#ghiscari dress

[buildoblivion]

long live the queen

[shierakqiyas]

EXPLORING THE PARALLELS BETWEEN DAENERYS TARGARYEN AND ELIZABETH I OF ENGLAND

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are the last descendants of their dynasties (House Targaryen & House Tudor)

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are daughters of tyrant Kings (Aerys Targaryen & Henry VIII)

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are the third in the line of succession to the throne which make them unlikely heirs but the unpredictable deaths of their respective siblings made them rise to power and becoming Queens regnant that ruled in their own rights.

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are preyed upon by their guardians. ( Jorah mormont is dany's sworn protector/knight and Thomas seymour is elizabeth's stepfather)

He should not be doing this. I am his queen, not his woman. (...) It was a long kiss, though how long Dany could not have said. When it ended, Ser Jorah let go of her, and she took a quick step backward. “You… you should not have…”

—Dany, A storm of swords

Seymour’s own behaviour was not calculated to make this seem unlikely, for he treated Elizabeth in a boisterous way that was too tinged with sexuality to be dismissed as playfulness pure and simple. He liked to engage the teenage girl in suggestive banter, coming into her bedchamber before she was fully dressed so that he could “bid her good morrow and ask her how she did, and strike her upon the back or on the buttocks familiarly”. If he found her still in bed, “he would put open the curtains and … make as though he would come at her”, forcing Elizabeth to burrow helplessly under the bedclothes. “One morning he strave to have kissed her in her bed”, which even Mrs Ashley thought was going too far, and she “bade him go away for shame”. Mrs Ashley’s presence ensured that these sessions could not get too out of hand, nor was Elizabeth herself an altogether willing victim. She was able to outwit the Lord Admiral by rising earlier than usual, so that when Seymour entered he found her up and dressed, and demurely absorbed in study.

—Queen Elizabeth I by Anne Somerset

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are polyglots. their abilities to speak many languages allowed them to converse easily with people from various backgrounds that visited their courts.

Reznak and Skahaz waited atop the marble steps. “Great queen,” declared Reznak mo Reznak, “you are so radiant today I fear to look on you.” The seneschal wore a tokar of maroon silk with a golden fringe. A small, damp man, he smelled as if he had bathed in perfume and spoke a bastard form of High Valyrian, much corrupted and flavored with a thick Ghiscari growl.

“You are kind to say so,” Dany answered, in the same tongue.

—Dany, A dance with dragons

(..) While her mastery of so many languages later assisted her conduct of diplomacy by enabling her to converse with foreign ambassadors,

She (Elizabeth) did not see language simply as a means of communication but as an artistic medium, and it was this that inspired the singular cadences and ornate phraseology of her mature speech.

—Queen Elizabeth I by Anne Somerset

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth's take great joy in riding horses

Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart.

Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much.

—Dany,A game of thrones

She was an excellent rider, and had such a good seat on a horse that in February 1560 the Spanish ambassador reported admiringly, “The Queen rides out every day into the country on a Neapolitan courser or jennet … She makes a brave show, and bears herself gallantly”.

—Queen Elizabeth I by Anne Somerset

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth sought by many marriage suitors because of their power and high status

Both Daenerys & Elizabeth have secret lovers, Daenerys take Daario as a lover just like Elizabeth I (assumed by historians) take Robert Dudley as her secret lover. because Daario and Robert are too lowborn, their close relationships with Daenerys & Elizabeth faced with disapproval and scrutiny from people in the queens's courts.

The old knight neither liked nor trusted Daario, she knew. Even so, he had answered gallantly. "There is no woman more lovely than Your Grace. Only a blind man could believe otherwise, and Daario Naharis was not blind."

—Dany, A dance with dragons

When Kat, with her usual impetuosity, again urged that, whatever the facts of the case, the damage to her reputation could even lead to civil war, Elizabeth - emotional now - refused an appeal that she see less of Robert. She needed him, she said, because 'in this world she had so much sorrow and tribulation and so little joy'. To some of the foreign ambassadors, this was indeed becoming a scandal that could even topple Elizabeth from the throne.

—Elizabeth and Leicester: The Truth about the Virgin Queen and the Man She Loved.

daenerys art credit to :

[atopvisenyashill]

The Magic Users Before Old Valyria, Part One: Magical Nuclear Fallout

i am positive this post has been made before but i'm making it anyway because it's eating away at my brain so let's gooooo.

We are delving into a fever dream that Dany has in AGOT, that will take us to the Pre-Valyrian magical users and their link to Valyria.

so in Dany's fever dream in AGOT, she has a vision of her ancestors:

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade.

They look just like other Valyrians - hair of gold, white, and silver with funky colored eyes.

But note the exact gems mentioned! In TWOIAF, we get a little background on Yi Ti and their belief system. read here:

[In the beginning] a single realm ruled by the God-on-Earth, the only begotten son of the Lion of Night and Maiden-Made-of-Light, who traveled about his domains in a palanquin carved from a single pearl and carried by a hundred queens, his wives. For ten thousand years the Great Empire of the Dawn flourished in peace and plenty under the God-on-Earth, until at last he ascended to the stars to join his forebears.

Dominion over mankind then passed to his eldest son, who was known as the Pearl Emperor and ruled for a thousand years. The Jade Emperor, the Tourmaline Emperor, the Onyx Emperor, the Topaz Emperor, and the Opal Emperor followed in turn, each reigning for centuries…

When the daughter of the Opal Emperor succeeded him as the Amethyst Empress, her envious younger brother cast her down and slew her, proclaiming himself the Bloodstone Emperor and beginning a reign of terror. He practiced dark arts, torture, and necromancy, enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman for his bride, feasted on human flesh, and cast down the true gods to worship a black stone that had fallen from the sky.

Opal, Amethyst, Tourmaline, and Jade Emperors, just like her ancestors. It's not a huge stretch to say that likely, Dany, and therefore Valyrians as a whole (or at the least the Dragon Riders of Valyria) are the remnants of this ancient empire, The Great Empire of the Dawn, the same way that the Ghiscari culture is the remnant of Old Ghis - changed a bit, but with many similarities passed down amongst its people.

But who exactly is this civilization and how did they eventually turn into the Valyrians? Well, let's keep continuing with that passage about the Bloodstone Emperor:

In the annals of the Further East, it was the Blood Betrayal, as his usurpation is named, that ushered in the age of darkness called the Long Night…How long the darkness endured no man can say, but all agree that it was only when a great warrior—known variously as Hyrkoon the Hero, Azor Ahai, Yin Tar, Neferion, and Eldric Shadowchaser—arose to give courage to the race of men and lead the virtuous into battle with his blazing sword Lightbringer that the darkness was put to rout, and light and love returned once more to the world.

Basically, the people of Yi Ti believe that the Great Empire of the Dawn stretched far across the globe, and that when the Bloodstone Emperor usurped his niece, The Amethyst Empress, potentially using some weird blood magic, it caused the Long Night and the collapse of the Great Empire of the Dawn.

I think that this blood magic he was messing around with was, to use a metaphor, basically a magic nuclear bomb and I think ground zero for this - and therefore the capital of the Great Empire of the Dawn - is Asshai-by-the-Shadow. It's very notable that Asshai is so old its people don't even know what its origins are:

The ancient port of Asshai stands at the end of a long wedge of land, on the point where the Jade Sea meets the Saffron Straits. Its origins are lost in the mists of time. Even the Asshai’i do not claim to know who built their city; they will say only that a city has stood here since the world began and will stand here until it ends. Few places in the known world are as remote as Asshai, and fewer are as forbidding. Travelers tell us that the city is built entirely of black stone: halls, hovels, temples, palaces, streets, walls, bazaars, all. Some say as well that the stone has a greasy, unpleasant feel to it, that it seems to drink the light, dimming tapers and torches and hearth fires alike.

Note that last part, about the city being built from black stone - Valyria is well known for having Weird, Cool Architecture that involves black stone, fused together by dragon fire. From ADWD prologue:

Across the wide blue expanse of the Rhoyne, he could see the Black Wall that had been raised by the Valyrians when Volantis was no more than an outpost of their empire: a great oval of fused stone two hundred feet high and so thick that six four-horse chariots could race around its top abreast, as they did each year to celebrate the founding of the city.

and again from Tyrion's POV:

The gateway to the Long Bridge was a black stone arch carved with sphinxes, manticores, dragons, and creatures stranger still. Beyond the arch stretched the great span that the Valyrians had built at the height of their glory, its fused stone roadway supported by massive piers. 

And one more time F&B/The Princess and the Queen, when Aegon and Sunfyre on are Dragonstone:

Sunfyre’s scales still shone like beaten gold in the sunlight, but as he sprawled across the fused black Valyrian stone of the yard, it was plain to see that he was a broken thing, he who had been the most magnificent dragon ever to fly the skies of Westeros

rip to the hottest dragon in westeros.

It's very much a Valyrian thing, this fused black stone...yet the entirety of Asshai is built with black stone, even though the city predates Valyria, and the black stone of Asshai is just a little different - a greasy, unpleasant feeling. I think that this greasy feeling comes from the remnants of the magic that caused the Long Night - going back to that idea of a magical nuclear bomb which is poisoning the land the way radiation does. I think this because there are actually several ancient cities of mysterious origin with black stone and a greasy, oily feeling to them, all of which seem to have suffered some sort of magical nuclear fallout the way Asshai has, and they're all not too far from each other either:

The Idol on the Isle of Toads in the Basilisk Isles

Ruins found upon the Isle of Tears, the Isle of Toads, and Ax Island hint at some ancient civilization, but little is now known of these vanished men of the Dawn Age. If any still survived when the first corsairs settled on the islands, they were soon put to the sword, so no trace of them now remains … save perhaps upon the Isle of Toads…

On the Isle of Toads can be found an ancient idol, a greasy black stone crudely carved into the semblance of a gigantic toad of malignant aspect, some forty feet high. The people of this isle are believed by some to be descended from those who carved the Toad Stone, for there is an unpleasant fishlike aspect to their faces, and many have webbed hands and feet. If so, they are the sole surviving remnant of this forgotten race.

The Five Forts

The Five Forts are very old, older than the Golden Empire itself; some claim they were raised by the Pearl Emperor during the morning of the Great Empire to keep the Lion of Night and his demons from the realms of men … and indeed, there is something godlike, or demonic, about the monstrous size of the forts, for each of the five is large enough to house ten thousand men, and their massive walls stand almost a thousand feet high.

Certain scholars from the west have suggested Valyrian involvement in the construction of the Five Forts, for the great walls are single slabs of fused black stone that resemble certain Valyrian citadels in the west … but this seems unlikely, for the Forts predate the Freehold’s rise, and there is no record of any dragonlords ever coming so far east.

The Ancient City of Yeen

Maesters and other scholars alike have puzzled over the greatest of the engimas of Sothoryos, the ancient city of Yeen. A ruin older than time, built of oily black stone, in massive blocks so heavy that it would require a dozen elephants to move them, Yeen has remained a desolation for many thousands of years, yet the jungle that surrounds it on every side has scarce touched it.

And even more suspicious is the fact that Sothoryos, where Yeen is located, is known for its large wyvern population:

Most terrible of all are the wyverns, those tyrants of the southern skies, with their great leathery wings, cruel beaks, and insatiable hunger. Close kin to dragons, wyverns cannot breathe fire, but they exceed their cousins in ferocity and are a match for them in all other respects save size.

Now there's different stories on how dragons came to be, but most interesting to me is what the Asshai'i claim:

The Valyrians themselves claimed that dragons sprang forth as the children of the Fourteen Flames, while in Qarth the tales state that there was once a second moon in the sky. One day this moon was scalded by the sun and cracked like an egg, and a million dragons poured forth. In Asshai, the tales are many and confused, but certain texts—all impossibly ancient—claim that dragons first came from the Shadow, a place where all of our learning fails us. These Asshai’i histories say that a people so ancient they had no name first tamed dragons in the Shadow and brought them to Valyria, teaching the Valyrians their arts before departing from the annals.

Septon Barth later writes that he believes Valyrians used wyverns and blood magic to make dragons:

In Septon Barth’s Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns, he speculated that the bloodmages of Valyria used wyvern stock to create dragons. Though the bloodmages were alleged to have experimented mightily with their unnatural arts, this claim is considered far-fetched by most maesters, among them Maester Vanyon’s Against the Unnatural contains certain proofs of dragons having existed in Westeros even in the earliest of days, before Valyria rose to be a power.

So to sum up basically:

Dany's vision shows us her ancestors, who are almost definitely the rulers of the Great Empire of the Dawn

We know several cities - Asshai, Yeen, the Isle of Toads - that have an architectural resemblance to the fused black stone that the Valyrians used, but their structures predate Valyria.

We know Septon Barth believes dragons were made through blood magic with wyverns as a base stock and that there are a lot of wyverns in one of these ancient places, Sothoryos/Yeen, where the black stone architecture is found.

The people of Yi Ti believe that a magical calamity of some sort caused the Long Night.

THEREFORE: The Great Empire of the Dawn had its capital in Asshai, and used blood magic to start the Long Night (by accident, most likely), which caused a huge magical calamity that affected the entire world, and while their people never recovered from it, they brought their magical knowledge with them to their new home in Valyria, where they made more black fused stone architecture and turned their wyverns into dragons. Meanwhile, the "ground zero" for much of this magical calamity still experiences the magical fallout of this calamity.

OKAY. That's part one because this is getting super long winded. Part Two will be....JUST HOW BIG WAS THE GREAT EMPIRE OF THE DAWN ANYWAY?

[isefyres]

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔢𝔫'𝔰 𝔠𝔦𝔯𝔠𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫.

Irri - is a Dothraki handmaid to Daenerys Targaryen. Irri was born to a khal of a khalasar. It was destroyed by Khal Drogo, and she was enslaved. Irri, Doreah, and Jhiqui are given to Daenerys Targaryen by Viserys Targaryen as wedding gifts to serve as her handmaids. She is given to Daenerys to teach her how to ride horses in the Dothraki style She stays with Daenerys, even after the death of Khal Drogo and the disintegration of his khalasar.

Doreah -is a Lysene handmaid to Daenerys Targaryen. Magister Illyrio Mopatis found Doreah in a pleasure house in Lys. Viserys Targaryen bedded her while he was a guest at Illyrio's manse. Illyrio payed the House Orthys good coin for her to be given to them. Viserys Targaryen is usually kinder to Doreah than to Daenerys's Dothraki handmaids, and Daenerys has the Lyseni sew a fine sandsilk cloak for her brother. While sick during the trip to Qarth, Doreah recovers. Eventually becomes part of Daenerys court and a confidante of many women who wish to know secrets of pleasure.

Ezzara - is a Ghiscari priestess of Meereen. She is a Blue Grace. Ezzara treats the first victim of the bloody flux at Meereen, although the man dies within an hour of arrival. Ezzara accompanies Galazza Galare, the Green Grace, along with two other Blue Graces, to the Great Pyramid of Meereen to explain to Queen Daenerys Targaryen the symptoms of the disease and its possible spread in Meereen. Not trusting the Maesters, Ezzara travels with Queen Daenerys and becomes the main source of medical issues.

Sariah - Originally from Myr, she is a Mereen exotic dancer, part of Hizdahr zo Loraq court and a favorite of him of sorts, often finding herself in his bed. While not a slave, when he is killed, Sariah chooses to follow Daenerys to the new continent, finding no real home in Mereen or Myr as she does not remember her home. Sariah is multilingual and often helps with translations and such. She also helps make the queen new dresses in the style of her House based on books and recallings of the old Valyrian Households.

Kaizina Nika Elizan - of the New Lorath Empire, East of Braavos. Called the Empress of the East Shivering Sea. With the help of a mercenary company and the people, she gained control of the seat of council to call upon one ruler for Lorath and reclaimed the Ibbish Isles and Morath, a mining Lorathian colony and Saath, taking the mayority of the East of the Shivering Sea with Braavos help, wanting less taxes by having only one tax to be pay to one person. Daenerys accepted Nika's invitation to her coronation and Nika will attend her own in turn, and wishes for commerce and alliances to be made once Westeros regains peace.

Cahira of Lys - Lysani warrior, leader of a legion given to Daenerys Targaryen by Prince Lysandro, Cahira was second in command in the Orthys household when it came to training and now her direct order is to train women and help them defend themselves as well serve the Queen on her Conquest. Cahira is part of a deal made to stablish Lysani settlements on Westeros.

  Kira Kandaq - House of Kandaq Heir, attendant to Queen Daenerys in Mereen as her famiyl rises to power. The House is supposedly less hostile to the rule of Daenerys Targaryen. Skahaz mo Kandaq, known as the Shavepate, serves as one of her Meereenese advisors. The House before Daenerys came was considered a lesser House and its influence has grown due to their service to Daenerys. The house are considered traitors by the Sons of the Harpy. She becomes part of her emboy and court.

Val of the Free Folk - later on Val Weirwood, is a member of the free folk. She is the sister of Dalla, the wife of Mance Rayder. Resourceful, fast and quick witted, she is often called princess by the South and she takes advantage of this to get some attention to raise her nephew. She has a relationship with Jon Snow who she has been claiming as her own for a while and she is often found with Daenerys teaching her some Northern costumes as well the simple pleasure of gossiping and being women.

Princess Myrcella Baratheon - After her return from Dorne, Myrcella becomes a political player in the game, acting as the ruler of the kingdom as regent until Daenerys comes along. Myrcella becomes a friend and an ally and Myrcella is the one who shows that political alliances through marriage, while not ideal, is often the way to make a kingdom united, like Queen Alysanne and Queen Rhaenys did before them. Myrcella is witted even despite her murder attempt in the queenmaker plot and still beloved by the kingdom. She is often considered Daenerys heir, before Daenerys gets one of her own. Cella eventually finds friendship in Dany's handmaidens and her own cousin as well love in Aegon, who she weds.

[orphiics]

 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ florence pugh, 26, cis woman, she + her. announcing the arrival of MAELYS of house CELTIGAR, the LADY of CLAW ISLE. whispers among the court name them to be both INGENIOUS and ENIGMATIC in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in the arts, sciences & swordplay if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of at least a dilution of ancient ichor and wyvern blood distilled - the last of old valyria runs your veins, a dash of sea salt and poison to flavor - you were raised to have claws, intricate detail scribbled across pages in a plethora of languages - the pursuit of knowledge is your path to your power. 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 THE TARGARYENS .

  statistics… 

# basic information.

official  name:  maelys tyraxes celtigar.  nicknames:  mae or lys ( only by close companions or family members; only generally accepted from daemon ).  noble  title:  lady of claw isle.  date  of  birth:  November 20th, 3am.  age:  twenty six.  birthplace:  claw isle.  home:  claw isle, the crownlands, westeros.  nationality:  westerosi.  gender:  cis-woman.  pronouns:  she + her.  orientation:  bisexual.  monikers:  currently, none ( give her one i dare you ).  languages:  valyrian ( both high and low dialects - mother tongue ), common tongue ( considered her second language but is a native speaker ), dornish, rhoynish, trade speak ( professional proficiency ) dothraki, old ghiscari, old tongue ( studying; minimal understanding ) accent:  light ( only when it is a language she isn't proficient in ).

# physical information.

faceclaim:  florence pugh.  ethnicity:  valyrian, andal.  hair:  blonde, near platinum ( color ) mid-thigh length. generally due in part to the length it is in some style of braid or up-do depending on the occasion and the manor in which she must navigate the world. Intricate plating, truly complex styles are for special occasions,  less complex styling will do for day-to-day tasks. It is only fully loose if on wash days. ( styling )  eyes:  valyrian hazel. ( brown/green forward with elusive flecks of violet ).  height:  5’4”.  build:  mesomorphic, fit but curvaceous in the right places.  scent:  sea salt, sandalwood, dark musk, black currant ( mysterious,  sophisticated, sexy ).  dominant  hand:  left.  allergies:  none.  scars:  none of note.  distinguishing  features:  strong jawline, striking, expressive eyes, a huskier voice, stature - she's a short queen she's incredible.  clothing  style:  in general terms Maelys dresses impressively, but it is dependent on the activities planned or what functions are needed to be performed. She prizes functionality over frill but even in this thought everything is a statement. Like the language of flowers, the style of dress communicates something that the more observant person will notice. Color, cut, style - even the fabric is a message that this Celtigar has learned. Her style reflects herself - elegant, sharp and ethereal. Being a cousin to the royal house do you expect anything less than to play the part? 

# personality.

label:   tbd.   mbti:   intp.   enneagram:   tbd.   element:   metal.   star   sign:   scorpio sun, sagittarius moon, libra ascendant.   temperament:   melancholic-phlegmatic.   character   inspirations:   violet baudelaire, hermione grainger, evelyn o’connell, beth harmon, a sprinkle of eowyn & the honorable mention of olenna tyrell.   deadly   sin:   pride.   heavenly   virtue:   diligence.   godly   parent:   athena.

# drives.

hobbies:  various forms of arts, sciences / medicine, swordplay ( her hobby is improving herself and her skills so really too many hobbies ).  religion:  faith of the seven ( in appearance only ) gods of old valyria ( true faith ).  alliance:  targaryen ( mostly appearance ) house celtigar ( in her older brother and herself - always ).  personal goals:  maelys wants 1. To secure strong political alliances and the power that goes with them ( marrying if necessary but to also find a satisfying, stimulating relationship though because of her ambition its unlikely #the things we do for family ) 2. To see a Celtigar claim a dragon as is their right by blood and the return of old valyria   3. The downfall of the targaryen cousins .  would they choose family or power?  Oh this question - maelys will choose her brother but power over the other pieces of her family - mhmm. 

# familial ties.

parent one:  lord bartimos celtigar.  relationship:  father, alive but in declining health.  parent two:  lady celtigar nee ??. relationship:  mother, deceased.  spouse:  none. relationship:  unwed / unbetrothed.  sibling:  daemon celtigar. relationship:  older brother, alive.  

  narrative...

Please bare with me - we are writing and editing this piece.

# wanted  connections.

Connections are also coming along this will be updated soon!

[aboveallarescuer]

DAENERYS TARGARYEN’S OUTFITS IN A DANCE WITH DRAGONS

(AGOT, ACOK, ASOS, ADWD)

Last September, I commissioned the amazingly talented @ilrex to draw fanart of every single Dany outfit that’s described in the books. I can’t thank them enough for accepting my request, for making me so happy and excited whenever I received updates of their progress, for finishing such a huge project, for giving me such diverse options to use as my tumblr icon (lol), for greatly enriching my (re)reading experience of Dany’s chapters and for surpassing all my expectations with their gorgeous style and attention to detail. Ilrex deserves all the praise for their depiction of these outfits, which will be posted per book on different days.

So here are Dany’s outfits in A Dance with Dragons, along with the book descriptions (a few of them were skipped for being too repetitive and/or vague) that ilrex had in mind in order to draw her costumes:

Dany clutched her lion pelt to her chest. Underneath, a sheer white linen tunic covered her to midthigh. (ADWD, Daenerys I)

~

Only then did Dany go back inside the pyramid, where Irri and Jhiqui were waiting to brush the tangles from her hair and garb her as befit the Queen of Meereen, in a Ghiscari tokar.

The garment was a clumsy thing, a long loose shapeless sheet that had to be wound around her hips and under an arm and over a shoulder, its dangling fringes carefully layered and displayed. Wound too loose, it was like to fall off; wound too tight, it would tangle, trip, and bind. Even wound properly, the tokar required its wearer to hold it in place with the left hand. Walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance, lest one tread upon those heavy trailing fringes. It was not a garment meant for any man who had to work. The tokar was a master’s garment, a sign of wealth and power.

[…] The floppy ears she chose today were made of sheer white linen, with a fringe of golden tassels. With Jhiqui’s help, she wound the tokar about herself correctly on her third attempt. Irri fetched her crown, wrought in the shape of the three-headed dragon of her House. Its coils were gold, its wings silver, its three heads ivory, onyx, and jade. Dany’s neck and shoulders would be stiff and sore from the weight of it before the day was done. (ADWD, Daenerys I)

~

As the sky lightened and the stars faded one by one, Irri and Jhiqui helped her don a tokar of violet silk fringed in gold. (ADWD, Daenerys II)

~

In his honor Daenerys had donned a Qartheen gown, a sheer confection of violet samite cut so as to leave her left breast bare. Her silver-gold hair brushed lightly over her shoulder, falling almost to her nipple. (ADWD, Daenerys III)

~

“What does Your Grace wish to wear?” asked Missandei.

Starlight and seafoam, Dany thought, a wisp of silk that leaves my left breast bare for Daario’s delight. Oh, and flowers for my hair. When first they met, the captain brought her flowers every day, all the way from Yunkai to Meereen. (ADWD, Daenerys IV)

~

“Bring the grey linen gown with the pearls on the bodice. Oh, and my white lion’s pelt.” She always felt safer wrapped in Drogo’s lionskin. (ADWD, Daenerys IV)

~

Dany’s riding clothes were stained and sooty as she stepped back from the pyres. (ADWD, Daenerys VI)

~

“Irri, bring the green tokar, the silk one fringed with Myrish lace.”

“That one is being repaired, Khaleesi. The lace was torn. The blue tokar has been cleaned.”

“Blue, then. They will be just as pleased.” (ADWD, Daenerys VI)

~

Dany hurried off, calling for her handmaids. She would not welcome her captain home in a tokar. In the end she tried a dozen gowns before she found one she liked, but she refused the crown that Jhiqui offered her. (ADWD, Daenerys VI)

~

“Help me find my crown. Oh, and some clothes to wear, something light and cool.” (ADWD, Daenerys VII)

~

“…The wedding garb is fraught with meaning too. The bride is dressed in dark red veils above a tokar of white silk, fringed with baby pearls.”

The queen of the rabbits must not be wed without her floppy ears. “All those pearls will make me rattle when I walk.” (ADWD, Daenerys VI)

~

Afterward, as Jhiqui was patting Daenerys dry, Irri approached with her tokar. Dany envied the Dothraki maids their loose sandsilk trousers and painted vests. They would be much cooler than her in her tokar, with its heavy fringe of baby pearls. “Help me wind this round myself, please. I cannot manage all these pearls by myself.” (ADWD, Daenerys VII)

~

So Daenerys sat silent through the meal, wrapped in a vermilion tokar and black thoughts, speaking only when spoken to, brooding on the men and women being bought and sold outside her walls, even as they feasted here within the city. (ADWD, Daenerys VIII)

~

“I keep my promises,” he told her, as Irri and Jhiqui were robing them for bed. 

[…] No sooner had her handmaids retired for the night than he tore the robe from her and tumbled her backwards into bed. (ADWD, Daenerys VIII)

~

Jhiqui slipped Dany’s silk robe from her shoulders and Irri helped her into her bathing pool. (ADWD, Daenerys IX)

~

Jhiqui brought a soft towel to pat her dry. “Khaleesi, which tokar will you want today?” asked Irri.  

“The yellow silk.” The queen of the rabbits could not be seen without her floppy ears. The yellow silk was light and cool, and it would be blistering down in the pit. The red sands will burn the soles of those about to die. “And over it, the long red veils.” The veils would keep the wind from blowing sand into her mouth. And the red will hide any blood spatters.

As Jhiqui brushed Dany’s hair and Irri painted the queen’s nails, they chattered happily about the day’s matches. (ADWD, Daenerys IX)

~

She lifted her veil and let it flutter away. She took her tokar off as well. The pearls rattled softly against one another as she unwound the silk. 

“Khaleesi?” Irri asked. “What are you doing?” 

“Taking off my floppy ears.”

[...] “Let me go!” Dany twisted from his grasp. The world seemed to slow as she cleared the parapet. When she landed in the pit she lost a sandal. Running, she could feel the sand between her toes, hot and rough.

[...] She scrabbled in the sand, pushing against the pitmaster’s corpse, and her fingers brushed against the handle of his whip. [...] Dany hit him. “No,” she screamed, swinging the lash with all the strength that she had in her. The dragon jerked his head back. “No,” she screamed again. “NO!” 

With a hisssssss, he spat black fire down at her. Dany darted underneath the flames, swinging the whip and shouting, “No, no, no. Get DOWN!” His answering roar was full of fear and fury, full of pain. His wings beat once, twice … (ADWD, Daenerys IX)

~

And Daenerys … Her hair was aflame. She had the whip in her hand and she was shouting, then she was on the dragon's back, flying. (ADWD, The Queensguard)

~

The sun was hot this morning, the sky blue and cloudless. That was good. Dany’s clothes were hardly more than rags, and offered little in the way of warmth. One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon’s cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod. Her tokar and veils she had abandoned in the pit, and her linen undertunic had never been made to withstand the hot days and cold nights of the Dothraki sea. Sweat and grass and dirt had stained it, and Dany had torn a strip off the hem to make a bandage for her shin. I must look a ragged thing, and starved, she thought, but if the days stay warm, I will not freeze. 

[...] As she splashed her face, she saw fresh blood on her thighs. The ragged hem of her undertunic was stained with it. The sight of so much red frightened her. 

[...] The day grew warmer, and the sun beat down upon her head and the burnt remnants of her hair.

[...] As the western sky turned the color of a blood bruise, she heard the sound of approaching horses. Dany rose, wiped her hands on her ragged undertunic, and went to stand beside her dragon. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

[vivacissimx]

Daenerys & discomfort in gifted clothes

[dany month day 5: dresses & costumes]

As a Princess, Khaleesi, and Queen, Daenerys is expected to look the part. In many instances she is gifted clothing that she does not feel comfortable in, gifts that reflect what the gifter expects of her. Daenerys is able to identify the expectations behind these supposed gifts, and the power balance she plays with by either wearing them or not wearing them.

Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. "Is it really mine?"

"A gift from the Magister Illyrio," Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. "The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess."

A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. "Why does he give us so much?" she asked. "What does he want from us?"

-AGOT, Daenerys I

Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of scent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the skin of a thousand mice. "A handsome gift, Khaleesi," Magister Illyrio said of the last, after he had told her what it was. "Most lucky." The gifts mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use.

-AGOT, Daenerys II

Rhaegal hissed and dug sharp black claws into her bare shoulder as Dany stretched out a hand for the wine. Wincing, she shifted him to her other shoulder, where he could claw her gown instead of her skin. She was garbed after the Qartheen fashion. Xaro had warned her that the Enthroned would never listen to a Dothraki, so she had taken care to go before them in flowing green samite with one breast bared, silvered sandals on her feet, with a belt of black-and-white pearls about her waist. For all the help they offered, I could have gone naked. Perhaps I should have. She drank deep.

-ACOK, Daenerys III

If the Milk Men thought her such a savage, she would dress the part for them. When she went to the stables, she wore faded sandsilk pants and woven grass sandals. Her small breasts moved freely beneath a painted Dothraki vest, and a curved dagger hung from her medallion belt. Jhiqui had braided her hair Dothraki fashion, and fastened a silver bell to the end of the braid.

-ACOK, Daenerys IV

Today she wore a robe of purple samite and a silver sash, and on her head the three-headed dragon crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood had given her in Qarth. Her slippers were silver as well, with heels so high that she was always half afraid she was about to topple over. When she was dressed, Missandei brought her a polished silver glass so she could see how she looked. Dany stared at herself in silence. Is this the face of a conqueror? So far as she could tell, she still looked like a little girl.

-ASOS, Daenerys VI

[...]Irri and Jhiqui were waiting to brush the tangles from her hair and garb her as befit the Queen of Meereen, in a Ghiscari tokar.

The garment was a clumsy thing, a long loose shapeless sheet that had to be wound around her hips and under an arm and over a shoulder, its dangling fringes carefully layered and displayed. Wound too loose, it was like to fall off; wound too tight, it would tangle, trip, and bind. Even wound properly, the tokar required its wearer to hold it in place with the left hand. Walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance, lest one tread upon those heavy trailing fringes. It was not a garment meant for any man who had to work. The tokar was a master's garment, a sign of wealth and power.

-ADWD, Daenerys I

Lord Ghael had a mouth of brown and rotten teeth and the pointed yellow face of a weasel. He also had a gift. "Cleon the Great sends these slippers as a token of his love for Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons."

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany's feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? "King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift." Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together.

-ADWD, Daenerys I

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

-ADWD, Daenerys X

[fierypen37]

Victory is in Your Veins

Chapter 9

 Day Two Hundred and Nine: The Dragon Queen

 The bone-white spires of Vaes Drivi in the distance were a boon to her sore eyes. After her sons slew the riders in the Painted Hills, those that remained swore to follow Daenerys’ khalasar. Even thus bolstered by horses, travel was slow on the plains, waylaid by prowling shadowcats. Three horses had died from snakebites and the weak streams were not enough to water horse and man alike. Yet more time was eaten away by their Lhazareen guide departing to seek her own people. The shepherdess would tell her tale to the chieftain and tiger-eyed godswife who would travel to meet them at Vaes Drivi.

A headache throbbed at her temples. The sun was a hot yellow eye bearing down on them. She longed for water, for shade, for rest. Still, she had not survived two journeys through the Red Waste and learned nothing. Daenerys kept her spine straight and her grip on the reins easy. Khal Lanno had fallen before her sons, and the second best mount the khalasar had to offer was the dun she now rode. A strong, hard-mouthed stallion. It took a great deal of her concentration to maintain her seat. It was a tacit test on the part of the newest Dothraki. A khal must ride, after all. The dun too, was worn out from the long march with little water. His proud head drooped, ears lax and pointed outward.  

“Khaleesi?” Kovarro said, offering his waterskin. Daenerys sipped. It tasted more like mud than water, but she was grateful for it all the same. A plume of dust rose. Daenerys rose in the stirrups and spied her own dragon banner gleaming in the harsh sunlight. Relief sluiced through her. Respite before they travel south through the Bone Mountains to Slavers’ Bay. There they would find soldiers. Soldiers to win back her true home.

 ~

 Day Two Hundred and Nine: The White Wolf

 Facing death as many times as he had, Jon’s sleep that night was deep and restful. There was no help in fretting. He would live or die. Gamemakers were notoriously cruel and unpredictable. She did not visit him, but Jon was grateful for that too. Dreams of her stirred longings he would rather keep buried.  

“Valar morghulis,” Jon said under his breath. Not today. I have business to finish. Morrgys will die by my hand.

The routine was familiar. Jon woke to the screech of the key in the lock. A Twin fastened his chains, led him to baths. No costumes or varied weapons this time. Jon was given a tunic of unbleached linen, belted at the waist, leather sandals strapped up to the knee. Weapons too, would be easy to find and keen as pain. It was blood the crowd wanted. As an added spice to this elimination games, the slaves would be shackled in pairs. Morbo was chosen as Jon’s partner. The Twin snapped the manacle shut to Jon’s wrist with a thin grin. Their mutual dislike for one another was no secret. Jon eyed Morbo narrowly. He looked fit. Lean and strong. Lightning quick as most Dothraki were. Time would tell if he Dothraki would try to knife him rather than fight together.  

Like everything else in Volantis, the arena was old and lavish—slaves labored day and night to maintain it. Towers of gleaming white marble, every thoroughfare line with painted statues of past champions, even the torch sconces were chased in gold. Fused black dragon road paved the horseracing track. Tiered seating towered over the white sand of the arena floor. The most lavish boxes overlooked the arena, closest to the action. Triarchs and princes often sat there cosseted by their slaves. To Morrgys’ disdain, Volentenes could even flood the arena to stage mock naval battles. In his master’s opinion, this was frivolous nonsense that mocked the true meaning of the fighting pits: to achieve eternal glory by conquering one’s opponent. Jon’s loathing for slavers did not negate his awe at the architecture. Westeros’s marvel the Wall would have dwarfed the building, but Jon couldn’t help but remember the sorry state of Castle Black. Even Bran the Builder would have marveled the grandeur.

From Morrgys’ telling, the arena seated ten thousand, the same as the famed Daznak’s Pit in Meereen. ‘The best games are in the world are seen in the three sister cities of Slaver’s Bay,’ the native Astapori said. Still, Jon could see the master was nervous. He paced as the slave cart waited for their turn down the avenue to the arena. Slave masters were said to draw lots to determine their arrival time, but Jon heard grumblings from the Twins that the lots were fixed and bribes were rife. Tycho’s master Azmeher zo Queknak was a third-generation slaver, and Meereenese. He also had three more of the most prestigious champions and thus, Morrgys loathed him.

Crowds were thick. All were quivering with the promise of entertainment. Hawkers threaded through the throngs with skewers of meat, loaves of bread, cold water or flagons on wine. The fame of experienced slave fighters lit a madness in some of the spectators. They painted banners, shouted chants, shrieked and tore at themselves when they fell. Tycho, as a prestigious champion, was some ways ahead. The din of the crowd shred at Jon’s ears. So many people. The people of the entire North could fit into this building. The stink and the noise . . . Jon lowered his gaze, seeking an inward calm. With each step, he was reminded of Morbo. The taller man took long, brisk strides, forcing Jon to speed his pace lest he be dragged.

From the upper tiers, wealthy children sprinkled flower petals down on the arriving fighters. Crushed petals released a faint waft of perfume as they walked. The chant for Tycho died down. Morrgys’ slaves began down the queue. There were a couple shouts for Morbo, or Drazhen, Morrgys’ Ghiscari spearman. Then a woman caught Jon’s eye. Free and Volantene by her dress.

“Zokla timpa! Zokla timpa!” The chant caught, echoing into the entrance of the cavernous arena. It sounded as if a thousand voices shouted the name Morrgys gave him.

White Wolf. White Wolf! WHITE WOLF!

From his palanquin, Morrgys grinned and laughed, as if the adulation was his own. Had it been for himself, Jon would have heaped abuse on their heads, cursed their mothers, spat at them. But the mob was often the deciding factor in a match. More than once, Morbo had been saved from a slit throat by the crowd chanting: Life! Life! Life! So Jon waved and grinned at the crowd, loathing himself with each step. As his eyes cast over the crowd, Jon noted the slaves. Some were cheering, some were silent. One, a girl in a leather collar standing closest to rope cordoning off the crowds, watched him with solemn black eyes. Jon watched and she held up one tiny fist and held it tight. Jon let the false smile fall and he gave her a grave nod. Missandei had held up her end of the bargain. Now Jon had to find a way to speak to the crowd. And also not die, he thought ruefully.

Horse races and other lesser matches filled the morning. Mostly criminals thrown in with animals. A couple matches with starving children. In the bowels of the arena, Morrgys’ four pairs of slaves were plied with food and water, guided through gentle exercise with trainers to loosen their muscles. Morbo kept the chain between them taut, hampering both of them. Jon cursed under his breath in frustration.

“Listen, rider,” Jon began in mangled Dothraki, “if we want to live, we--”

“Speak Common, krol. You sound like a simpleton in the horselord tongue,” Morbo said sharply. Jon lapsed gratefully into Common, allowing the dig to slide.

“Listen. I don’t know why we’re rivals. I don’t know and I don’t care. Do you want to live?” he said sharply, yanking the chain between them for emphasis. Morbo’s thick black brows snapped together.

“Yes.”

“So do I. We need to learn to work together. And fast.”

The threat of death was a potent motivator, Jon thought dryly. The next hour, Jon and Morbo tested the movements the chains allowed. While he could fight with either hand, Jon was thankful the manacle tethering him to Morbo was on his left wrist. Morbo would have to fight off-handed, but he was skilled with either. Jon nodded, anticipation drawing his belly taut. Soon. Soon.

“It would be easy to cut off your hand and slip free--” Morbo suggested, after their arms tangled trying to move.

“Cut off my hand? Why not your hand?” Jon asked. It might have been a trick of torchlight, but Jon could have sworn the rider was smiling. Jon snorted. Morbo shrugged.  

“I have use of it,” he said.

“I have use of mine as well,” Jon shot back, “now just focus on using your godsdamned speed and we should make it out alive.”

Any trace of humor left Morbo’s expression.

“Elimination games are meant to keep slaves in line. Champion grows too popular; masters begin to sweat. Tycho has forty-one kills to his credit. Too many.”

Jon remained impassive. There was no way Morbo could know about what he and Missandei planned. A savage excitement kindled. Let the masters sweat. Sweat and begin to know the fear of who they beat and raped and abused for their comfort and enjoyment.

“Then I’ll kill him. Solve their problem for them,” Jon said bitterly. Morbo spit into the sticky yellow mud.

“Kill too many and you will be next, Ver.”

 “Ilon vīlība se morghūljas syt aōha jaqiarzir, O Jaqiarzus Mēre!” {We fight and die for your glory, O Glorious One!}  Jon uncrossed his free arm from his chest. He tried not to gawp at the sheer breadth of the arena. Yards and yards of perfect white sand, marred here and there by drying pools of blood. Wild beasts could be loosed from hatches in the flooring, he knew. The match before had been a pack of jackals against three women. The jackals won. And the noise. Gods, outside there had been some relief from the din, but hemmed in by arena walls, the cacophony of so many voices was like thunder, harsh in his ears. His heart thundered along with it, his palms slick with sweat. A glance darted left down the line of paired slaves. Where was Tycho?

The triarch of Volantis answered, though his voice was lost in the crowd’s enthusiasm. An orator scaled the stair near the triarch’s box, garbed in a ridiculous green tokar.  

“Begin!” he boomed.  

The slaves scattered. Looping the excess chain around his arm, Jon loped back alongside Morbo. Not many pairs had made the same accord as Jon and the Dothraki. By Jon’s estimation, half began fighting each other. Of Azmeher zo Queknak’s three pairs, one was arguing where to run. Another pair had one slave snapping his partner’s neck and yanking the chain off the corpse. The third ran in tandem—Jon couldn’t see the distinctive green flash of Tycho’s dyed hair. Where in the seven hells was he?

“Sword, Ver!” Morbo hissed in his ear. Jon followed Morbo’s gaze and saw the gamemakers had dropped pairs of swords at regular intervals.

“Go!” Jon shouted.

The two of them sprinted across the sand. Longswords in the Westerosi style, whetted to a keen edge. Yes! We have a fighting chance. Tycho was famed for his skill with a bravo’s blade, a water dancer. The heavier Westerosi sword would slow him. He and Morbo each took one and ran for a strategic position near the arena’s edge. Jon measured his breathing, his senses sharp. Jon tested the sword with a couple singing swings. It felt good in his hand.

“There! Go!” Jon said, pointing to a pair of slaves attacking another. It easy to knife them both through the back. He and Morbo struck as one. The crowd howled and jeered as the blows hit home. The ever-thirsty sand drank down the red blood. A grim pleasure kindled. He and Morbo had sparred more in the past seven months than Jon ever had with anyone else, save perhaps Robb. They knew each other’s fighting styles and spacing as well as their own. Of the attacked pair, one was on his knees, bleeding from a wound to the belly. A thickset slave slashed out at Jon. He parried. Once, twice. On the third swing, he was too slow. Jon opened his throat with an almost casual flick. Easy.

Something was off. A shift in shadow.

“Ver!” Morbo’s shout. Jon ducked and shifted right. The sword whistled through the air. Another pair of slaves. A burly one, Lyseni by the looks of his shorn silver hair. The other was Dothraki. From his knee, Jon parried a blow. The shock rattled up his arms, singing through him. Morbo moved to slash at his attacker. The chain dragged Jon left, mistiming his parry. The Lyseni’s sword caught him, a grazing slash along the ribs. Jon grunted, the pain sharpening his focus. He dodged a heavy overhand, then cut. Deep, along the groin. Jon finished the swing with an artful flourish. Gouts of black-red blood poured from the wound. The Lyeseni’s life measured in heartbeats. Jon left him to die and rounded on Morbo’s attacker, in time to see the Dothraki run him through. The cheers were deafening, hooting as blood gushed on the sand. The Dothraki bent and cut the other’s braid in victory.

A slight tremor moved through him. The thrill of a fight. Sweat stung in his eyes. Jon tugged the chain to get Morbo’s attention. Across the arena, several pairs were locked in battle. Where the fuck was Tycho? A flutter of movement distracted him. Above the arena in the stands, spectators waved banners. Several showed a green profile and crossed bravo’s blades for Tycho, a couple gold Dothraki horses, one with a manticore, and a couple white wolves.

“Come, Ver!” Morbo said, pointing with his bloodied sword to a knot of battling slaves. Jon pried the Lyseni’s sword from his dead hand. Another sword in his off hand would help his parries. He and Morbo struck in much the same manner, slaying another two pairs in rapid succession.

Another muscled slave, a minor champion from Pentos, was using the chain with the severed hand of his partner as a flail, killing one attacker. Several pairs danced around the periphery, unable to get close. One hacked at champion’s leg, opening a shallow cut. Jon checked the blow with his off hand sword. The chain wrapped around the sword, useless. The manacle thudded painfully against Jon’s wrist. He dropped the sword and followed Morbo as he traded blows with the champion. Morbo spilled his entrails on the sand, and Jon finished him with a blow through the throat.

By now, the two of them sucked in air greedily. Jon licked his dry lips, trying to ignore the sticky blood dampening his tunic, his burning legs and aching arms. Blood dripped down the blade of his sword to slick the hilt. He discarded the sword and took up a fresh one. Jon hefted the chain, an idea blooming.      

“Let’s go!” Jon shouted. He and Morbo ran as another pair squared off against them. Stretching the chain taut, he ducked low. With a curse, both the slaves landed on their faces.

“Wai--!” one started to say, his blue eyes wide. Jon rolled the sword point down and thrust quick. It took strength the pierce the muscle and bone caging the heart, but strength Jon had. Morbo cursed. He swiveled, saw his partner clutching his sword arm. Blood wept between his fingers. Jon ducked an incoming blow. No time to pull the sword free. Jon caught the opponent’s sword arm in a loop of chain. He yanked up and out. The skinny Essosi’s arm snapped. A wet sort of snap. He shrieked and the crowd jeered. Jon smiled grimly. Gods, there was such relief in shedding blood, even if it wasn’t the masters. The slave fell to his knees. There was no fear in his face, only grim acceptance. He lifted his chin to accept Jon’s death blow. He was young, closer to Bran’s age than Jon’s.

“Find peace, brother,” Jon said in bastard Valyrian.

“Konīr āeksia morghon issi daor,” he said. {There are no masters in death.} Jon gave him the relief he wanted in a quick clean blow. The boy sank into a heap on the hot sand with a sigh. In another life, the boy would have been an artist, a potter. Then some master had beaten him into a killer and he died alone on the sand by Jon’s hand.  Jon pulled the blade free, panting. Weariness lay heavy on him. A part of Jon longed for the peace of oblivion. But the red thing in his chest snarled. Rage and vengeance remained unquenched. Gods, had it been hours, years since that blustering fool shouted at them to fight? Somewhere in the seething sea of the spectators, master and slave alike watched. If they won, if he and Morbo were declared victors, what would he say to them?

Jon cast a glance around the arena. There were only a few pairs left. Not many left now.

“That scratch won’t slow you, hmm?” Jon said, nodding to the blood running in sluggish drops down Morbo’s left arm. He shrugged. The banter was pointed, but surprisingly light. Removed from the opposition of rivals in the training yard, Jon could see Morbo being something of friend.

“The bite of a fly.”

The monotony of it began to settle on him. Raising his arm to bring the sword down and through another enemy. The resistance of flesh and bone as he hacked. The heat. The sweat streaming down his face. His dry, sticky tongue. The ever-present head-rattling roar of the crowd.

“They pulled Tycho from the games,” Morbo shouted over the din of the crowd.

“Aye. They’ll save his death for another day,” Jon said.

“We sho--” Morbo began. A wet tearing sound. The red point of a blade emerging from Morbo’s lower chest. Jon’s cry of rage was lost in the cheers of the crowd. Jon lost himself in the red, hacking down the one who had knifed Morbo. He and his partner both fell. Jon decapitated one in a double handed blow, the other he sliced down the arm, the thigh and let the thirsty sand drink its fill. The savagery was unnecessary, wasted too much precious energy. But Morbo was dying.

“Ver,”Morbo wheezed, blood reddening his teeth and trickling in sticky threads from the corners of his mouth. The wound was a red hole, making a horrible wet sucking sound as he tried to breathe.

“Get up, Morbo. There’s more to do,” Jon said gruffly, taking the proffered hand. He cast a wild glance around. There were no more slaves near them. In fact, only two pairs remained from Jon’s count. Two more and they would win!

“My strength is gone,” Morbo coughed. His black eyes shone fiercely.

“Make them pay, Ver. Make them pay!” Be it the other slaves, the masters, or something else, Jon didn’t know, but he promised just the same.

“Look up. Look at the sky. The stars are waiting,” Jon whispered. The gate to the Nightlands and the god of his fathers. Morbo’s eyes looked up and he breathed his last. Despite his weariness, the diffuse ache of his muscles and his wounds, Jon stood.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, sawing off Morbo’s hand to free himself. He coiled the chain and set off at a sprint, plucking up a fresh sword as he went. A hand-and-a-half sword, a bastard sword. Perfect for me. Jon and the red thing within were in perfect accord. Blood they would have. Buckets and oceans of it until they choked and drowned in it. He was intent incarnate. A savage wild thing. The crowd saw him, the noise tipping up to a fever-pitch as he slew one. And another. And the last with horrific ease.

“Zolka timpa! ZOK-LA TIMPA! ZOKLA TIMPA! ZOKLA TIMPA!”

The words beat in his head like the multitude voice of a god. He had won. He lived—but only after so much meaningless death. Jon’s eyes scanned the sea of humanity. Slave and master alike. He said only what they would understand.

“Death!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, raising his bloodied fist in the air

“Death! Deeeaaaathh!” The word was a harsh drawn-out scream from his dry throat. The cheering mellowed in confusion. Then somewhere in the throng, he heard it.

“To masters!” someone answered.

“Death!” Jon screamed again.  

“TO MASTERS!”

The chant took on a life of its own, catching like a wildfire: “Death to masters! Death to masters!”

Fighting erupted in the stands. Foremen with crossbows ringed the lowest tier of the arena, aimed at Jon. He waited, standing stock-still, waiting for the blow that would kill him. It never came. Instead, Morrgys emerged from the shadows of the Gate of Life, with the Twins and a dozen bodyguards in tow. One Twin struck out, snagging Jon around the throat with his whip. Jon choked and clutched at the leather as red stars burst along the edges of his vision. Morrgys drew Longclaw. From the tremor in his wrist, he was unused to the weight. Weakling. His face was impassive, but Jon could see something cold grow in his piggish black eyes. Fear. Morrgys set the Valyrian steel edge of Longclaw beneath Jon’s chin and waited.

“Master, I didn’t—I---” air was precious. The black began to creep closer. All he heard as the black closed over him was Morrgys’ cold voice: “You’re lucky you won. All you’ve earned is The Pit. A month, if I feel charitable.”  

[mkstrigidae]

This might be a lot since there’s so many characters in APWH, but could you share something secret about each character that no one else knows or maybe just a fun fact?

I am so sorry I’m answering this so late- I try not to be a human disaster, but inevitably end up being one most days.

Oooooooh this one is very interesting- they might not all be secrets, because for some characters, that would be giving away major plot points, but fun facts I can do! Let’s see what I’ve got (below the cut):

Robb: Has definitely licked a bone on a dare before, is actually a decent artist (much like Sansa) and does a fair amount of sketching in the field, and has an engagement ring for Tal in his work locker that no one knows about yet :) Inherited Catelyn’s ability for leadership, and is really good at dealing with Logistics, management, and the bureaucracy involved in his job. Hangs out with the experimental archeology students a lot (he’s like the accidental older brother for half the department) and would definitely wear handmade linen armor from someone’s project and let an undergrad shoot arrows at him to test it. (For those of you unaware, linen armor is next to impossible to cut without an extremely specific and sharp type of electric saw). Is good friends with Sarella, who’s going through grad school in Oldtown as well. Has been reluctantly dragged into the feud between the archaeology/anthropology and paleontology departments.

Aegon: is a fairly talented piano player, has always liked to cook, but got really good at it when he was dating an adjunct professor in grad school (none of his family knows about the relationship, but Theon does). Has been taking night classes recently to try and learn the Old Tongue bc he and Lyanna are particularly close. Dates casually, and volunteers at a community center for at-risk kids in Kings Landing on weekends. Is the only Targ sibling emotionally aware enough to spend time with Viserys, and is his grandmother Rhaella’s favorite.  

Rhae: Actually really likes listening to heavy metal, especially when she’s working, and is really into the Westerosi equivalent of late night comedy. Will get really invested in hobbies for like, a few months and then move on to something completely different. Is her grandfather Aerys’ favorite, and has him wrapped around her finger. Makes a game of antagonizing Viserys at Targ family functions, and has been inseparable from Margaery since they met in college. Thought her cousin Obara was the coolest person in the world when she was a kid. Most likely of all the characters to do a triathlon without breaking a nail.

Bran: Might be one sociology class away from identifying as an anarchist. Kind of wants to be a professor and will probably write novels someday. Is really into flea markets and will go antiquing with Ned and Elia and sometimes Cat. Loves kayaking and decorates his wheelchair elaborately for holidays. He’s won several costume contests at school for it. Very snarky. If Sansa had been raised by the starks, they would have had a standing Saturday lunch date to snark and gossip about the rest of the fam.

Jon: wanted to be a forest ranger for the longest time and then a writer, but felt like he had to choose a more reputable career, and is kind of jealous that Robb decided to say ‘fuck it’ and become an archaeologist. Really wants to travel, although he picked law after His Valyrian is passable (the targ sibs spoke it anytime they were with Rhaegar and fam), but he speaks Rhoynish fluently and is close to his cousins on the Martell side of the family. Really likes hiking and will often go with Cat, who is also fairly outdoorsy. Likes epic high fantasy novels and would really love LOTR.

Mya: is weirdly into dream interpretation, is bisexual, and has fallen into one of the canals in Braavos before on a school field trip. She was born in the Vale, and her mom moved to Braavos when she was five. Would definitely eat a bug on a dare. More tomboy than anything, but really enjoys getting dressed up and being feminine. Likes painting her nails fun colors. Who gives a shit about gender expectations? Not Mya.

Sansa: the first person she kisses in APWH isn’t going to be Jon…;) If she’d been raised by the Starks, she might have gone to school for journalism or become a novelist. Hates math, but is a passable accountant because of what Baelish taught her to help him with the books for his restaurants. Doesn’t like to ever wear her hair down, and has a collection of decorative bobby pins for updos that she’s acquired from flea markets in Braavos. Really loves to swim. Pushed the boy who knocked Mya into the canal in after her, but none of the teachers believe him when he accuses her, because it’s sweet, kind, well-behaved Sansa.

Robin: Secretly likes to listen to musicals and is a fairly good singer. In a group chat with Doree and Loree who are drastically improving his social skills and the three of them are parent-trap level plotting. Really dislikes doctors and hospitals. Used to ask Sansa to draw birds for him a lot when he was younger and still has most of them.

Rickon: is actually better with computers and smarter than anyone realizes, because he’s such a jock on the surface. Very used to going with the flow and adapting to change. His favorite classes are chemistry and bio, but he doesn’t really like writing. Is really popular and well-liked among his classmates, but can have a temper when he thinks an injustice is occurring. Is generally just good with animals.

Catelyn: Grew up going hunting with her uncle and always had a stronger stomach for it than Lysa and Edmure did. Is half-estranged from her father because of a disagreement they had regarding Catelyn’s inability to move on after the kidnapping, and a tense relationship with her brother after he married Roslyn Frey (The Freys were vocal supporters of Roose Bolton’s politics and had a hand in publicizing the rumors about the Starks being responsible for Sansa’s disappearance- Walder Frey owns several prominent southern newspapers), but they’re working on mending fences. Takes fairly long walks outside regularly, and would be a bruce springsteen fan. The most intimidating of the entire family.

Arya: Went through a true crime phase. Really enjoys learning languages, her favorite classes this past semester were her Ancient Ghiscari course and her global politics seminar, because they got to debate current issues every week. Like Sansa, she really likes people-watching. Will probably end up at the Olympics for fencing at some point, but was also a sprinter in high school on the track team.

Ned: Probably dropped acid at least once in college. Really enjoys skiing. Learned how to play the guitar as a part of his midlife crisis. Met Cat after she went on two dates with his brother Brandon and they decided they were better as friends. Brandon brought her to a party, and Ned ended up giving her a ride home after his brother found another girl to chat up. They quickly found out that they had a lot in common, and she got along famously with his mother, who Ned was extremely close to. Has a serious sweet tooth

Elia: Likes to paint, but doesn’t think she’s very good at it. Grew up speaking Rhoynish with her family, and taught it to the kids. Has forgotten more about art than most people will ever know, and is extremely efficient when set loose in a flea market. Really likes theater and ballet, and took ballet classes through college.

Lyanna: is working on a book about money in Westerosi politics that’s tied into her current investigation of the Boltons, but only Elia knows about it. Grew up far north, and her first language was the Old tongue rather than Andali, but didn’t want her kids picking it up, because the accent is stigmatized. Keeps notes for her articles in the Old Tongue to keep her nosy kids from reading them.

Theon: Is doing a psychiatry residency in King’s Landing currently. Does a fair amount of biking, and 100% does a polar bear swim in the ocean every winter (Aegon always shows up to cheer him on and they go out for drinks afterwards- his girlfriend, Jeyne, thinks this is insane). Refuses to eat blue foods and was actually a decent French horn player in high school.

Thank you- this was a fun one!! :)

[magalidragon]

In response to @aenarsnow ‘s writer prompt ask from yesterday, I had originally said I would answer #10, which would be in the when the sun sets in the east universe and then I answered the other prompt he suggested instead set in a non-published universe so here is the one I was supposed to do! It’s a little spicy under the cut!  I hope you liked it Aenar!

#10. “Will a kiss help?” — set in the when the sun sets in the east universe

"I thought he was supposed to be a decent advisor."  Jon never commented much on Daenerys's choice in her advisors—she was the Queen; she could learn from any mistake she made in counsel— save for his clear distaste for keeping Daario Naharis around.  The Second Sons, unfortunately answered to him, hence his sole reason for maintaining residence in the pyramid. Their return to Meereen, greeted with an assault on the pyramid, the full-blown rebellion of the Masters and the Sons of the Harpy, and numerous attempts on Dany's life, did not bode well for Tyrion Lannister's future as a trusted counselor.  It seemed his queen agreed, for her arched eyebrow smirk at the Lannister upon her return had been met with him quaking in his boots, wondering if she would throw him to the wolves.  Or wolf, rather.  Jon wouldn't mind taking the life of a Lannister.  It didn’t seem anyone in Westeros would miss the little lion anyway. He kicked at a chunk of plaster that had fallen from the wall, from one of the various attacks on the pyramid.  It still stood, furniture in disarray, a testament to the Old Ghiscari construction.  He paused in the entryway to the bed chamber, frowning at the mattress, in shambles and the linens torn and scattered to the floor.  He sighed, moving towards it, figuring it best to right sooner rather than later.

In the main meeting area, Dany righted a chair.  In her Dothraki leathers, she reminded him of the woman he’d met in Vaes Dothrak, what felt like a decade ago, but was really only a couple years.  She was powerful, his beautiful queen, and the way she’d handled the Masters, burned their ships, and her three sons raining destruction down on those that sought to take what she’d worked for from her.  He felt desire stir within him, his eyes darkening and his blood pulsing, the wolf at bay coming to life again.  

She called out.  “With respect to Tyrion, I did not leave him with much.  Although yes, I do not quite understand how he suspected his plan would go.  Thank gods Barristan was here to right what he could.”  She hissed in pain, when she pushed a chair back into place, reaching back to her shoulder, wincing.

In an instant, he was there, his fingers carefully pulling at the leathers and rough fabric of her Dothraki dress, his lip curling angrily at the sight of the healing wound on her back, from the Dothraki whip.  It crossed diagonally across her fair skin, angry red welts, the skin puckered and raw.  She tugged away from him, going into the adjoining bathing chamber, which Missandei and some other handmaidens had already attended to, the water steaming.

He joined her, shedding his leathers, sensing Ghost’s presence beyond the pyramid, hunting with his newfound companions, the newly freed Rhaegal and Viserion following overhead while he hunted in the tall grasses nearby.  He was glad; Ghost would give them some privacy for a bit.  She removed her clothing in a puddle at her feet, walking easily into the water as though it were a tepid pond.  “Do they put hot coals in here?” he wondered.

“It boils for hours before they fill the tub.”

“You should get Drogon to heat the water, will go faster.”

She arched a brow, grinning at him.  “I may do so.”  As she lowered herself entirely into the water, she cried out, reaching back to the wound, craning her neck to try to see it.  The water burned his skin as he lowered himself in, but he focused on her, pulling her into his arms to inspect it again.  She sighed.  “There’s nothing you can do; it will just have to heal on its own.”

“Will a kiss help?”

A silver eyebrow arched, her lips curling to a smile.  She nodded, violet eyes shining.  “Couldn’t hurt.”

He smiled into her shoulder, brushing a kiss to the nape of her neck.  He swam her to the side of the tub, the deep and sunken marble bath perfect for the two of them.  The water sloshed at their waists when he lifted her up carefully, guiding her hands to the rim.  He reached over and pulled a dragon pin from the little tray of oils, soaps, and other scented items Missandei left for her.  Coiling her braids in one hand, he pinned them up, giving him unfettered access to her neck and her shoulders, raining kisses on each bit of exposed skin.

She drew in a sharp breath as he ran his tongue lightly down the diagonal path of broken skin.  He followed it with his touch, featherlight, gentle and soothing.  He moved up and down it, until she was whimpering, begging for more.  The water had cooled to tolerable for him, turning her skin rosy and warm.  He wrapped her up in his arms and held her close, sliding easily into her, over and over again, both of them ready and needy.  

Battles always had this effect on them, he thought idly, as she reached back to clutch at his neck, holding his mouth against her shoulder, anchored to her as he moved inside of her.  She cried out, not long after, and he followed immediately.  

They relaxed against the side of the tub, until he turned her, taking her mouth with his.  She sighed against him, whispering.  “I feel better now.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest.  “You’ll feel better after we actually get clean.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.  “Khal Verro, you are a tease.  Bringing me here for ulterior motives.”

“It worked, did it not?”

“Yes, it did.”  She kissed him lightly once more.  He dragged a fingertip over the abused skin, her eyes fluttering shut, brow flickering in pain.  

Some of the salves and oils were in languages he didn’t understand, but Jon found the one he wanted, after they finished cleaning each other and climbed from the bath.  She lay on her stomach and he stretched beside her, slowly and carefully rubbing the lavender into her wound, to fend off the ache and soothe the skin.  

When he finished tending to the injury, he kissed it again and smiled.  “Feel better?”

“Hmm, yes.”  She smiled back at him.  “A kiss did make it all better.”

He touched his lips to hers again.  “I don’t know about my kisses, but yours certainly do.”

[harlanandrew]

These are disruptive gang members.

These are disruptive gang members. Ceramic glass has a higher thermal shock rating than tempered glass, at approximately 1400F. He has lived too long, she tried to tell herself. A highborn king of pure Ghiscari blood could reconcile the city to your rule. "Republicans in the Legislature have effectively knee capped Rubio's chances of obtaining the nomination and they have no one to blame but themselves. A small percentage of people infected with Salmonella Paratyphi C carry the bacterium without falling ill, so apparently healthy Spaniards could have infected Mexicans who lacked natural resistance.. In addition to a Christian education, his children learned first hand the basic principle of running a small business: hard work. Ignorant words from an ignorant person. Direct Canadian service has been one of our top priorities for some time now and it is rewarding to see that our hard work has finally paid off, said Greg Kelly, airport executive director. Doherty is not going to pose any problems for batsmen and could hardly get a game. Jan Williams of Whittier lost her son, 27 year old Neal Williams, and her two grandsons Ian, 3, and Devon, 7, when Neal William's wife, Manling Williams, allegedly killed her husband with a sword and smothered the children at their Rowland Heights apartment in August of 2007. He did not have to like it, though. “He hoped I would not come here, so that he might go to her, and say afterwards that he was in the right, that he told me beforehand I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. That's the key.". Blinded cause I am only a man. I had noticed before that at some moments he seemed, as it were, forgetful, forgot for instance that he was not alone in the room, and would talk to himself, gesticulating with polo raflorenehis hands. There will be a Four man team format at a cost of $65 each. But the old man did not know whether he would have the strength to endure fresh insults. Love always passes, but incompatibility remains for ever. Stannis Baratheon had smashed Mance Rayder’s host and made the King-Beyond-the-Wall his captive … but the wildlings were still out there, the

bocanci grisport 480

Weeper and Tormund Giantsbane and thousands more.. The Short Films and Feature Animation Branch Reviewing Committee viewed all the eligible entries for the preliminary round of voting in screenings held in New York and Los Angeles and their members will now select the five nominees from among the 10 titles on the shortlist. Lots of documentaries use voiceovers and professionals to fill in the gaps, to explain to the audience what going on, or perhaps to outline historical significance of one event or another. On the verge of classical acting studies in London, England, the local son and UVic acting grad demonstrates a powerful grasp of the retros kabátok discipline. Bubnov’s, and two llantas 4x4 online days later we moved, and the captain’s widow with us; and after we’d moved mother was quite ill and in bed for three weeks, and I looked after her. From all we can learn, the only evidence relied on by the prosecution was that white man employed by the Castlemans. Vassilyevskoe was mortgaged over and over again. He has pig eyes, Asha thought. For advancing certain sentiments on these topics, Mr. She said she’d let some kneeler marry her and never slit his throat if only Mance could live. Walk in our shoes; the truth is many of those who say they hate us are only one paycheck away from being homeless. Some struck home. “You must excuse me, Captain-General. He got smacked in the face by an official in mid signal and was penalized 15 yards for "physical interference." That was a debatable call. Builders can swap this fan for a 120 mm radiator, but a 140 mm heat exchanger won't fit. Filip Filippovitch told me to. Not only are most residents of Mexican descent, but the economies on either side of the border share mutual interests. Though camara sony cybershot dsc w810 chaussettes bon marché he’s a scoundrel (to my thinking there’s no man who isn’t) he’s not a scoundrel in his dealings with you. Mr. Now, she enjoys being able to put on the show for others to enjoy.. "Your gun is only is good as your scope," Adams said. pantofi sport tip soseta dama The 740 boasts 6.7" (170 mm) of space for tower style heatsinks, 240 mm or 280 mm radiator mounts on its top and bottom panels, and a 280 mm or 360 mm radiator mount on its front panel. The stub of his nose itched horribly, but his arms were pinned so tightly that he could not reach to scratch it. Other types of movements, such as the swaying of the heroine dress in Tangled, are based on a similar set of algorithms.. "After the health scare he went through, he's able to share with our kids how fortunate they are to be here, let alone compete in the sport they want to compete in. Ser Barristan retreated. He shall see now whether I’m feather-headed. She was the wife of the late Harry M. After laying out the material, the batteria ai polimeri di litio amazon wool is put in water and agitated with soap by either rubbing it or rolling it. Carl, a NE style IPA is maltier and like all NE styles, cloudy. SEMENTARA itu, Rencana Dewan Adat Papua (DAP) untuk mengembalikan Otsus kepada pihak pemerintah lantaran dicap gagal pada 12 Agustus besok, nampaknya telah menimbulkan pro dan kontra. The back of the hall was a solid press of people, and scuffles broke out over precedence. “I have hostages, on Harlaw,” she reminded him. Trip back in fashion time was part of a theme the library kept going for its One Book / One Community discussions through the county libraries. Perhaps Hizdahr was wiser than he knew. "Andrew then wanted me to drink salt water. Linemen_Jacob Burley, Lancaster Fisher Cath., 6 4, 260, sr.; Jacob Spencer, Shadyside, 5 10, 285, sr.; Alec Romesberg, Mathews, 6 1, 245, jr.; Gavin Cupp, Leipsic, 6 6, 280, sr. What's he looking up at?) He is followed by a second person, who follows suit. 27, and he said there has been precedent for a top flight player to be left off the roster because of high school ineligibility. The banker doffed his hat and made a sweeping bow. Suddenly he hit the papuci de casa din pasla steps with his stick, ran and opened his door, and a minute later brought me out some coppers and threw them to me on the stairs.. The General Assembly met. "One of the kids who got a bicycle from us, (Maximo) Wyatt, was hit while he was riding with his father and almost killed. His eyes were grey and greedy, his teeth yellow, his forked beard a tangle of snow and silver. Infinity lay between us. As Sue sees it, something almost magical happens when Gemma dons her dancing shoes and steps out with partner Sheldon Gilbert, with whom she has won several major competitions in Victoria and interstate."It is the most amazing thing," she says. 2. The piranha that has blood plate big mouth, canine teeth as well as horror eyes was taken into calça kickboxing consideration of the design theme of the latest custom paragraph. The list includes buying only shoes with good padding at the balls of the foot and a gradual slope (rather than the 90 degree angle shown in his X ray), so the force is more evenly distributed over the foot.. “Even the smallest scratch can prove mortal, lord Captain, but if you will allow me, I will heal this.

[chillyravenart]

Hey Yasmin, its me archivalmars2 (Jonathan), anyways to my question. It's been bugging me for a while, I keep wondering though, what did the Valyrians themselves actually look like or rather dress? I know that with their history (Freehold vs Ghis) that its a comparison to Rome vs Carthage. While their knowledge, magic, weapons, and the Doom is similar to Atlantis. (Besides the silver-gold hair and purple eyes.) But I've always imagined them dressing like a cross between Egyptian/Roman attire.

Hey Jonathan! This is a question I ask myself a great deal and honestly we can all draw various comparisons to different historic periods. I too like to consider Valyrian fashion to be an amalgamation of Roman/Egyptian/Grecian but with a little je ne sais quoi of their own. I suspect plenty of dragon glyphs, scale effects and elaborate jewels and embellishments were also part of their attire. If the Valyrian Freehold was the most advanced and prolific civilisation, I can only imagine how exotic and wondrous their clothing would have been. I also imagine them to have practical riding/flying outfits too, light and finely made to optimise aerial travel. I've always loved the elaborate hairstyles on Vikings, and judging by how fancy the Ghiscari styles are, the Valyrians must have had beautiful headresses, tiaras and intricate braiding too. Wigs may have also been a part of their attire, based on nobility and rank like the Romans? And since Valyria lay on a peninsula, with a potentially arid/hot climate, the fabrics would have been very fine and and light too; silks and chiffons etc. I have this image in mind of long elaborate trains/capes behind dresses and gowns to replicate the wings of a dragon. My friend @naomimakesart has made a few concept sketches here and here which you could check out and I'm sure she'll have more coming soon too...👀 I've been hugely inspired too and hope to draw some Valyrian OCs some day! Thank you for your question!

[daenerys-targaryen-moved]

‘Daenerys is a bad person because she insists on changing cultures she has nothing to do with”

The only arguments saying that Daenerys tried to change a culture are 1. When she attempted to stop the invading of innocent villages, murdering and enslaving all in sight and the rape of many women and young girls by the Dothraki. 2. She abolished slavery in the cities she reigned. 3. She stopped the fighting pits which were full of slaves being forced to fight one another to the death. Even THEN, after she’s told by Daario how the fighting pits made him who he is today, she allowed for them to be reopened only under the rule that the contestants participate willingly. Otherwise....? There isn’t anything else she tried to change.

Basically, Daenerys stopped innocent people from being murdered, raped, enslaved or being forced to fight to death. If she were changing the cultures, she would have made the dothraki wear silk dresses or would not have allowed the meereenese to wear their tokars or the ghiscari men to where their cloaks of yellow with copper disks sewn on. She doesn’t change the language. She doesn’t change the food. She doesn’t change the marriage customs. She doesn’t change or force her own beliefs onto them. She doesn’t change the attire. Instead, she is the one who learns their languages, their customs, their beliefs and dresses accordingly to their appropriate attire.

All Daenerys has ever changed has been if it causes harm upon another human being, that’s literally it. “ShE cHaNgEd ThEiR cUlTuRe!” Oh yeah you mean by protecting innocent people from terrible fates? God what a monster.

Thank you, next.

[hellsbellschime]

I don't remember any indication that Dany was racist, but Sansa sure is. Dany tried to learn the Dothraki ways & language, dress like the Ghiscari and married men from both societies to adapt. Sansa treated the Dothraki & Insilliwd like their lives were worthless when they were trying to help.

LOL Jesus Christ, what does Sansa have to do with anything? So you’re not a Dany fan, you’re just an anti-Sansa stan, got it.

[adreamofspring-archive]

By midday Daenerys was feeling the weight of the crown upon her head, and the hardness of the bench beneath her. With so many still waiting on her pleasure, she did not stop to eat. Instead she dispatched Jhiqui to the kitchens for a platter of flatbread, olives, figs, and cheese. She nibbled whilst she listened, and sipped from a cup of watered wine. The figs were fine, the olives even finer, but the wine left a tart metallic aftertaste in her mouth. The small pale yellow grapes native to these regions produced a notably inferior vintage. We shall have no trade in wine. Besides, the Great Masters had burned the best arbors along with the olive trees.

In the afternoon a sculptor came, proposing to replace the head of the great bronze harpy in the Plaza of Purification with one cast in Dany’s image. She denied him with as much courtesy as she could muster. A pike of unprecedented size had been caught in the Skahazadhan, and the fisherman wished to give it to the queen. She admired the fish extravagantly, rewarded the fisherman with a purse of silver, and sent the pike to her kitchens. A coppersmith had fashioned her a suit of burnished rings to wear to war. She accepted it with fulsome thanks; it was lovely to behold, and all that burnished copper would flash prettily in the sun, though if actual battle threatened, she would sooner be clad in steel. Even a young girl who knew nothing of the ways of war knew that.

The slippers the Butcher King had sent her had grown too uncomfortable. Dany kicked them off and sat with one foot tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth. It was not a very regal pose, but she was tired of being regal. The crown had given her a headache, and her buttocks had gone to sleep. “Ser Barristan,” she called, “I know what quality a king needs most.”

“Courage, Your Grace?”

“Cheeks like iron,” she teased. “All I do is sit.”

“Your Grace takes too much on herself. You should allow your councillors to shoulder more of your burdens.”

“I have too many councillors and too few cushions.” Dany turned to Reznak. “How many more?”

“Three-and-twenty, if it please Your Magnificence. With as many claims.” The seneschal consulted some papers. “One calf and three goats. The rest will be sheep or lambs, no doubt.”

“Three-and-twenty.” Dany sighed. “My dragons have developed a prodigious taste for mutton since we began to pay the shepherds for their kills. Have these claims been proven?”

“Some men have brought burnt bones.”

“Men make fires. Men cook mutton. Burnt bones prove nothing. Brown Ben says there are red wolves in the hills outside the city, and jackals and wild dogs. Must we pay good silver for every lamb that goes astray between Yunkai and the Skahazadhan?”

“No, Magnificence.” Reznak bowed. “Shall I send these rascals away, or will you want them scourged?” Daenerys shifted on the bench.

“No man should ever fear to come to me.” Some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine. Her dragons had grown too large to be content with rats and cats and dogs. The more they eat, the larger they will grow, Ser Barristan had warned her, and the larger they grow, the more they’ll eat. Drogon especially ranged far afield and could easily devour a sheep a day. “Pay them for the value of their animals,” she told Reznak, “but henceforth claimants must present themselves at the Temple of the Graces and swear a holy oath before the gods of Ghis.”

“It shall be done.” Reznak turned to the petitioners. “Her Magnificence the Queen has consented to compensate each of you for the animals you have lost,” he told them in the Ghiscari tongue. “Present yourselves to my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid in coin or kind, as you prefer.”

The pronouncement was received in sullen silence. You would think they might be happier, Dany thought. They have what they came for. Is there no way to please these people?

One man lingered behind as the rest were filing out—a squat man with a windburnt face, shabbily dressed. His hair was a cap of coarse red-black wire cropped about his ears, and in one hand he held a sad cloth sack. He stood with his head down, gazing at the marble floor as if he had quite forgotten where he was. And what does this one want? Dany wondered.

“All kneel for Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons,” cried Missandei in her high, sweet voice.

As Dany stood, her tokar began to slip. She caught it and tugged it back in place. “You with the sack,” she called, “did you wish to speak with us? You may approach.” When he raised his head, his eyes were red and raw as open sores. Dany glimpsed Ser Barristan sliding closer, a white shadow at her side. The man approached in a stumbling shuffle, one step and then another, clutching his sack. Is he drunk, or ill? she wondered. There was dirt beneath his cracked yellow fingernails.

“What is it?” Dany asked. “Do you have some grievance to lay before us, some petition? What would you have of us?” His tongue flicked nervously over chapped, cracked lips.

“I … I brought …”

“Bones?” she said, impatiently. “Burnt bones?” He lifted the sack, and spilled its contents on the marble.

Bones they were, broken bones and blackened. The longer ones had been cracked open for their marrow.

“It were the black one,” the man said, in a Ghiscari growl, “the winged shadow. He come down from the sky and … and …”

No. Dany shivered. No, no, oh no.

“Are you deaf, fool?” Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. “Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep.”

“Reznak,” Ser Barristan said quietly, “hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones.”

No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.

[iwriterpstarters]

200 sentence starters

part 5

“I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it.”

“I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me.”

“Woman, you bray like an ass, and make no more sense.”  

“Woman? Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.”

“I say, you are mad.”  

“To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?”  

“I would call that proof of his sincerity.”

“All loyalties are uncertain in such times as these.”

“And I shall be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love.”

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!”

“Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed.”

“How could he do that? Did his wife treat him so ill?”  

“It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother’s heart, Your Grace.”

“The Princess was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate.”

“But I am not certain it was in him to be happy.”  

“You make him sound so sour.”

“Not sour, no, but... there was a melancholy to the Prince, a sense...”

“A sense... of doom.”

“He/She was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him/her all life.”  

“It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?”  

“And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best.”

“He/She would go there from time to time, with only a harp for company.”

“Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him/her there.”

“He/She liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he/she came back it was with a song.”

“It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’”

“Fire consumes.”

“It consumes, and when it is done there is nothing left. Nothing.”  

“Sweet friend. What are you saying?”  

“Nothing I have not said before.”

“Six times, ___? Six times is too many.”

“I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief.”

“I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the little bells.”

“I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs.”

“I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.”[<- probably sansa] She turned her head sharply and smiled through the gloom, right at Arya.

“You cannot hide from me, child. Come closer, now.”

“I see you, wolf child. Blood child. I thought it was the lord who smelled of death...”

“You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel.”

“I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart!”  

“My lady? You have a baseborn brother... ”  

“He’s with the Night’s Watch on the Wall.”

“Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun.”

“___ wouldn’t care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair...”

“___ looks like me, even though he’s bastard-born.”

“He used to muss my hair and call me ‘little sister.’”

“Just saying his name makes me sad.”

“I wanted to be alone, away from all the voices, away from their hollow words and broken promises.”

“Once, at the Citadel, I came into an empty room and saw an empty chair.”

“Yet I knew a woman had been there, only a moment before.”

“If we leave our smells behind us when we leave a room, surely something of our souls must remain when we leave this life?”

“There’s the wench I remember.”

“You gave her a tourney sword.”  

“I’ll pay her bloody ransom. Gold, sapphires, whatever you want. Pull her out of there.”  

“You want her? Go get her.”  

“Well, what in seven hells do I do now?”

“I ought to lop my left hand off as well, for all the good it does me.”  

“And I’ll serve you the same if you give me trouble.”

“We’re taking the wench.”  

“Her name is ___.”

“I am grateful, but... you were well away. Why come back?”  

“I dreamed of you.”

“First I anger Brother, and now my son, but all I have done is speak the truth.”

“Are men so fragile they cannot bear to hear it?”

“My lord husband is dead, as is my father.”

“Two of my sons have been murdered, my daughter has been given to a faithless dwarf to bear his vile children, my other daughter is vanished and likely dead, and my last son and my only brother are both angry with me.”

“My children sons are dead and daughters lost. What could possibly be amiss?”

“She-bears, aye. We have needed to be.”

“The men would be off fishing, like as not. The wives they left behind had to defend themselves and their children, or else be carried off.”  

“Is this my punishment for opposing him about his brother? Or for being a woman, and worse, a mother?”

“I left my wife at Riverrun. I want my mother elsewhere.”

“If you keep all your treasures in one purse, you only make it easier for those who would rob you.”

“After the wedding, you shall go to Seagard, that is my royal command.”

“That had ended when father decided it was making me soft as a girl.”

“But if you’re stupid enough to try again, I’ll hurt you.”  

“Why don’t you just kill me like you did Mycah?”

“The next time you say that name I’ll beat you so bad you’ll wish I killed you.”  

“Even a fish might have trouble in this river.”

“Still, drowning might be better than King’s Landing.”

“Don’t even think about it.”  

“Then I’ll take as much gold as I can carry, laugh in his face, and ride off.”

“If he doesn’t take me, he’d be wise to kill me, but he won’t.”

“Too much his father’s son, from what I hear.”

“Fine with me. Either way I win.”

“So stop whimpering and snapping at me, I’m sick of it.”

“Keep your mouth shut and do as I tell you, and maybe we’ll even be in time for your uncle’s bloody wedding.”

“Be gentle with yourself.”

“It is good that you have woken, but you must give yourself time to heal.”

“We drowned the wound with boiling wine, and closed you up with a poultice of nettle, mustard seed and moldy bread, but unless you rest...”

“If we are offered refreshment when we arrive, on no account refuse.”

“Take what is offered, and eat and drink where all can see. If nothing is offered, ask for bread and cheese and a cup of wine.”  

“I’m more wet than hungry...”  

“Listen to me. Once you have eaten of his bread and salt, you have the guest right, and the laws of hospitality protect you beneath his roof.”  

“I have an army to protect me, Mother, I don’t need to trust in bread and salt.”

“But if it pleases Lord Walder to serve me stewed crow smothered in maggots, I’ll eat it and ask for a second bowl.”  

“Keep your eyes down and your tone respectful and say ser a lot, and most knights will never see you.”

“They pay more mind to horses than to smallfolk.”

“He might have known Stranger if he’d ever seen me ride him.”

“No one sang the words, but I knew ‘The Rains of Castamere’ when I heard it.”

“I will kill the old man, I can do that much at least.”  

“It hurts so much. Our children, all our sweet babes.”

“Please, make it stop, make it stop hurting...”

“Mad. She’s lost her wits.”

“No, don’t, don’t cut my hair, ___loves my hair.”

“Come with me. We have to get away from here, and now.”

“We have to go get my mother.”

“I am sorry, my lord.”  

“Why? Some cook should be sorry. Not you. The pease are not your province.”

“They are green and round, what more can one expect of pease? Here, I’ll have another serving, if it please my lady.”

“That was stupid. Now I have to eat them all, or she’ll be sorry all over again.”

“I won’t intrude. Dress warmly, my lady, the wind is brisk out there.”

“Kings are falling like leaves this autumn.” “

“It would seem our little war is winning itself.”  

“Write to Lord Frey and tell him. The king commands. I’m going to have it served to ___ at my wedding feast.”  

“Sire, the lady is now your aunt by marriage.”  

“A jest. He did not mean it.”  

“He was a traitor, and I want his stupid head. I’m going to make Sansa kiss it.”

“She/He is no longer yours to torment. Understand that, monster.”  

“You’re the monster, Uncle.”  

“Perhaps you should speak more softly to me, then.”

“Monsters are dangerous beasts, and just now kings seem to be dying like flies.”

“Aerys also felt the need to remind men that he was king. And he was passing fond of ripping tongues out as well.”

“When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet.”

“And any man who must say ‘I am the king’ is no true king at all.”

“When I’ve won your war for you, we will restore the king’s peace and the king’s justice.”

“Oh, my, hasn’t this gotten interesting?”

“___, apologize to your grandfather.”

“Why should I? Everyone knows it’s true.”

“My father won all the battles. He killed Prince Rhaegar and took the crown, while your father was hiding under Casterly Rock.”

“A strong king acts boldly, he doesn’t just talk.”  

“Thank you for that wisdom, Your Grace.”

“I don’t want any dreamwine.”

“Father, I am sorry. Joff has always been willful, I did warn you...”  

“There is a long league’s worth of difference between willful and stupid.”

“‘A strong king acts boldly?’ Who told him that?”  

“Not me, I promise you.”

“The part about you hiding under Casterly Rock does sound like ___.”

“And what were you telling him, pray? I did not fight a war to seat Robert the Second on the Iron Throne.”

“You gave me to understand the boy cared nothing for his father.”  

“Why would he? Robert ignored him.”

“He would have beat him if I’d allowed it.”

“That brute you made me marry once hit the boy so hard he knocked out two of his baby teeth, over some mischief with a cat.”

“I told him I’d kill him in his sleep if he ever did it again, and he never did, but sometimes he would say things...”  

“It appears things needed to be said.”

“Not Robert the Second. Aerys the Third.”  

“The boy is thirteen. There is time yet.”

“That’s unlike him; he’s more upset than he wishes to show.”

“He requires a sharp lesson.”  

“Wars are won with quills and ravens, wasn’t that what you said?”

“I must congratulate you. How long have you and Walder Frey been plotting this?”  

“I mislike that word.”

“And I mislike being left in the dark.”  

“There was no reason to tell you. You had no part in this.”

“No one was told, save those who had a part to play.”

“And they were only told as much as they needed to know.”

“You ought to know that there is no other way to keep a secret - here, especially.”

“My object was to rid us of a dangerous enemy as cheaply as I could, not to indulge your curiosity or make your sister feel important.”

“You have a certain cunning, but the plain truth is you talk too much.”

“That loose tongue of yours will be your undoing.”  

“You should have let Joff tear it out.”  

“You would do well not to tempt me.”

“Oh? Is this something I’m allowed to know, or should I leave so you can discuss it with yourself?”

“A tool for every task, isn’t that how it works? My tool is yours, Father.”

“Never let it be said that my House blew its trumpets and I did not respond.”

“I was made to suffer my father’s follies. I will not suffer yours. Enough.”

“Very well, as you ask so pleasantly.”

“It might serve, but the Snake will not be happy.”

“Far be it from me to question your cunning, father, but in your place I do believe I’d have let Robert Baratheon bloody his own hands.”

“I grant you, it was done too brutally.”

“The Princess need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing.”  

“Then why did the Mountain kill her?”  

“Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all.”

“I had more pressing concerns.”

“That was the thing I feared most.”

“Nor did I yet grasp what I had in The Mountain, only that he was huge and terrible in battle.”

“If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow.”

“So Lord Walder slew him under his own roof, at his own table?”

“Slain as well, I’d say. A pair of wolfskins.”

“Frey had intended to keep her captive, but perhaps something went awry.”  

“So much for guest right.”  

“The blood is on his hands, not mine.”

“Explain to me why it is more noble to kill ten thousand men in battle than a dozen at dinner.”

“I had not forgotten, though I’d hoped you had.”

“I am not seeing the body, no, Your Kingliness.”

“Yet in the city, the lions prance and dance.”

“The Red Wedding, the smallfolk are calling it.”

“I was sick unto death of this wretched boy before he was even born.”

“His very name is a roaring in my ears and a dark cloud upon my soul.”

“He is mine own blood. Stop clutching me, woman.”

“And small men curse what they cannot understand.”  

“So tell me why you need this boy to wake your great stone dragon, my lady.”

“Only death can pay for life, my lord.”

“A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

“Even an onion smuggler knows two onions from three. You are short a king, my lady/lord.”  

“He/She has you there, my lady. Two is not three.”

“A certain Lysene pirate once told me that a good smuggler stays out of sight.”

“Black sails, muffled oars, and a crew that knows how to hold their tongues.”  

“A crew with no tongues is even better. Big strong mutes who cannot read or write.”

“But I am glad to know that someone watches your back, old friend.”

“Will the king give the boy to the red priestess, do you think?”

“One little dragon could end this great big war.”