#asoiaf currency

[falllpoutboy]

jaime x brienne | you know with love, comes strange currencies

[racefortheironthrone]

how liquid is a tournament prize of "forty thousand golden dragons to the champion" going to be? even if it comes in the form of gold plate and not an actual sack of coins, would it be easily transportable to anyone who doesn't already have guards and a retinue to take care of it? that is, i wondered if a hedgeknight champion would practically be able to claim all of their prize

So this is something where GRRM made something of a mistake due to his issues with math - not only is Sandor's prize a ludicrous amount of money, 40,000 dragons should weigh approximately 720 pounds, which is more than a draft horse can carry.

IIRC, Sandor's prize seems to have been given out in currency as opposed to plate, which makes it a bit too liquid - hence the ease with which he's robbed by the Brotherhood or Anguy is conned out of it by unscrupulous vendors.

[mummer]

i see the term gender horror used alot in certain parts of asoiaf fandom and i dont think i fully get it like sure theres def a rigid and violently enforced structure to gender and sexual violence is both ubiquitous and a currency but is it just those things or is there something beyond i feel like its not clicking for me

honestly im p sure it is just those things lol you got it. i think asoiaf does take the violent structure of gender and commits to exploring it to its most remote extremes, so you get stuff like sam being chained up and bathed in blood or gilly being forced into marriage with her father or however many other examples of gendering as an abusive practice (as requiring you to either do violence (masculinity) or bear violence (femininity) to participate in society). which i think is where the horror part comes from, the extremity of it? the no-holds-barred dont-look-away blood-under-everything structural inescapability of it. idk that’s how i view it at least

[0bticeo]

me: writing a fight scene for the aemond smutshot, in depth research about rapiers and longswords, neck deep in asoiaf wiki to look up currency in the crownlands

also me: this bad boy can fit so much sexual tension in it

[horizon-verizon]

Can we discuss how irritating this whole cry of "why you want jaehaera to die, why you want a little girl to die" is, I don't know… it must be because she actually dies? It's canon, it's in the book? I don't know, go complain to George like they already do, he wanted it that way

It wouldn't make any sense to me for her to stay alive in HOTD because everyone knows her ending, everyone knows that the mother of Aegon III's children is Daenaera… so why waste time with that?

and besides, ryan wouldn't show a child throwing himself out of a window, he didn't show jaehaerys' death which is horrible

And then they get mad when one says HotD is not an adaptation but fanfiction. Like, if you want to drastically change the plot so bad, it's no longer a damn adaptation! they clearly want fanfiction and they're getting it; they clearly didn't like F&B for reasons and think that some very obvious themes are not there or are so unimportant was to not have them in an adaptation. so why so pressed other than they only wish for their pro-green nonsense (the very antithesis of F&B and the entire series exploration of how institutional sexism is unnatural and what it looks like and how it ruins most things) to keep going through Jaehaera. Because why hate Daenaera or any other Targ woman aside from Helaena so bad?!

The whole point, as I've said time and time again, is that this war that was supposed to destroy the precedent of female rulership AND autonomy for male leadership ruins everyone, child or not, disabled or not....and especially so for disable female children even when they are of the upper class! You say you care about Jaehaera or respect her...do you when you can't or won't accept that her death and loss comes from the very ideology you mask behind the idea of "culture is culture"?!

And yeah, HotD or any attempted adaptation was going to have original "fill-ins" for what might have happened between characters pre-Dance, but as I've said before, some things are less likely or just plain impossible within the broader lore's logic AND what we do know and can reliably know that the book tells us.

More than anyone else's deaths, Jaehaera's death seems to "matter" more to those people because of their dull victimology ideology, too and really only enjoy fiction where there's a "redemption" or fluffiness and think everyone should only ever consume such stories. Makes them feel morally superior with leverage as social currency over others. With Daenerys it's different because she quite literally in necessary to the themes and plot's direction of ASoIaF that if she were to die a "mad" queen or be killed in lieu of what she represents and does for "smallfolk" and those exploited, it'd undermine what GRRM has already remarked several times about being able to resist destruction of self while wrestling with the nuances of authority and being "legitimate" for having it. As guiltless as Jaehaera was, she is a character with a very specific role, not mean tto be the savior or even progenitor of anything but a victim just as the children r*aped, tortured, and killed during the Dance or after it were under these systems. The real reason why they are so adamant abt her is bc they either/both hate-envy Dany/the "prominent" Targs and Jaehaera is a noble girl who like her mother doesn't stray from her gender-based designation of victim or chess-piece for men, so it's also veyr easy to project oneself into her position of victimness and self indulge that way. They want thatfantasy of accountablitiy-lessness while still being "elite". Very Sansa-stan energy.

You definitely can be sad for her and rightfully blame the adults around her, even the long dead ones while Maegor and Jaehaerys I. But it's not that anyone wants her tortured so much as they want the story that was given to us AND they know why she has to be killed the way she is told to have been.

If you don't like the narrative or refuse to really ingest its true meaning and how it gets there, you're under no obligation to continue to consume it.

[red-riding-wood]

Chapter 3

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

I had ridden ‘til my back ached and my thighs wobbled as I dismounted my steed; I had been sure to take the same one Illyrio had provided me, to give the Dothraki less of a reason to follow. But soon enough, I would be across the Narrow Sea, and they would not follow me onto ships, for they feared any water their horses couldn’t drink.

The mare snorted, dark nostrils flaring as she chewed at her bit, restless. A veneer of sweat collected on my fingers as I brushed them across her muscled neck, and yellow eyes flashed at me, wary and wild. I stared into them for a moment or two as I stroked her neck, and something in them that I couldn’t quite explain stirred all of my pain to the surface – the pain that I had been doing everything in my power to force down, to shield myself from. I swallowed a knot that formed, thick, in my throat.

Fingers of dusk light caught the bright of her coat, the dapples that shone almost iridescent across the palomino. The horse was beautiful, and she rode well, but I would have to part ways with her if I was going to cross the Narrow Sea.

Escaping the Dothraki horde hadn’t been as difficult as I’d thought; once their khaleesi had left the tent, silver hair standing out in the sea of dark, they were too enamoured to notice me slipping away to the horses.

It was the sea that would prove difficult. I would need to smuggle myself on board a ship before the next dawn, in case Viserys or Illyrio or the Dothraki came looking for me. No ships would depart this late; they would wait ‘til the morrow, to sail with the sun in the sky and the seas calm.

The dragon egg weighed heavy in my satchel as I led the mare down to the docks, winding through the markets of peddlers, shop owners, fishermen and hunters and seamstresses, still bustling with activity early into dusk. I stood out a sore sight, with the palomino and its yellow tasselled saddle, and my bruises and my torn red tunic.

Past the almost overwhelming aroma of spices and tonics, and the reek of sweat of the peasants and travelers, I veered to a small stable. The owner, or perhaps stable-hand, ceased his mucking when he caught sight of the palomino, and leaned on his pitchfork.

“I’m looking to sell this mare,” I told him, taking care to choose my words and instill my voice with confidence. I used the common tongue of the Seven Kingdoms; if he asked, I was travelling back to Westeros.

The man’s eyes scoured my appearance, and he asked, “Did she buck you?”

“I am unaccustomed to the unruly terrain of the Pentos outskirts,” I said. “I stumbled down a rocky hill. The mare is quite capable; she has never bucked nor spooked.”

He took another look at my bloody, bruised knees and scuffed face, and nodded. We bartered, back and forth, but briefly; the more I watched the sun’s forked fingers slim on the horizon, and the more shops I noticed closing for the night, my unease grew. I settled on the far low price of five golden honors, a common currency of the Free Cities.

With those coins, I had my wounds tended by a healer. She dribbled wine and salved honey on my cuts, and I refused milk of the poppy, a painkiller she sold for an exorbitant price. She asked how I came to bear these wounds, and I told her the same I had the stable owner.

At the seamstress, I traded my silver-mouthed scabbard to buy one of nothing but boiled leather, and a roughspun tunic of a muted, brown colour typical of peasants in Essos. She asked me what became of such a fine tunic I wore, and I once more told my story in as few words as possible. I allowed her to take it to repair and do with as she liked, but for its condition she offered no more than a mere shawl to protect my hair from the sun. I accepted, for I would use it to hide the unmistakable shade of crimson.  

By the time I walked the winding street again, with the yarn of my tunic itching my bruised flesh, I was fifteen again, before Illyrio had welcomed me into his home. My stomach growled in hunger, and I kept a sharp eye for bread and cheeses I could thieve, and a sharper one for criminals that might emerge from any corner. Old habits did not go so willingly into the dark.  

Only, for the first time in my life, I fought and survived not for the younger sister who awaited my return to be told a bedtime story, nor the older brother who I would’ve spoiled with a nicked finery in a desperate act to please, but for myself. For the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone. 

Not for long, I assured myself. Soon, I would be in the loving arms of my true mother. And I kept telling myself this, until the scars burdened for my family didn’t sting so hot and the pendant round my neck didn’t burn so cold.

Pulled sharply from my reverie by the roar of a nearby crowd, I chastised myself. One moment and one moment alone not on my guard, and I could’ve been dead – or worse.

Thankfully, the commotion only seemed to be from a crowd of theatre goers, clustered around the final act of a play. One of the mummers wore a white, thinly spun wig that patched the balding of his forehead, and his eyes seemed to sink into his face from the weight of the crown atop his skull. He sat in a chair made of dyed wooden planks that jutted from the seat at every odd angle, lined in iron swords.  Curious, I eased closer, weaving my way through the ring of peasants round the paying customers.

Another actor, clad in ridiculous wooden armour stained a garish gold and a white linen that had been fastened at his shoulders to resemble a cloak, addressed the crowd. In the background, others worked to run giant props of painted fire across the stage, settling behind two men whose jaws gaped in silent screams, their knees dropping to the floor.

I had glimpsed several plays depicting the Mad King before, but Viserys had always told me their characterisations were wildly distasteful, that witnessing one brought a stain to the Targaryen name.         

The armoured man said procured a glint of silver from his pocket, and said, “Greatness and madness, you see, are two sides of the same coin.”

The crowd fell silent with a hush.

“Each time a Targaryen is born,” the false knight said, “the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” Taking a dramatic pause, he then flipped the coin into the air, and arms tangled around me, greedy fingers reaching from fevered limbs for the silver. I squared my shoulders and took a step back, allowing them to converge around me but keeping my gaze fixed on the actors and their silly little play.

And when at last someone had snatched the coin from the ground, and everyone settled like hens after a wild dog had been let into their coop, the knight said, “The gods must have dropped the one for Aerys Targaryen.”

I looked again upon the wilting visage of the Mad King, milky eyes staring almost blankly at the burning men but chapped lips slightly parted and curved into a sick smile as his chest heaved a few silent laughs. I’d never met my father, but I couldn’t help but wonder, in that moment, what it would have been like to stand in that room, to hear the laughter of the king and the screams of men as the flesh melted from their bodies, to choke on the heat of the flame and the billows of smoke. Though he had existed long past the extinction of our last dragons, he had still ruled through fire and blood. The infamous words of our ancient house.

The knight drew his sword, stalking towards the king as he turned his back to his guard. The false blade was shoved between the arm and the side of the king, as the elder actor’s head flinched back, milky eyes going wide, shaking fingers curling inward as he collapsed to his knees. I recognised the knight now as Ser Jaime Lannister.

“Kingslayer!” Someone shouted with virulence at the stage, and the knight wore a gloating smile as he turned, blonde threads of his wig falling before his eyes as he turned to face the crowd.

A red fruit splattered across the gold of his armour, and he flinched, smile falling from his lips. Its juices leaked like blood down his breastplate. “Guards!” he called, voice having lost its bravado.

A few leather-clad sellswords emerged from the outskirts of the audience and dragged the seething man, kicking and yelling, repeating the word over and over at the man in gold. Something crawled beneath my flesh, and I began to remove myself from the event, butting shoulders with a couple of annoyed commoners.

I knew the rest of the story. I’d heard it a thousand times from Viserys, how the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, had thrust his sword through my father’s back as the usurper and his men marched on the Red Keep and claimed the great city of King’s Landing for themselves. How they ended the greatest dynasty the world had ever seen.

His words were imprinted so firmly in my memory, it was almost as if I was back in the depths of the Free Cities, hearing the tale from the tongue of the man who’d once been my brother. I remembered every inflection of spite in his tone, how he loathed the Lannisters and the Baratheons and the Starks, how he thought himself above them all because of his birthright.

And to think, how I would’ve followed my unworthy king, across the Narrow Sea, and slain those who raised a sword to him, and lived and died for him and hoped that someday he would love me for everything I had given him.

“Viserys is no dragon,” my sister had said. And he was no king, either. And maybe, someday, my blade would cross with his, and if he were to drag me before his throne and make me bow, I would answer him with fire and blood.

My heart beat viciously in my chest, and a tear crossed the cheek of my burning flesh.

“At times… I fear you more than Drogo.”

My sister’s words came to me again, in my flash of wrath, echoing in my pounding skull, and in my hollow chest threads of darkness sprouted from the shattered remnants of my heart and seemed to strangle me from the inside out. Black, they were, black as the pitch of the eyes that landed on me from across the square from a woman in red robes.

A priestess of the Lord of Light had stopped to let her gaze linger on me, pierce through me, as if she see the black tendrils around my heart, as if she could feel the fire roaring to life in my fractured soul. The dragon’s egg in my satchel weighed heavy against my shoulder, and my amulet still burned wretchedly cold against my flesh.

I blinked, eyes caught in hers, devoured by the pitch black that seemed to reach so curiously for me, before pulling my shawl tighter round my red hair and continuing downward, towards the docks.

The scent of the ocean grew stronger, the rot of seaweed left on the beach in the harsh sun that died now, slowly, along the rolling waves of the horizon, and the salt and brine that clung to the cloths of the fishmongers crinkling my nose as they brought in their last catch of the day. Kegs of ale, fish and fruit were hauled across the wooden docks, to and from the ships.

I had barely set foot on the first board when something caught the corner of my eye, the dark robes of four men who carried no trap or net nor barrel, who covered their faces but on the hilts of their swords could not disguise the unmistakable glint of Lannister gold.

My heart froze in my chest. And I paused, my fingertips running along the boiled leather of my scabbard.

There was only one reason the Lannisters would be so far from home, that in favour of muted robes they would not wear their cloaks of red and gold so proudly.

And though I loathed Viserys for what he had done to me, and though my heart still splintered from my sister’s betrayal, I could not find it within myself to make peace with the images of their blood on the assassins’ blades, of their lifeless corpses keeling over like Aerys had.

Though I had fought their battles all my life, though a smarter woman would’ve turned her head the other way, I found myself drawing my blade for my unworthy king and his perfect queen one last time.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The fact that anyone can complain about american currency seems absolutely ridiculous to me as a person that lives in Turkey. 1 $ is literally 26,94 ₺. 1 € is 29,71 ₺. I paid 1,8k for the asoiaf books. Economy here is absolutely fucked I honestly REALLY wish 1 $ was like 5 €. It would be a dream come true.

I don't think anyone is trying to downplay anyone else's struggles, but the truth is people are suffering globally from a cost of living crisis.

I am but a humble House of the Dragon blog, and there is little I can do about it. I wish I could. I'm sorry.

[radrush]

it's kind of weird that people in asoiaf still refer to westerosi currency as "dragons" though, right? presumably they were called that because the targaryens minted coins with the symbol of their house while they were in power, but agot begins 15 years after their dynasty was overthrown. obviously robert was no politician but it seems like a massive oversight to not create new mints with your own house sigil + portrait on them after you've seized power. is it more likely that robert did redesign the currency and people just kept using the term "dragons" as a colloquialism? or was he really just that bad at welding soft power

[lady-lye]

anon is right actually. sansa isn't a princess, because she will be and is the queen in the north.

no but for real. I find it so funny that for a fandom who will criticise sansa for her classism will then turn around and try to argue over her titles. lolwut.

furthermore whatever robb did with his will, it's impossible for him to make her a bastard. asoiaf fandom begging you please to understand first what you're talking about

George: There is no such thing as rightful succession, and legitimacy is entirely constructed, based on who holds power. Bastardy, kingship, and lordship are all statuses that can be created and revoked and are used as social currency to empower, subordinate, or control people.

Some person on the internet: ...i... hate.... teenage... girls...

But yeah. Titles are just made up! Wasn't there some Varys quote in ACOK about how power resides where people think it resides? Robb was just a lord until he was made a king. All it takes is a title to make a claim. I'm not necessarily of the QITN Sansa endgame camp, but I think she can hang onto her title as a princess for a little while longer. Wouldn't you want to, at thirteen?

[amplifyme]

I was tagged by @randomfoggytiger Thanks, frando!

1) 3 ships

Vincent & Diana (Beauty and the Beast), Mulder & Scully (The X Files), Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark (ASOIAF)

2) first ever ship

There were tons before this particular one, but the first one that made me really lose my tiny little mind and settle in for life was Vincent & Diana. And it just gets stronger every time I go back and do a rewatch.

3) last song

Strange Currencies ~ R.E.M.

4) last movie

Not a movie but the last thing I actually sat down and completed watching was The Fall of the House of Usher.

5) currently reading

Other than fanfic, you mean? Nothing right now, but I have a stack of books ready and waiting.

6) currently watching

The usual suspects: BATB, TXF, the new season of GBBO. The TV has mostly been used as background noise lately, tbh.

7) currently consuming

Whatever the muse wants to feed me.

8) currently craving

Nothing, I'm all good.

9) tags

Whoever wants to play!

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

The wealth of House Clegane

@thefeatherofhope had a question about the wealth of House Clegane and particularly Sandor’s access to it. So, let me see if I can clear this up at all...

The founder of House Clegane, the Casterly Rock kennelmaster who saved Tytos Lannister from a lioness (at the expense of his leg and three dogs), was granted knighthood, “lands and a towerhouse”. (Southeast of Lannisport, per GRRM.) A towerhouse is not a particularly big castle -- you can see one example of an ASOIAF towerhouse here, and this site has some great photos and plans of towerhouses especially in its Scotland section.

Notably, the Clegane towerhouse (called Clegane’s Keep, semi-canonically), has a village below it, prosperous enough to have skilled laborers such as woodcarvers. It’s unknown if there’s any other villages on the Clegane lands, nor the exact size of their lands. Southeast of Lannisport is a hilly area, per the maps, and not very far from the known silver mines at Silverhill, but it’s unknown if there’s any mines (silver or gold) within the Clegane lands. But the Westerlands are generally fertile (if not as abundant as the Reach), and the Keep’s location not far from a major city should lead to moderately wealthy estates and incomes. Definitely not great lord level or even great landed knight level, but more likely to be similar to House Webber than House Osgrey (see The Sworn Sword), even if they have a Standfast-sized castle. (I also headcanon that one source of income for House Clegane was the breeding of hunting hounds, which has fallen off a bit since Gregor became the master of the house, but you can take or leave that as you like.)

At any rate, House Clegane was likely wealthy enough from the start to afford the services of a maester (the Citadel requires payment), which the first Ser Clegane would have certainly needed as he was no doubt illiterate. (The second Ser Clegane, Sandor and Gregor’s father, may or may not have been literate, as he was taken as a Tytos’s squire probably around the age of 12, but I doubt he had much more than necessary literacy.) We definitely know they had a maester during Sandor’s childhood, and almost certainly Gregor had one on staff to help prepare the milk of the poppy that he drinks “as lesser men quaff ale” for his headaches.

Regarding tourneys -- the prize for the winner of the joust at the Hand’s Tourney was forty thousand gold dragons. At the time Sandor was captured by the Brotherhood, he had only 9000 gold dragons. While it’s technically possible that Sandor might have spent 30K in a year (Anguy managed to piss away his archery prize of 10K in a few months, spending it on fancy food and fancy girls at Chataya’s), that’s still a lot of money. @racefortheironthrone estimates a gold dragon as equal to today’s $1000, and what in the hell a man like Sandor could spend $3 million on, I don’t even know. (Like, even if he did go to Chataya's a few times, he certainly wasn't bathing in Arbor wine like Anguy did.) I headcanon that Sandor spent some of the money on buying Stranger, but it’s also possible he didn’t take all of whatever he had left with him when he left King’s Landing, as gold is really heavy. (40K dragons could weigh about 800 pounds; heck, 9000 dragons weighs 180 pounds. Sigh, GRRM cannot math.) I very much doubt Sandor is the sort to work with banks at all (though I know some people have headcanoned it: note that besides the Iron Bank of Braavos, there may be the Bank of Oldtown, if it still exists), but it’s possible he buried it somewhere secret. Though if he did, it wasn’t anywhere he had any chance of accessing once he was in the Riverlands.

As for Sandor’s access to House Clegane’s incomes now that Gregor is dead (more or less)... well, there’s a number of problems before we even get to that part. Number one, Ned (as Hand of the King) attainted Gregor for his crimes in the Riverlands. Attainder takes away someone’s lands and titles, and often their right to pass them onto their heirs. However, Littlefinger tells Ned that Sandor will inherit and Ned doesn’t dispute that, so that part doesn’t seem to apply. However however, Ned’s decree was most definitely reversed by Tywin after he was executed, so in fact that attainder is not relevant after all. (But mentioned in case anyone was wondering.) Second problem: when Sandor became a Kingsguard, he gave up all inheritance rights. (He swore no knight’s vows, but he never says he won’t swear the Kingsguard oaths.) However, he abandoned his post, and while there’s nothing exactly that says what happens when a KG does that, it’s definitely not “oh you get your lands back and everything’s fine again”. If it’s like the Night’s Watch, who Visenya modeled the KG vows on, what happens when you abandon your post is execution. (See also what happened to the KG Lucamore Strong when he broke his vows of celibacy.) Either way, what Sandor is now is an outlaw. (For his desertion, and for the Sack of Saltpans, which he didn’t actually do but is believed by the crown to have done, so it counts, alas.) Outlaws are, per their name, outside the law, which includes the laws of inheritance. Legally, if Sandor were to try to claim the Clegane lands right now, he absolutely could not. (Also, from whom? Cersei, the Lady of the Westerlands? (lol omg.) Cersei’s castellan Damion Lannister in Casterly Rock? It gets very difficult.)

So. As Gregor is legally dead, and has no legal heirs, the Clegane lands have reverted to Casterly Rock. If Sandor were to show himself alive, and IF he were somehow to be pardoned for his actual crimes and the nominal ones (how is a very good question, by some grateful king or queen perhaps for services rendered), and if the whole Kingsguard thing was made invalid (again, some royal declaring all of Joffrey’s decrees illegitimate since he was)... then, yes, Sandor might be able to claim House Clegane’s lands and incomes. (And the title too, see this post for details.) But there’s a bunch of great big ifs in there. Really really huge ones. Until they’re straightened out, if they ever are, Sandor’s got whatever’s in his pockets (zilch) and maybe whatever remains of his tourney winnings if he buried them anywhere or otherwise saved them somehow. (Note he gave away the Brotherhood’s IOU, as if they’d ever pay it back, as if especially Stoneheart’s version would.) You’ve got wiggle room with headcanons and hopeful futurefics (and author fiat in fic in general), but in practice? Sandor’s got nothin’.

Hope that helps!

[beyondmistland]

If westros has golden dragons, silver stags, and copper. What sort of coinage or system do you think Myr, bravos, mereen have? Also, wouldn’t it make more sense if dorne had a differing currency?

Dorne definitely had a different currency before the Union of 187 AC. As for Meereen, I'd probably go with Talons or Bolts given the fact their symbol is a harpy. Titans for Braavos and Guilders for Myr? Not sure.

EDIT: According to Daenerys I (ADWD), the coins used in Meereen are called “honors”.

Thanks for the question, anon

[racefortheironthrone]

In the past you estimated 20-25 dragons as a ballpark for the yearly expense for a Westerosi noble of keeping a household knight. How much less than that would you guesstimate the expense for a man-at-arms? Or for a crossbowman?

See here, and here.

Broadly, a man-at-arms would be about the same wage as a knight, maybe a little bit cheaper because of their social status but maybe a bit more expensive because they might be a bit more professional and less wrapped up in aristocratic money values. But I’d probably shorthand it to 20-25.

A crossbowman is a good deal cheaper than either a knight or a man-at-arms; indeed, a huge part of the attraction of the crossbow in the first place is that it was much cheaper to train and equip a crossbowman than invest in the lifetime’s training and expensive equipment of a man-at-arms. Then again, they are often specialized foreign labor (in a Westerosi context) so that puts a certain floor under their wages. This source puts a crossbowman’s wages at 2 florins a month (so 24 florins a year). I work that out to around 10 dragons a year, but as usual be careful of a historian doing math.

[mummer]

craster’s keep as westeros in microcosm. his sons given as bodies to the others and their war, becoming nothing but tools of violence and conquest. his daughters always/only wives, their bodies under his control to be used for his own means. how is this different for any westerosi noble family lol? the men weaponized, the women kept: by fathers. it’s all the same everywhere

[pr]

please tell me this sanitized version of arya stark's story. like i am dying to hear this version of events that included high valyrian call and response but managed to exclude literally everything else besides "smol girl fite" apparently.

Taken from a friend of a friend.

This friend of mine has been very consciously raising her young daughter outside of stereotypical gender norms. They’ve done quite a number on my friend, and she’s like, “Nope, my kid’s life will be different.”

Her daughter is small for her age, and will probably remain small. This has affected her self-confidence. Earlier this year, my friend decided to tell her daughter a slightly sanitized version of Arya Stark’s journey in GoT, to basically demonstrate how a small girl could learn to be badass.

Six months go by, and the daughter turns from 5 to 6. Her mom asks her what she wants for her birthday. The daughter says, “I want to learn how to fight.” So my friend, who has zero martial arts experience, looks up a place, and they go there.

The moment they get there, my friend is thinking, “This may not be the right place.” It’s a Krav Maga/MMA gym. Lots of burly dudes beating the crap out of each other, basically. Not your kid-friendly karate dojo.

But she doesn’t want to tell her daughter that they have to leave because the place is filled with intimidating men – it would pretty much fly in the face of everything she’s trying to teach her. So she says, “Okay. I don’t know if they have a kid’s class here. Why don’t you go ask who the teacher is, and then ask them?”

So her daughter walks up to one dude, asks for the teacher, then gets pointed to this tattooed, musclebound dude with his head shaved and a goatee. As my friend put, “The guy looked like your bigger, meaner younger brother.”

She trails behind her kid a bit, ready to step in, and listens in. Her daughter walks up the guy and says, “Hi! Do you have classes for kids? I want to learn how to fight.”

The guy looks down at this wee little girl, and he says, “Uh, well, no, we don’t really. Maybe I can talk to your mom and suggest some places for you? This isn’t really a place for little girls.”

Her daughter reaches into her jacket pocket, pulls out a nickel, holds it out to the guy and says, “Valar morghulis.”

The guy takes the nickel, looks at it, then says, totally deadpan: “Valar dohaeris. Of course I can teach you.”

The mom comes over and says, “I thought you said you didn’t have kid’s classes?” The guy says, “We do now. Come into the office and we’ll work up a training schedule.” The mom: “Do you have any idea how much it’ll cost?” The guy holds up the nickel. “She’s already paid up.”

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. You made a post a couple of days ago about how queer historical fiction doesnt need to be defined only by homophobia. Can you expand on that a bit maybe? Because it seems interesting and important, but I'm a little confused as to whether that is responsible to the past and showing how things have changed over time. Anyway this probably isn't very clear, but I hope its not insulting. Have a good day :)

Hiya. I assume you're referring to this post, yes? I think the main parameters of my argument were set out pretty clearly there, but sure, I'm happy to expand on it. Because I'm a little curious as to why you think that writing a queer narrative (especially a queer fictional narrative) that doesn't make much reference to or even incorporate explicit homophobia is (implicitly) not being "responsible to the past." I've certainly made several posts on this topic before, but as ever, my thoughts and research materials change over time. So, okay.

(Note: I am a professional historian with a PhD, a book contract for an academic monograph on medieval/early modern queer history, and soon-to-be-several peer-reviewed publications on medieval queer history. In other words, I'm not just talking out of my ass here.)

As I noted in that post, first of all, the growing emphasis on "accuracy" in historical fiction and historically based media is... a mixed bag. Not least because it only seems to be applied in the Game of Thrones fashion, where the only "accurate" history is that which is misogynistic, bloody, filthy, rampantly intolerant of competing beliefs, and has no room for women, people of color, sexual minorities, or anyone else who has become subject to hot-button social discourse today. (I wrote a critical post awhile ago about the Netflix show Cursed, ripping into it for even trying to pretend that a show based on the Arthurian legends was "historically accurate" and for doing so in the most simplistic and reductive way possible.) This says far more about our own ideas of the past, rather than what it was actually like, but oh boy will you get pushback if you try to question that basic premise. As other people have noted, you can mix up the archaeological/social/linguistic/cultural/material stuff all you like, but the instant you challenge the ingrained social ideas about The Bad Medieval Era, cue the screaming.

I've been a longtime ASOIAF fan, but I do genuinely deplore the effect that it (and the show, which was by far the worst offender) has had on popular culture and widespread perceptions of medieval history. When it comes to queer history specifically, we actually do not know that much, either positive or negative, about how ordinary medieval people regarded these individuals, proto-communities, and practices. Where we do have evidence that isn't just clerical moralists fulminating against sodomy (and trying to extrapolate a society-wide attitude toward homosexuality from those sources is exactly like reading extreme right-wing anti-gay preachers today and basing your conclusions about queer life in 2021 only on those), it is genuinely mixed and contradictory. See this discussion post I likewise wrote a while ago. Queerness, queer behavior, queer-behaving individuals have always existed in history, and labeling them "queer" is only an analytical conceit that represents their strangeness to us here in the 21st century, when these categories of exclusion and difference have been stringently constructed and applied, in a way that is very far from what supposedly "always" existed in the past.

Basically, we need to get rid of the idea that there was only one empirical and factual past, and that historians are "rewriting" or "changing" or "misrepresenting" it when they produce narratives that challenge hegemonic perspectives. This is why producing good historical analysis is a skill that takes genuine training (and why it's so undervalued in a late-capitalist society that would prefer you did anything but reflect on the past). As I also said in the post to which you refer, "homophobia" as a structural conceit can't exist prior to its invention as an analytical term, if we're treating queerness as some kind of modern aberration that can't be reliably talked about until "homosexual" gained currency in the late 19th century. If there's no pre-19th century "homosexuality," then ipso facto, there can be no pre-19th-century "homophobia" either. Which one is it? Spoiler alert: there are still both things, because people are people, but just as the behavior itself is complicated in the premodern past, so too is the reaction to it, and it is certainly not automatic rejection at all times.

Hence when it comes to fiction, queer authors have no responsibility (and in my case, certainly no desire) to uncritically replicate (demonstrably false!) narratives insisting that we were always miserable, oppressed, ostracised, murdered, or simply forgotten about in the premodern world. Queer characters, especially historical queer characters, do not have to constantly function as a political mouthpiece for us to claim that things are so much better today (true in some cases, not at all in the others) and that modernity "automatically" evolved to a more "enlightened" stance (definitely not true). As we have seen with the recent resurgence of fascism, authoritarianism, nationalism, and xenophobia around the world, along with the desperate battle by the right wing to re-litigate abortion, gay rights, etc., social attitudes do not form in a vacuum and do not just automatically become more progressive. They move backward, forward, and side to side, depending on the needs of the societies that produce them, and periods of instability, violence, sickness, and poverty lead to more regressive and hardline attitudes, as people act out of fear and insularity. It is a bad human habit that we have not been able to break over thousands of years, but "[social] things in the past were Bad but now have become Good" just... isn't true.

After all, nobody feels the need to constantly add subtextual disclaimers or "don't worry, I personally don't support this attitude/action" implied authorial notes in modern romances, despite the cornucopia of social problems we have today, and despite the complicated attitude of the modern world toward LGBTQ people. If an author's only reason for including "period typical homophobia" (and as we've discussed, there's no such thing before the 19th century) is that they think it should be there, that is an attitude that needs to be challenged and examined more closely. We are not obliged to only produce works that represent a downtrodden past, even if the end message is triumphal. It's the same way we got so tired of rape scenes being used to make a female character "stronger." Just because those things existed (and do exist!), doesn't mean you have to submit every single character to those humiliations in some twisted name of accuracy.

Yes, as I have always said, prejudices have existed throughout history, sometimes violently so. But that is not the whole story, and writing things that center only on the imagined or perceived oppression is not, at this point, accurate OR helpful. Once again, I note that this is specifically talking about fiction. If real-life queer people are writing about their own experiences, which are oftentimes complex, that's not a question of "representation," it's a question of factual memoir and personal history. You can't attack someone for being "problematic" when they are writing about their own lived experience, which is something a younger generation of queer people doesn't really seem to get. They also often don't realise how drastically things have changed even in my own lifetime, per the tags on my reblog about Brokeback Mountain, and especially in media/TV.

However, if you are writing fiction about queer people, especially pre-20th century queer people, and you feel like you have to make them miserable just to be "responsible to the past," I would kindly suggest that is not actually true at all, and feeds into a dangerous narrative that suggests everything "back then" was bad and now it's fine. There are more stories to tell than just suffering, queer characters do not have to exist solely as a corollary for (inaccurate) political/social commentary on the premodern past, and they can and should be depicted as living their lives relatively how they wanted to, despite the expected difficulties and roadblocks. That is just as accurate, if sometimes not more so, than "they suffered, the end," and it's something that we all need to be more willing to embrace.