case danger unexpectedly arises.

personality.

positive: fierce ,  resilient ,  dauntless , charming ,  protective , forthright. negative: vindictive ,  prideful ,  headstrong , mistrustful , obstinate , temperamental. label: the huntress , the tempest. mbti: entj - the commander. enneagram: 8w7 , the maverick. element: fire. star sign: aries. temperament: choleric. moral alignment: chaotic good. deadly sin: pride , wrath. heavenly virtue : diligence. godly parent: artemis.

drives.

hobbies: archery , horseback riding , hunting , stargazing. religion: very loosely follows the faith of the seven. alliance: house dayne , dorne. personal goals: to protect her son, particularly from the targaryens and anyone who might try using him as a pawn, and free dorne from the targaryen reign. would they choose family or power?: family.

family ties.

father: ruling lord alvar dayne. relationship: tba. mother: ruling lady thalina dayne. relationship: tba. sibling: lord/lady/liege utp dayne. relationship: tba. sister: lady laina dayne. relationship: tba. son: davios sand. relationship: tba. third cousins: house dayne of high hermtiage. relationship: tba.

history.

the darling heiress was never the image of the perfect lady, headstrong and adventurous from a young age, but those of starfall never minded. her parents encouraged her to pursue her interests, teaching her how to ride horses the same time she learned to walk and gifting her a bow and arrow when alara gravitated toward that skill. the responsibilities of heir wasn't nonexistent - she was still expected to attend more traditional lessons, but a balance between freedom and expectations was found. a relief for the lady alara's temper was also observed from a young age after a particularly loud squabble with the septa, who was then quickly replaced, trying to instruct her.

lady thalina, after not having children with her first husband despite trying, adored her daughter, and alara admired her mother in turn. in her youth, wherever the ruling lady went, the heiress often followed. her mother's shadow. her mother's apprentice. though alara wasn't a silent shadow; there were many times that she would voice her opinion during meetings or if she felt her mother was being disrespected, wouldn't hesitate to say so. as alara grew older and was able to travel more, her presence at her mother's side decreased but all it would take was a raven to call the heiress back home, which her mother occasionally did when she wished for her daughter's assistance or perspective and letters wouldn't do.

while she loved starfall, alara felt the pull to see the world beyond. first it was dorne that she explored from the red mountains in the west until she reached sunspear on the eastern coast. but the world stretched beyond her beloved desert so alara continued on, venturing north into westeros and then eventually across the narrow sea. her travels were splintered across the years. she could never be away from home for too long and did not wish to be either.

places where the dragons frequented were often avoided whenever possible. living under targaryen rule had forever been distasteful, and she hoped that within her lifetime, dorne would be free of their beastly overlords. however, a chance encounter with the crown prince and a night shared left alara pregnant. alara did not expect marriage ( could think of no worse fate ) but she hadn't expected that the prince would refuse to acknowledge his son's existence. rage, empowered by motherhood, burned hotter. she remained in dorne since learning she was pregnant, which caused some whispers as she'd become a commonly seen figure in society, and after giving birth to her son, a boy with lilac eyes but, thankfully, medium brown hair. her appearance at the royal wedding was the first time she attended court since she fell pregnant. and whispers now spread like wildfire.

important: while muses can, and likely do, suspect that davios is the prince of dragonstone's son, the only muses who know of his parentage for certain are the dayne family ( and possibly some royal targaryens / council members if they're in the know ) as alara has kept it a secret from everyone else.

headcanons

an excellent horsewoman. alara has pretty much taken over the stables at starfall where she raises her horses. she often goes riding at least once and can grow very restless when her duties or court prevent her from venturing outside a keep's walls. her prized horse is a white mare named dune.

while she does know how to fight with a sword, she does greatly prefer a bow and arrow. she's an extremely skilled archer, both in a fight and when hunting, and can maintain her accuracy when shooting from horseback.

always carries at least one dagger with her, normally strapped to her thigh and hidden from sight.

so, so prideful. she will not forget a slight and is very hesitant to forgive. forgive and forget? no, resent and remember.

is capable of adapting to court and being extremely charming when she wants to be. but her patience for courtly etiquette is limited, though it has grown as she has gotten older. holding her tongue is difficult but she knows she must do it for her family's and dorne's sake. however, she has had a few incidents over the years where a noble has pushed her past her limits and she has snapped at them.

well known for her beauty, which has resulted in her having a handful of flings over the years.

she's still very close to her mother and will go to her when she needs advice. they often discuss matters together, ruling starfall as a team in preparation for the day that alara will be ruling lady.

alara has no desire to put her son on the throne. in fact, she doesn't want the targaryens anywhere near her son. had they actually acknowledged davios when he was born, she might feel differently but now she is steadfast in keeping them away from davios. he is only a dayne in her eyes and once dorne gains there independence, she would want to legitimize him as a dayne.

that being said, alara does believe her son has every right to a dragon egg and does want to see him have a dragon of his own - one that would protect dorne.

wanted connections. | established connections.

[ob3ryn]

"Ellaria   informed   me   you   and   her   had   reached   an   agreement."   Pity   to   not   have   been   there.   But   his   paramour   had   ways   to   disarm   anyone,   even   a   queen,   a   smile   roses   on   lips,   taking   the   goblet   of   wine   upon   his   lips.   "Glad   to   hear,   perhaps   next   time   I   shall   included   in   negotiations."   He   takes   in   the   new   Dornish   style   that   seems   to   be   made   for   her.   He   dismisses   the   seamstress   to   pay   him   no   mind   and   keep   working   and   looks   at   the   colors.   The   red   is   all   Lannister,   nothing   he   can   do   about   that,   but   the   gold   seems   more   sunlight   than   anything   with   House   Martell's   sigil   embroidered   somewhere.   So   good   enough.   Still   not   as   dornish   as   he   would   like,   with   her   bosom,   he   would   be   showing   more   of   her   chest   but   he   understands   it's   a   journey.   "Well   done."   He   said   to   the   woman   making   the   dresses.   He   sees   the   blend   of   clothes.  

"I   did   told   you   the   Dornish   weather   would   not   blend   with   that   of   your   former   clothes.   I   remember   when   your   daughter   came   here   and   learn   it.   Luckily   we   had   some   gifts   for   her   in   turn."   His   ringed   fingers   tap   upon   a   box   on   the   bed   which   is   his   own   gift.   It's   more   Martell   than   Lannister   but   she   now   bare   his   name.   "Jewelry,   for   a   woman   so   used   to   it."   Vypers,   snake   bracelets   and   necklaces   and   some   that   blend   a   lion   with   the   Martell's   sun   sigil.  

He   takes   one   to   move   closer   and   place   it   on   her   upper   arm,   the   way   Ellaria   or   Myrcella   seems   to   wear   her   own.   "These   go   here.   And   these.   .   ."   Pure   gold   bracelets,   he   place   them   on   her   wrist.   "Part   of   a   ladies   armor.   If   you   find   yourself   in   trouble." @lannisther

[nxthero]

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ IT WASN'T THAT SIMPLE. ❞ Cersei was gone, and with her, the threat to his life, but by no means did he assume he could simply return. The new queen was settling in as the war came to an end, and the army that kept her city safe was not so welcoming to known pirates. But he's here now, isn't he? Shouldn't that make a difference? ❝ If you get spit on enough by the rest of the world, it takes more than one invitation to make up for years of that. ❞ The Ironborn were mocked and scorned for keeping to their ancient ways, but is that not the same wish that the Starks and other Northern houses keep to? Even the Dornish do not bend so easily in their customs, but none are as reviled in the sight of others as the Ironborn. Because by the rule of the Iron Price, none of these lordlings would deserve a damn thing, not a single piece of jewelry on their skin or the clothes on their backs. A lot of them cannot abide by the idea that a man should only be able to keep what he has earned.

ㅤㅤㅤHe didn't mean for it to sound that way, as if all he wanted from her was to be legitimized. It was only an afterthought. A means to an end. It would be a lie to say that it was something he'd never thought of before. As a boy, his nights were filled with dreams of such a thing. Of no longer being an outcast among outcasts. As a man, those dreams turned to salt in his mouth, and he knew it could never be, not by his father's will. He's lucky Euron hadn't killed him simply for the fun of it. He never thought to ask Myrcella, nor the queen she serves, but now it feels more important than ever. If he bears the bastard name Pyke, then they can force him away again. If he bears the name Greyjoy, then he will be a guest like any other. Then and only then can he make himself worthy of her.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ Truth be told, I gave up on that name when I was a child. It didn't take long to learn that my father would never love me or claim me as anythin' more than leftovers from a night he doesn't even remember. I've always been content as a bastard. But I've realized, no bastard will ever claim your hand. ❞ Hands press at the corners of her jaw, and he stays close, relishing that familiar proximity to her that he's missed so much. ❝ It could have been so much easier if I could have forgotten you. But I saw a ghost of you in every port. Places I'm sure you've never stepped foot in, but you were there because my mind wanted you to be. Drink doesn't taste the same. My bed has been empty. Even the thrill of the sea has dulled. I'm sick, princess, don't you get it? And it's all because of you. ❞ If she wants his honesty, she'll have it. It makes his chest feel tight, admitting these things, a certain fear for the words that come from him. In this moment, Harry feels as if he can empathize with those who have felt their neck against an executioner's block. Live or die, she is the one who must put him out of his misery one way or another. Harry leans down, his forehead pressing against hers. ❝ I want you , Cella. I need to make you mine, or else I'll go mad. ❞

"My   mother   is   gone   now.   You   didn't   come   back,   did   you?"   Cersei   Lannister   is   but   a   shadow   of   a   name   now.   By   all   mans   she   hates   that   her   mother   wasn't   there   but   in   order   for   the   cycles   to   end,   the   status   quo   had   to   change,   the   ladder   had   to   replace   it's   steps   and   the   wheel   had   to   be   greased.   That's   what   they   are   doing   here   now.   "Stubborn.   All   of   you.   It's   an   invitation   to   come   here   and   start   anew   and   you   decide   your   pride   is   higher.   Even   the   dornish   and   the   north   are   here."   And   the   North   is   independent   now,   they   have   their   own   king   and   their   own   rules   now   but   they   have   come.   She   was   hurt   by   the   ironborn   deciding   to   skip   her   invitation,   and   perhaps   she   figure   they   still   consider   her   a   bastard,   regardless   if   she   has   Daenerys   support   and   alliance.

  And   then   he   pulls   on   her   arm   and   she   wants   to   pull   it   back   away   and   keep   a   distance   but   his   grip,   wile   not   bruising,   is   a   reminder   of   a   time   a   year   ago   when   she   didn't   had   to   worry   about   anything   else   but   the   feeling   of   his   hands   on   her.   He   asks   for something   she   had   thought   of   before.   Give   him   a   legitimization.   That   legitimization   would   require   Asha's   approval   as   well   but   the   idea   has   come   through   her   mind   in   the   year   they   had   been   apart.   "A   name.   Is   that   what   you   want?"   She   asks   then,   eyes   looking   to   the   ground   before   they   glance   upward,   once   more   into   those   sea   like   eyes   that   dare   to   make   her   lose   her   sanity.  

"Is   that   why   you   came   here?   For   a   name?   A   name   that   implies   lands   and   titles.   Do   you   truly   wish   for   just   that?"   She   wants   him   to   say   he   wants   her   too.   That   as   Greyjoy,   as   a   lord   with   lands,   he   has   a   chance   of   being   there   and   ask   for   her   hand   like   all   the   other   lords   around   the   lands.An   alliance   with   the   ironborn   would   not   be   disliked   but   that   is   the   last   thing   on   her   mind   when   she   stands   there   before   him,   as   they   have   always   done,   her   shoulder   rise   and   tense   under   his   touch,   keeping   her   body   near   his.   "Tell   me   why   you   came   here."

[butterflies-dragons]

SANSA STARK & TARGARYEN IMAGERY

A list of Targaryen Imagery around Sansa Stark in A Song of Ice and Fire

Fire and Blood

Black and Red

Silver and Purple

Dragon's Tail

Dragon Wings

Dragon Eggs

Dragon Skulls

Golden Dragons

Dragon Knights

Valyrian Steel

Dance of the Dragons

Maegor the Cruel

Baelor the Blessed

Aegon the Unworthy

Prince Aemon the Dragonknight

Aerys the Mad King

Rhaegar the ast dragon

Bonus: Fiery Hair

1. FIRE AND BLOOD

Sansa slid off her mare, but she was too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince's head, and then everything happened at once before Sansa's horrified eyes. Joffrey staggered and whirled around, roaring curses. Mycah ran for the trees as fast as his legs would take him. Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion's Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. "I hate her!" she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night's fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

When the king's herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she'd had them dye it black and you couldn't see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed, so she bundled that up as well, but it was big and cumbersome, hard to move. Sansa could get only half of it into the fire. She was on her knees, struggling to shove the mattress into the flames as thick grey smoke eddied around her and filled the room, when the door burst open and she heard her maid gasp.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws."

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

2. BLACK AND RED

The queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of teardrops, as if the queen were weeping blood.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions’ heads. But the gash across his face was raw and red, and his nose was a hideous scab. “You are very beautiful, Sansa,” he told her.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

3. SILVER AND PURPLE

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

"Thank you, ser." Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

"You've waited so long, be patient awhile longer. Here, I have something for you." Ser Dontos fumbled in his pouch and drew out a silvery spiderweb, dangling it between his thick fingers.

It was a hair net of fine-spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. "What stones are these?"

"Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VIII

Sansa wore a gown of silvery satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined in soft purple felt. Shae had arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones. Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

4. DRAGON WINGS

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

"What wife?"

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

5. DRAGON EGGS

Butterbumps arrived before the food, dressed in a jester’s suit of green and yellow feathers with a floppy coxcomb. An immense round fat man, as big as three Moon Boys, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg right in front of Sansa. “Break it, my lady,” he commanded. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. “Catch them!” Butterbumps exclaimed. Little Lady Bulwer snagged one and handed it to him, whereby he tilted back his head, popped it into his huge rubbery mouth, and seemed to swallow it whole. When he belched, tiny yellow feathers flew out his nose. Lady Bulwer began to wail in distress, but her tears turned into a sudden squeal of delight when the chick came squirming out of the sleeve of her gown and ran down her arm.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

In the Queen's Ballroom they broke their fast on honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and a Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers.

[…] Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

6. DRAGON’S TAIL

The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him.

"Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet."

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

Is it true? she wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey's enemies now, her brother Robb another. Her father had died by the king's command. Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The comet was red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was a black stag on a golden field. Shouldn't the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

7. DRAGON SKULLS

Within, the dragon skulls were waiting, and so was Shae. “I thought m’lord had forgotten me.” Her dress was draped over a black tooth near as tall as she was, and she stood within the dragon’s jaws, nude. Balerion, he thought. Or was it Vhagar? One dragon skull looked much like another.

[...] After, as they lay entwined amongst the dragon skulls, he rested his head against her, inhaling the smooth clean smell of her hair. “We should go back,” he said reluctantly. “It must be near dawn. Sansa will be waking.

[...] The Others can take my guilt, he thought as he slipped his tunic over his head. Why should I be guilty? My wife wants no part of me, and most especially not the part that seems to want her. Perhaps he ought to tell her about Shae. It was not as though he was the first man ever to keep a concubine. Sansa’s own oh-so-honorable father had given her a bastard brother. For all he knew, his wife might be thrilled to learn that he was fucking Shae, so long as it spared her his unwelcome touch.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VII

8. GOLDEN DRAGONS

"The queen raised her voice. "A hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its skin!”

“A costly pelt,” Robert grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.”

[...] Shortly, Jory brought him Ice.

When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.”

“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.

“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard III

"Petyr Baelish put a hand on the rail. "But first you’ll want your payment. Ten thousand dragons, was it?”

“Ten thousand.” Dontos rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “As you promised, my lord.”

[...] “But he saved me.”

“He sold you for a promise of ten thousand dragons.

[...]“Sansa felt sick. "He said he was my Florian.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

“Your sister’s had no difficulty finding witnesses to your guilt.” Ser Kevan rolled up the parchment. “Ser Addam has men hunting for your wife. Varys has offered a hundred stags for word of her whereabouts, and a hundred dragons for the girl herself. If the girl can be found she will be found, and I shall bring her to you. I see no harm in husband and wife sharing the same cell and giving comfort to one another.”

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IX

Someplace no stag ever found … though a dragon might.

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne III

"A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that's not likely, is it?"

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

9. DRAGON KNIGHTS

She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

"True knights would never harm women and children." The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

"True knights." The queen seemed to find that wonderfully amusing. "No doubt you're right. So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I'm sure it won't be very long now."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa V

They continued down the serpentine and across a small sunken courtyard. Ser Dontos shoved open a heavy door and lit a taper. They were inside a long gallery. Along the walls stood empty suits of armor, dark and dusty, their helms crested with rows of scales that continued down their backs. As they hurried past, the taper's light made the shadows of each scale stretch and twist. The hollow knights are turning into dragons, she thought.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

10. VALYRIAN STEEL

Lord Tywin waited until last to present the king with his own gift: a longsword. Its scabbard was made of cherrywood, gold, and oiled red leather, studded with golden lions' heads. The lions had ruby eyes, she saw. The ballroom fell silent as Joffrey unsheathed the blade and thrust the sword above his head. Red and black ripples in the steel shimmered in the morning light.

[…] "A great sword must have a great name, my lords! What shall I call it?"

[…] The guests were shouting out names for the new blade. Joff dismissed a dozen before he heard one he liked. "Widow's Wail!" he cried.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

But she had another longsword hidden in her bedroll. She sat on the bed and took it out. Gold glimmered yellow in the candlelight and rubies smoldered red. When she slid Oathkeeper from the ornate scabbard, Brienne's breath caught in her throat. Black and red the ripples ran, deep within the steel. Valyrian steel, spell-forged. It was a sword fit for a hero. When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. "You'll be defending Ned Stark's daughter with Ned Stark's own steel," Jaime had promised.

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne I

11. DANCE OF THE DRAGONS

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the "Dance of the Dragons," Ned inspected the bruise himself. "I hope Forel is not being too hard on you," he said.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

12. MAEGOR THE CRUEL

The room where Sansa had been confined was at the top of the highest tower of Maegor's Holdfast.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

In the tower room at the heart of Maegor's Holdfast, Sansa gave herself to the darkness.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

13. BAELOR THE BLESSED

"Baelor starved himself to death, fasting," said Tyrion. "His uncle served him loyally as Hand, as he had served the Young Dragon before him. Viserys might only have reigned a year, but he ruled for fifteen, while Daeron warred and Baelor prayed." He made a sour face. "And if he did remove his nephew, can you blame him? Someone had to save the realm from Baelor's follies."

Sansa was shocked. "But Baelor the Blessed was a great king. He walked the Boneway barefoot to make peace with Dorne, and rescued the Dragonknight from a snakepit. The vipers refused to strike him because he was so pure and holy."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

14. AEGON THE UNWORTHY

Aegon the Unworthy had never harmed Queen Naerys, perhaps for fear of their brother the Dragonknight . . . but when another of his Kingsguard fell in love with one of his mistresses, the king had taken both their heads.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

"A king can have other women. Whores. My father did. One of the Aegons did too. The third one, or the fourth. He had lots of whores and lots of bastards." As they whirled to the music, Joff gave her a moist kiss. "My uncle will bring you to my bed whenever I command it."

Sansa shook her head. "He won't."

"He will, or I'll have his head. That King Aegon, he had any woman he wanted, whether they were married or no."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

15. PRINCE AEMON THE DRAGONKNIGHT

He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies."

"Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

16. AERYS THE MAD KING

"Ser Ilyn has not been feeling talkative these past fourteen years," Lord Renly commented with a sly smile.

Joffrey gave his uncle a look of pure loathing, then took Sansa's hands in his own. "Aerys Targaryen had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"The battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest, crunch, right through the armor." Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer to show her how it was done. "Then my uncle Jaime killed old Aerys, and my father was king."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"You can't talk to me that way. The king can do as he likes."

"Aerys Targaryen did as he liked. Has your mother ever told you what happened to him?"

Ser Boros Blount harrumphed. "No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

17. RHAEGAR THE LAST DRAGON

"The battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest, crunch, right through the armor." Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer to show her how it was done.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire, and our maester gave me ointments. Ointments! Gregor got his ointments too. Four years later, they anointed him with the seven oils and he recited his knightly vows and Rhaegar Targaryen tapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Arise, Ser Gregor.'"

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

18. BONUS: FIERY HAIR

Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor."

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

[cytarabi]

New One Shot Posted!

I just had to post the forbidden love short story I wrote for JB: Reaching For Escape

Summary: Brienne is married to King Joffrey after her and Jaime's arrival to King's Landing. As a new queen, she battles within herself between duty and her heart. When Joffrey demands consummation, Brienne decides when and how to fight back.

Here’s a snippet 

The king slurped his wine. His plate had been filled again. He ate more when he noticed he had grown taller, but Brienne knew he would never pass her.

His mother quietly drank from her goblet, filled thrice. Dornish sultanas were delicately plucked and set on her plate, but she hardly nibbled at anything bigger. Her eyes never stopped looking, and once Tyrion, Tywin and Tommen were gone on travels, Cersei studied Brienne more frequently. Jaime sat near and across the table. Brienne often saw him in the mornings, a festering reminder how she became queen. His plate remained empty. He wore handsome white and gold armor.

“Eat,” Cersei said. Her emerald jewelry and crimson gown sparkled, even in candlelight.

Brienne glanced at the king, who ignored both of them. He wore dozens of sapphires to match the heavy blue wool on his back. His face was all scowls.

Still, no one spoke. Brienne was half-tempted to ask Cersei if the remaining food could be given to the hungry, but she wasn’t the king. “I’m afraid I’m not hungry,” Brienne said.

“I know a queen must maintain everyone’s envy,” Cersei said, curdling her smile at Brienne. “I was talking to my brother.”

Feeling Cersei’s eyes, Brienne said nothing and looked at her plate. There was a pause. She imagined Jaime gave his sister a look, because he did not quip. He used to.

Halfway across the table, Brienne noticed Jaime’s hands, one of skin and one of metal, reach for bread. Brienne’s eyes followed, and Cersei failed to hide her glare at his metal hand.

The bread and golden hand clanged on his plate, but he made no move to eat. Brienne looked up, and his eyes met hers.

“Cow,” the king said to Brienne.

Jaime closed his eyes.

[littlercses]

Ｎｏｗ Ｐｒｅｓｅｎｔｉｎｇ．．． Princess Meralyn Aerika Stark of Winterfell.

The princess elects solely to attend to the wedding of her aunt, the soon to be Lady Alyse Allyrion, to her soon to be uncle, Lord Ryon Allyrion. The young Stark elects to wear a black dress, adorned with faux winter roses along the bodice and cascading onto the skirt itself. An array of sweet-smelling flowers adorn her hair. Clasped around her neck is a dull gold butterfly necklace inlaid with a black onyx, one of the many jewelry pieces passed down by her grandmother, the late Queen Sansa Stark, for her granddaughters. 

Her outfit for the feast, however, is quite the showstopper for the Northern princess. A teal dress with gold Dornish patterning, the sleeves capped with white silk overlaid with gold lace and pearls. Her hair is curled into tight red ringlets, a band of gold flowers woven within. Her ring, a golden flower with a pearl inlaid, is chosen specifically to match her headband. The young woman looks the furthest thing from a Northerner, and is certain to draw eyes.

[tatouchantilly]

Spin-Off on King Bran and Co

I’m joking but I really think we should have a spin-off on the Small Council of Bran the Broken. Not something long, at least two or three seasons. Showrunners have lot of material to work on :

- The Six Kingdom to rebuilt : It’s not everyone cup of tea but I love stories about managing a country, policies, courtesans intrigues, alliances, treasons etc. There is so many power mechanisms and stuff occurring when a new court is made. You can bring new players of Kings Landing who’d try to influence the King and the Small Council. Plus it’s winter season, that means food crisis, which means public disorder.

- Public Communication : How the Small Council will deal with Bran’s image. He’s really uncommon : Three-Eyed Raven, magic powers, disabled, first elected king, come from the North who is independent now. So how to present him to other Houses, Clergy and common people ? Public discourses, balls, acts of charity, tourneys, clear waters, brothels ?

- The opponents : They can have so many enemies : Some Sparrows may can still be alive and they’re fanatics so they’d become terrorists against the heretic King Bran. Yara Greyjoy and Ironborn’s habits to revolt against the Crown. Plus she was furious about Dany’s death. So does Daarios in Merreen. So Does Grey Worm. So they could ally and try to invade Westeros in order to avenge their queen. Which means BATTLE SCENES !

- The religion : Huge plot-material ! Where I begin ? King Bran is a Three-Eyed Raven, a sort pagan magic entity from North beliefs whereas the rest of the Kingdom believe in the Faith of Seven. Imagine so many philosophical and spiritual dialogs between Bran and septons. Plus there is the Cult of R’Hollor who could gain more and more believers among Westerosis common people, because it’s new and they promise to be different than former corrupted High Spetons. It may have been a new sect around Azor Ahai who killed the Night King at Winterfell (Poor Jon !).

- The return of Magic : It was something suggested thorough the seasons that Magic is coming back in force with the return of Dragons after a era of being dormant and confidential. So imagine the trouble if more people display Magic abilities like Greensight or Warg or other power without controlling them. Imagine the impact of R’Hollor priests who have a advantage because they already manipulate magic ! How Bran and the Small Council could manage that ?!

- Bran succession : If Bran died ? What’s happens ? Who become the next king ? Who become the next Three-eyed Raven ?

- Drogon : I just want to see Bran petting Drogon in the Castle courtyard under the anxious glances of servants and courtesans (and especially Bronn).

I’m imagining a mixt between GoT and B99 for the humor with Tyrion, Brienne, Davos, Bronn, Samwell & co, sending salty exchanges but still supporting each other when crisis occurred, like a real team. And I want to see the new members of small council. I imagine they come from different part of the Six Kingdom and they are the rookies of the team. Here my suggestions/fanfic ideas :

- Master of War : a mature Dornish woman, send by Dorne because she is skilled commander specialized in both siege and guerrilla. At her first Council session, she came dressed in silk and jewelry but when she saw Brienne in armor, she said “Oh, I could do that. I thought it is against the court etiquette” and now she’s often wearing armor or male clothes covering skins, at Ser Bronn’s great despair. She is still more feminine and wear dress and jewels during ceremonies and parties.

- Master of Laws : a stoic judge send by House Arryn. He’s surprised at the lack of seriousness of some council sessions and have hard time to adapt to other members temperaments and familiarity. He complains a lot to King Bran.

- Master of Whisperers : A kitchen boy from Stormlands with no title and no family, but who happens to be one of former Varys’s “little birds” and who shares the same philosophy of the Spider about the Kingdom. Plays being coy and illiterate but in fact hides a cunning intelligence and lot of knowledge. He knows also a lot about Magic and has some gifts. Basically Bran paid a visit to Gendry and...he went directly to the kitchen and asked him “Do you want a job that no one want ?”. Two weeks later, Bran presents him to the Small Council : “Here our new Master of Whisperers. I expect you will help him and give him the resources and the patience he need to acclimate to his new position.”  Tyrion : “Aye, your Highness, but can you tell us the boy’s name and what are his qualifications ?”

What do you think ? Any proposition ?

[dornish-queen]

Working on a new bracelet in time for Gladiator 2.

[lainelannister]

I have been off Tumblr for a few days and now I have SO MUCH LAINE FIC TO CATCH UP ON, WHICH IS JUST SO EXCITING!! Okay so HERE ARE MY PROMPTS, choose whichever strikes your fancy! Crazy enough, they're both show-verse: 1) Some sort of encounter between Jaime, Cersei, and Sansa after Jaime rides back south to Cersei, or 2) Jaime and Cersei escape the sack of King's Landing :D

Title: Binding with briars my joys and desires

Author:  lainelannister

Ship(s):  Jaime/Cersei

Rating: M

Trigger Warning(s): None

Brief Summary:  The one-time Queen of the Seven Kingdoms flees to the Free Cities with her twin, to live the unencumbered life Jaime always wanted.

Notes: The title of this story comes from “The Garden of Love’ by William Blake.

When she gives herself the space and permission to recall her early childhood, Cersei Lannister remembers nothing so keenly as the fragrance of the Sunset Sea. The salt wove through the air, infusing the gentle breezes with brine, carrying the sensation of freedom, of exploration, of possibility.

But the heavy stench of rotting fish and water-sodden waste, the thick, adhesive humidity, the queasiness and the nausea she experiences now- none of this feels familiar.

The one-time Queen of the Seven Kingdoms curls her knees into her chest, silently cursing the abrasive straw-tack pallet for rubbing a violent crimson rash into her formerly smooth and alabaster skin. They’re stowed in the brig of a trading dinghy, heading east…to Braavos or Pentos or Myr…some godsforsaken place where their pasts carry no weight, where the Lannister name holds no significance.

The boat jerks with every swell and release of the tide, and she’s sure she’ll be sick again- between the erratic motion of this miserable vessel and the child growing in her womb, she’s constantly at the mercy of some discomfort or another.

But Jaime wraps his arms around her waist and gathers her close, his whiskers tickling the back of her neck as he brushes soft kisses up and down the nape- his breathing feels even, rhythmic, contented…envy seizes her gut, but she forces it aside for the time being, pressing her back flush against Jaime’s chest and willing her inhales and exhales to match his in perfect time.

.

They exit the boat on a hot and dusty pier overlooking a bustling marketplace. The sun glares down vindictively, and she’s sure that she’ll soon find ugly blotches of scarlet staining her cheeks and neck and collarbone. The thought unnerves her, and she feels her lips twist into a sullen scowl.

But her brother clearly doesn’t share her disdain for this new environment. He breezes through the market with a levity she hasn’t seen since his youthful tourney days, his posture erect and his eyes radiant. He’s invigorated, alive- free.

And although she’d love to share his enthusiasm, to revel in the potential of this unencumbered new life, she still recoils when he leads her to a jewelry broker and asks her to hand over the baubles she carried overseas. They’ll need coin, he explains- they need to buy a house and set themselves up in a comfortable manner. Reluctantly, she slips off her diamond pendant and ruby rings and onyx bangles and gold hair combs-

(Jaime removes his gold hand and sells the piece without hesitation, and she tries and fails to quash her own irritation at the sight of his smooth, unconcealed stump.)

At the last, Jaime asks her to hand over the final ring in her collection, the priceless golden lion that had once belonged to their mother. The merchant seems especially keen to get his grubby hands on this piece- “It’s worth more than the rest combined,” he insists.

Hot tears sear Cersei’s eyes as she forces the lion ring over her swollen knuckles and drops it in Jaime’s palm. He discusses pricing with the merchant, and she finds that she cannot be privy to the conversation- she slips away and braces her back against a nearby stucco wall, deriving some small satisfaction from the scrape of plaster on her skin as she slides down, down, down.

.

They find a small sandstone villa just steps from the water, with lemon trees in the front courtyard and a small stable to house the ponies Jaime purchases for them. The master bedchamber overlooks a green lawn, vertiginous palms, a crystalline blue sky-

“Finally,” Jaime sighs as she rides him, using his left hand to guide her hips in a circular pattern as he tucks his stump beneath a pillow.

He’s blissful, beautiful, drawing her down to his mouth and smiling beatifically against her lips-

His gaze remains fully riveted to her face, to her body- but she can’t help but allow her peripheral vision to wander the room, taking stock of its plainness, the lack of refinement, the surfeit of valuable possessions-

Simple. Uncomplicated.

Empty.

.

Dark, dense blood drowns her flimsy smallclothes, and she crumbles on the floor of the privy chamber, horror, confusion, and shame colliding in her mind, fighting for dominance.

My baby is gone. Another lost child, another demolished dream-

(And in the crevices of her own conscience, she’s forced to wonder whether this unborn Lannister ever truly existed at all, whether she’d merely willed him into being, whether the swelling of her belly and the early-morning queasiness were a mere construct of her imagination, a desperate manifestation-)

She shares the news with Jaime when he returns from the fishing piers, and he immediately sweeps her into his arms, stroking her hair with his good hand, using his lips to clear away the tears staining her cheekbones and under-eyes.

“There will be others, Cersei. We can have other children…we can do anything we want here.”

He thinks he’s consoling her…but as she observes her brother’s face, she wonders whether he understands the implications of the wrinkles creasing both their brows, the grey streaking through both their hair.

Of course, he’s a man, and it’s all different for men. He could take a young wife tomorrow and have a passel of children with her, and none would question it for a moment…

Four children dead. Four children torn from this earth, torn from their destinies…and she’s no longer young, and there’s so little time-

She doesn’t realize that she’s angling her body as far from Jaime’s as possible until she catches a glimpse of her reflection in his pained and shadowed eyes.

.

News from Westeros creeps in bit by bit, morsel by morsel. She gathers what she can from the marketplace- the Dragon Queen dead, Rhaegar Targaryen’s boy exiled, a Stark monarch in King’s Landing and another in the North, her dastardly dwarf brother still wearing the Hand’s badge-

She needs a long walk by the water to parse through this information, to digest her own disappointment.

And what have I to claim? No kingdom, no leadership, no goals, no pursuits…

Nothing but Jaime.

And for the first time, she allows herself to truly acknowledge what she’s known for years, possibly forever-

He simply isn’t enough.

.

She acquires the tiny and deadly vial from a peculiar shop wedged at the end of a dim alleyway. It’s a suspicious locale, perfectly designed for its purpose, and she takes no small amount of satisfaction from the fact that the liquid she purchases there comes in a rich and vibrant red- blood red, Lannister red.

When she returns to the villa, she pours two glasses of chilled Dornish wine. Jaime doesn’t care for the beverage, but he’ll never refuse it, not when she makes the offer.

She tilts the small bottle into the goblets and smiles when the crimson poison and the crimson wine meld together in flawless unity. A quick swirl of her glass and a deep inhale- there’s no unusual odor, nothing to arouse suspicion.

Her twin reclines on a settee on the grounds behind the villa, the sun radiating off of the golden planes of his bare chest. He’s peaceful, relaxed, softly smiling…and his smile grows wider when he hears her approach, when she brushes the fingers of his left hand with the fingers of her right as she gives him the goblet.

She slides her body onto the settee and cushions her head in the curve between his neck and shoulder. He scatters kisses on the crown of her head, on her brow, on her eyelids-

She takes a long drink from her goblet. There’s a sweetness to the poison, and as it coats her tongue, she watches her brother tilt his own glass toward his lips.

Scarlet wine, golden hair, scarlet mouths, golden skin-

It could only ever end this way- we could only ever end this way.

[blackholeofprocrastination]

I had so much fun writing this little nugget of Lyanna & Arthur in Essos goodness, that I decided to go for broke and I am going to write a whole series of short fics in this verse. And we’re starting off with... Arthur’s thoughts on arriving and leaving the Tower of Joy.

The Dawn of Duty 1 / ?

“Ser Arthur?”

Lyanna pulls up beside him at the head of their party. She has managed the Red Mountain’s rocky passes with more ease than his Kingsguard brothers. Her mare is a slight, compact animal, though hearty in spirit, like it’s mistress. It moves through the narrow throughways and uneven terrain without faltering, so in tune with Lyanna’s bidding that they seem one creature put together.

“Does this place have a name?” she asks.

The day is nearly gone, the sun dipping heavily in the sky, but it is still easy to see what has her attention. A weathered tower looming ahead, tucked between the cliffs and crags that surround it.

“No,” he answers honestly. “Or if it did, there are none left who remember it.”

Her smile falls.

“That is very sad.”

Arthur is not certain there is much sadness to be found in a nameless tower, but he is sorry to see the sullen look that crosses her face.

“Perhaps you should give it a name, princess,” he offers, quietly pleased when she seems to like the idea.

“Oh yes! Let’s!”

“How about we call it ‘The Dornish Derelict’?” Ser Oswell japes. Lyanna turns in her saddle to glare at him but the man looks downright jolly when he catches Arthur’s eye.

“We ARE in Dorne now,” Lyanna muses, pausing to consider before she suggests, “Nymeria’s Watch’!”

Arthur fights the urge to smile at the mention of the warrior queen. By now they all know well how fond Lyanna is of stories. Is it any wonder their little Knight of the Laughing Tree should seize upon such a tale?

“Or maybe, ‘Oswell’s Mighty Lance’!” Arthur’s fellow Kingsguard counters bawdily.

Lyanna laughs, the sound carrying bright and merry against the surrounding mountain walls.

She turns in her seat again, this time to stick her tongue out at Oswell. 

Arthur has tried not to let his mind dwell too long on the age of their charge, but at the childishness of her gesture, the reminder strikes deep in his chest, harder than the blow of any blade.

Behind him, the game continues on.

“The Hidden Tower!”

“The She Wolf’s Den!”

“The Bat Cave!” Lyanna teases back, gesturing to the sigil upon Oswell’s shield.

“The Mountain’s Thumb!”

“The Tower of Heroes!”

“The Tower of Wine!”

“The Tower of Fools,” Ser Gerold interrupts with a grumble.

They all laugh at that, even their melancholy prince.

“Let us call it The Tower of Joy,” Rhaegar suggests once their mirth has quieted. The prince is wearing a shadow of a smile as he watches Lyanna, whose eyes still shine with laughter.

“Aye,” she says, a softness overtaking her face. “That is a fine name for such a place.”

It is dark when they set out.

Arthur guides Lyanna down the smoothed over stone steps of the tower. She is silent, her eyes red from too many tears spilled.

Rhaegar may have named this place The Tower of Joy, but there is only sorrow to be found here.

As she moves off the last step, Arthur catches a glimpse of her swollen belly beneath the folds of her traveling cloak. He cannot bear to look for long, instead glancing at the two white armored figures who wait for them. His friends. His brothers.

We are all that is left.

Their losses are too great in number to endure. Rhaegar, their valiant prince, slain at the Trident, with Lewyn and Jonothor cast down alongside him. Barristan, his fate unknown, though likely as grim as those he fought beside. And Jaime...gods, a kingslayer and a traitor both, though Arthur is loathe to believe it.

Arthur recalls the boy knight he had left at the capital. Jaime had been angry then. Overly confident in his abilities as only the young can be and wroth at being left behind by his brothers.

And frightened too, Arthur thinks. Oh Jaime.

Jaime’s supposed crimes are not the only ill tidings they’ve had from King’s Landing. Lord Tywin had turned traitor as well, his men sacking the city. Sacking the Red Keep. And Elia…none of what has happened is as foul or unjust as the fate of the princess and her children.

Oswell had wept when they’d received word, bearing his sword and even sharper curses for the usurper dogs. Arthur shared in his anger. But it dulled upon seeing Lyanna trembling and small and so very young, tears streaking down her lovely face.

“Not Ned. Ned wouldn’t...he couldn’t.”

For her sake, Arthur prayed that she was right. That the murder of women and children was beneath the honor of Lord Eddard Stark.

He watches her closely now as she makes her farewells. 

The first is Wylla, a local girl they found to act as Lyanna’s maidservant and companion this past twelve month. Lyanna pulls the girl into a fierce embrace before offering a gift. A silver bracelet, with an opal at its center.

Lyanna wears no jewelry herself. She and Arthur are dressed as smallfolk to ward away any curious eyes on the road. Still, there are trinkets and silks enough stashed in the cart they will take with them as they journey west.  

Arthur knows they will have need of Lyanna’s finery, just as they will need his armor and horse, if they are to barter their way aboard a ship at Blackmount. Even so, he cannot begrudge Lyanna this show of kindness to her friend.

“Seek out Starfall,” Arthur tells the girl when Lyanna has finally released her. “My sisters will make you welcome there.”

It is the only gift he has to offer. The girl bobs a grateful curtesy.

“Yes, ser! Thank you, ser!”

A part of him wants to give the girl a message. Something to explain to his family where he is gone, why he may not return, but it is risk too great to take while Lyanna remains in Westeros.

Next is Oswell, the great fool looking as solemn as Arthur’s ever seen him. He cannot hear what words are exchanged between the knight and Lyanna, but he catches the kiss Lyanna presses to Oswell’s stubbled cheek and the tears that shine in his friends eyes.

While Lyanna says goodbye to the Lord Commander, Oswell sniffles and slaps a meaty hand upon Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Damn you man,” Oswell says, trying but not quite succeeding to smile. “Even when dressed like you spend your days shoveling horseshit, you’re still to damned pretty. I’ll be glad to be rid of you. I’m tired of every woman we meet swooning when the catch sight of you and that sword of yours.”

Arthur shakes his head, amused.

“Safe journey, my friend,” he says, squeezing Oswell’s shoulder in return. He  prays that Oswell and Gerold may succeed in their mission to find Queen Rhaella and her children. He could not bear it if they were to share Elia’s fate.  

Though Ser Gerold Hightower is already far from a young man, this war as aged him a hundred times over. Their are new lines and valleys carved deep into his face. They make him look all the fiercer when meets Arthur’s eye, his hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

“Remember our vows,” are the only parting words the old bull says.

Arthur nods. His jaw tightens. 

The oaths he has made in his life have come to feel like a stones tied round his neck, dragging him under with their weight, till he is drowned with his pledges. 

It is such promises that have shackled him to this infernal place when he might have been there to fight at his prince’s back, or to guide young Jaime, or to protect Elia and the little prince and princess. 

And now they keep him from the vengeance he hungers for so dearly. 

To ride out now, not resting until Dawn runs slick with Robert Baratheon’s blood.

But no. He will keep to his vows.

Arthur knows his duty.

[funkyfrogwhore]

Cersei is the mad queen and Daenerys is the rad queen

(Note: This essay is based on the show. Yes I have read the books, but I actually enjoy the show more, so this essay is show based, with only one point coming from the books)

Cersei Lannister is a brat. She grew up a lady of Casterly Rock, with servants at her beck and call, owning plenty of fine clothes and expensive jewelry, daughter to the richest and one of the most powerful men in all of Westeros. In adulthood, she married a king and continued to live a lavish and luxurious life. Daenerys Targaryen grew up with nothing but her abusive brother and her name, being forced to move all over Essos, not knowing luxury until she and her brother were taken in by Magister Illyrio in Pentos. She was married to a Dothraki Khal while still in her childhood, a slave in all but name to him at the beginning of their marriage. Cersei Lannister is a self serving and power hungry queen, unfit to rule the seven kingdoms, despite her decades of political experience, while Daenerys Stormborn of the house Targaryen is a sacrificial and confident queen, who has been an excellent ruler, despite the fact that she has only been a player in the game of thrones for a few years. Cersei’s wickedness and Daenerys’s goodness is evidently portrayed through Cersei’s similarities and Dany’s differences with the mad king, Cersei’s arrogance contrasted with Dany’s humbleness, and Cersei’s ignorance and disgust of different cultures compared to Dany’s embracing and open minded nature with different cultures.

Cersei Lannister has many similarities with the mad king, Aerys II Targaryen, Dany’s own father, who was overthrown by Cersei’s husband, Robert Baratheon. The first matter that Cersei and Aerys II have in common is the most obvious: Burn them all. Aerys II was famous for his last words, Burn them all!, an action that wasn’t carried out until Cersei Lannister came to power. Aerys used wildfire as a weapon against his own people, including his warden of the North, Lord Rickard Stark. Cersei Lannister used the mad king’s wildfire to burn down a historic and ancient landmark of King’s Landing, the Great Sept of Baelor, as well as her daughter in law, her uncle, her cousin, and hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent civilians while she watched from a distance, grinning as she sipped wine from a goblet. The second matter that Cersei has in common with Aerys II is incest. Both Cersei and Aerys II have had sexual relationships/marriages with their siblings, which both resulted in three children; two sons and one daughter each. Daenerys, however, broke the cycle of the Targaryen tradition of incest, by marrying Khal Drogo and not having sexual relations with her brother, Viserys III Targaryen. The third and final similarity between Cersei and Aerys II is their obsessions with members of the other’s family. This is canon in the books but is never acknowledged in the show, but Aerys II was unrequitedly infatuated with Cersei’s mother, lady Joanna Lannister, while Cersei was unrequitedly obsessed with Aerys II’s son, prince Rhaegar Targaryen. These one sided infatuations have displayed the lustful and greed driven natures of both of the mad rulers. This shows how their own selfish desires impacted their abilities to rule well, leading to Aerys II’s eventual downfall, and (hopefully) it will also lead to Cersei’s.

Cersei is ignorant and arrogant while Daenerys has remained a humble ruler who puts her people before herself. In S4E10, the charred remains of a three year old girl burnt by Drogon were presented to Dany by the dead girl’s father. By the end of that episode, Daenerys had two of her dragons locked away to protect her people. She looked on tearfully as she watched her soldiers block the entrance to her children’s new enclosure. Cersei’s eldest son, the false king Joffrey “Baratheon”, was a danger to his people. In S2E4, he had Sansa Stark publically beaten, stripped, humiliated, and almost killed before his uncle, Tyrion Lannister, stepped in and stopped him. In that same episode, he forces Ros to beat her fellow whore Daisy, and in S3E6, it’s revealed that he brutally murdered Ros with a crossbow. The list of Joffrey’s damage goes on, but the point I’m making here is that Cersei stood idly by watching him harm his people for his own pleasure, not doing a thing to punish him. The only time that she did discipline her son was in S2E1, when he insulted her, which she responded to by slapping him. This shows how she doesn’t care about others being harmed, in fact, she sometimes relishes in it, yet when she is wronged, she lashes out.

Cersei Lannister has shown disgust towards different cultures, specifically towards the Dornish, whom she views as dirty and vile. She also has distaste for her own people, specifically the ones who live in poverty. Much of her shame in her walk of atonement comes from the fact that she is being viewed as less than those people around her, as she sees them as the lowest of low. In comparison, Daenerys has shown love and compassion for her people and other cultures. She learned the language of the Dothraki, and even considers herself to be one of them. She respects and honors their beliefs, yet does not shy away from taking down those khals who challenged and insulted her, as they blocked the path for Dothraki success in Westeros. When she burned Khal Drogo’s body in S1E10, she allowed what remained of his khalasar to leave unharmed and free. This was easy for her, as she did not yet hold much power. However, in S3E4, she had a whole army of Unsullied soldiers at her disposal, yet she gave them the same offer that she gave those Dothraki slaves: She gave them the opportunity to leave unharmed, yet they all chose to stay and serve her. In S3E10, she gives the same offer to the freed Yunkish slaves, who embrace her and call her Mhysa, an Old Ghiscari word for Mother.

In this essay, I have stated my reasoning for why Cersei Lannister is the mad queen and Daenerys Stormborn of the house Targaryen is the rad queen. There are many more reasons for Cersei’s incompetence, such as her dishonesty to herself and others, her unjustified revenge, and her overly prideful attitude, yet I won’t go into that now. So now I leave you with this: Although Cersei has been proven to be evil, and Daenerys to be good and competent, the true test lies in who will deal with the threat of the wights and white walkers.

If you have read this far, I am 1)Surprised, 2) Impressed, and 3)Grateful that someone was interested enough to read through this entire essay.

[dornish-queen]

The Dio Bracelet 

The Dio Bracelet is made with Black Obsidian and metal skull spacers. 

Black Obsidian Properties – connected to the root chakra; helpful with grounding, protection, and healing; helps to absorb and shield you against negativity that you may encounter; brings clarity to the mind and clears confusion.

It took me way to long to post this.  There are two seperate etsy listings.  One for words and one for no words.  If you want to customize the size, please message me because it will be a custom order.  Pricing varies depeding on what alterations you want to make.

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1467906446/dio-bracelet-no-words?ref=listing_published_alert

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1467904442/dio-bracelet-with-words?click_key=e4d6749879d850ac3ca9461e90d39afaf53c1591%3A1467904442&click_sum=1ffb2f59&ref=shop_home_active_1&frs=1

[dornish-queen]

This bracelet will be available in a few hours.

Only 2 will be available for purchase