#v: fire & blood

[bluerbell]

❝ she sees much and more, my Alys. ❞

a rough redraw of this old piece <3

[wellheavenknows]

saw lighting pride flag

[izuku]

@paletmblr 3 year anniversary: quotes House Targaryen + Quotes that warrant Westerosi CPS visits

[thatscruelsummer]

Princess Rhaelle Targaryen and Lord Ormund Baratheon

art trade with @salialenart ❤️‍🔥

[rynnthefangirl]

+ w/ Daenerys

[sirenascelestiales]

I forgot to add my favorite part of the Tales of Dunk and Egg/A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is that Egg cut holes in his straw hat for Maester the mule :)

[lilithshads]

The Unending Grief of Jenny of Oldstones 𓇢𓆸

george r.r martin // nana komatsu // charles baudelaire // velimir khlebnikov // unknown // enzo vogrincic & nana komatsu // george r.r martin // cesare saccaggi // jay vespertine @letsbelonelytogetherr // pinterest // george r.r martin // anne carson // like grains of sand (1995) // goo goo dolls // nana komatsu // pinterest // anne magill // florence & machine //pavana reddy // jane b. for agnès v (1988) // taylor swift // @ojibwa // florence & the machine // haunting of hill house ( 2018 ) // seven samurai (1954) // pinterest // florence & the machine // gaston bussière

[witchhazelevesque]

NO NO NO, YOU GUYS WAIT LEO AND OCTAVIAN LITERALLY DIED TOGETHER

[rozsesandart]

Aegon V and his brother Maester Aemon Targaryen 🍂

- commissioned by @/nevaehh_355 on IG🌼

- Art by @rozsesandart

Art masterlist - kofi - socials - commissions info

[throughpatchesofviolet]

Ishmael E.G.O - Default | Corrosion

[valhallavalgrace]

How are you adjusting to the whole Norse mythology situation?

LEO: I’ve mostly been bugging some of the older einherjar, and Hunding, a little bit, to figure this place out. Do you know how cool it is that some people have been here since the industrial revolution?? There's no way that I'm the first of my dad's kids to make it here. I just don't know who to talk to about it.

((Leo's coping mechanism re: Norse mythology is just hating himself more bc of course he doesn't belong in his own afterlife. but he won't admit that to anyone bc he doesn't know who can be vulnerable with.))

prev ask

[witchqueenvisenya]

the greens being snuffed out in the end doesn't matter so much as the damage they did by undermining rhaenyra and female rulers on the iron throne as a whole because what came out of this whole thing isn't that all targaryens are greedy entitled people who are warring for the sake of it and that dany is heir until she isn't. it's that people in westeros are still very much struck by the destructive note of this historical event, both on the smallfolk and on marginalised peoples in the nobility itself, like women and bastards. the dance cements the fact that there must be no straying from westerosi customs, that women should never inherit the iron throne (better the nephews than the daughters), that bastards must forevermore be treated as suspicious and naturally prone to betrayal. because although rhaenyra gets to sit the iron throne, she is traumatized and depressed and paranoid and many of her decisions as queen are the result of this and that is what lasts in the minds of everyone. the reason for all this matters to us as readers, that there was a hateful misogynistic campaign, a bloody war fought just so this one woman doesn't inherit... how much the personal destruction from this fighting affects her to the point that a previously cheerful "realm's delight" transforms into "maegor with teats". the dance matters, because the social and political ramifications from the reasonings behind it matter. because rhaenyra, the king's heir, matters. her line doesn't fix the problems that led to the conflict in the first place because she (or any future heir brought up in a time free of conflict) wasn't left free enough alone to do anything about it and the only decisions we see from her are during a period of intense strife and conflict, which themselves reflect her own views. it doesn't matter though, because the precedent that could have been set, never was, and the greens' greed and meddling led to queens like naerys, and rhaella, who have exactly zero power because the one thing that could have empowered them—dragon—was killed off either in the fighting or on the orders of a king who was reeling from the immense mental trauma of having seen his mother devoured by his uncle's dragon in front of his eyes. this is the result of that war. this is the outcome of a war fought because rhaenyra was a woman. the downward spiral of misery and pain continues, exacerbated and reinforced by the memory of destruction and fear. a woman must not sit the iron throne. a bastard must not inherit.

[stromuprisahat]

Rhaenyra Targaryen was a Dragon. Just because she got fat and fell apart mentally after losing almost all of her loved ones in the span of barely two years, she wasn't weak or mild-tempered. Her being feminine doesn't mean submissive or meek. That's kinda why the whole Dance didn't fizzle out- she was a wife and mother, but refused to content herself with only those roles, because Dragons cannot be tied by rules of ordinary men and she was the Heir to the Iron Throne.

[knightofthenewrepublic]

[novaursa]

Hello! Would you ever write something for Ser Duncan the Tall?? I don’t have any exact ideas but would love to see something for him ❤️

When the North Calls

- Summary: Duncan and Aegon encounter you in Riverlands, and you unintentionally steal the heart of a knight.

- Paring: stark!reader/Ser Duncan the Tall

- Note: The plot is purposely changed. Duncan and Egg were not going to join Lord Beron Stark on the Northen coast, and I've also put in how Baelor Breakspear knighted Duncan (I know he didn't) to give a short story more flare.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey through the Riverlands had been pleasant enough, the landscape a patchwork of autumnal hues. Duncan found himself enjoying the quiet moments between the clamor of camp and the occasional brush with bandits. Traveling alongside Aegon—Egg, as he preferred to be called—was both a challenge and a comfort. The boy’s sharp wit and hunger for knowledge kept Duncan on his toes. This latest company, led by Ser Hormon Peake, was more dubious than most, but the invitation to attend the wedding of a Frey daughter provided a welcome diversion from the usual hardship.

“Ser Duncan, do you think Lord Frey will have enough food for all the guests?” Egg’s voice broke into his thoughts. The boy was riding close, his helmet askew atop his shaved head, eyes bright with curiosity. “He has so many children already. The expense must be staggering.”

Duncan chuckled, his large hand reaching out to ruffle Egg’s cap. “You’re thinking too much on it. A man with as many children as Lord Frey knows how to manage his coffers. You just worry about your manners.”

Egg wrinkled his nose but said nothing, the tilt of his head suggesting he had more questions. They rode in comfortable silence until the sound of hooves and the glint of steel drew Duncan’s attention. A small company approached from the north, a banner he recognized fluttering in the breeze—the direwolf of House Stark, bordered by a band of silver.

“Starks?” he murmured, brow furrowing. This far south, it could mean anything: messengers, exiles, or an army on the move. But as the group drew closer, he spotted a woman at the head of the party, her cloak a deep grey, her hair dark as a raven’s wing. She rode with an easy confidence, her gaze scanning the road ahead as if searching for something—or someone.

“They’re well armed,” Egg observed. “But they don’t look like they’re spoiling for a fight.”

Duncan nodded. “Aye, but best to be cautious.”

As they closed the distance, the Stark party reined in their horses. The woman’s gaze fell on Duncan, her eyes a striking shade of grey, storm clouds before a snowfall. Duncan shifted in his saddle, his heart thudding with an unfamiliar nervousness. She was beautiful in a way that was fierce and untamed, and he felt his tongue tie itself in knots at the thought of speaking to her.

“Ser Duncan the Tall,” she greeted, her voice carrying the crisp edge of the North. “I am Lady Y/N Stark, sister to Lord Beron. What brings you to these lands?”

“Lady Stark.” Duncan’s voice came out rougher than he intended, and he cleared his throat. “We ride to attend a wedding at the Twins. Ser Hormon Peake invited us to join his company.”

Her eyes flicked to the men behind him, and a small, knowing smile touched her lips. “And you trust Ser Hormon Peake?”

Duncan felt his cheeks warm. “I—ah—thought it best to see for myself.”

She nodded, then gestured to her own party. “I’m gathering men of Riverlands to march north. The Ironborn have struck our coasts again, and my brother needs every sword he can muster.”

“We’re heading the same way,” Egg cut in, his voice eager. “Dunk and I���we’re always looking for ways to help.” He shot Duncan a look that was half-amusement, half-daring.

Duncan shifted uncomfortably, feeling every inch the awkward giant he was. “If it please you, my lady, we’d be honored to ride with you. The North’s need is greater than Lord Frey’s feast.”

Her smile widened, and Duncan’s heart gave an unexpected lurch. “You’re welcome, Ser Duncan. I could use a man of your strength—and your honor.” She glanced at Egg, her expression softening. “And you, boy. You look like you’ve a few tricks up your sleeve.”

Egg grinned, straightening in his saddle. “I try, my lady.”

The decision made, Duncan found himself riding beside Lady Stark, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily. She spoke of her home, of the cold winters and the warm hearths of Winterfell, and Duncan listened, mesmerized by the passion in her voice. He found himself speaking more than he had in a long time, sharing tales of his travels and the places he had seen. Each time she laughed or smiled, he felt a strange thrill, as though he had accomplished something far greater than winning a tourney.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road, they made camp near a small stream. Duncan busied himself with setting up their tent, but his thoughts kept drifting to Lady Stark, her presence a constant pull at his senses. He was dimly aware of Egg’s gaze, sharp and amused as he watched Duncan fumble with the tent poles.

“You’ve got it bad, Dunk,” Egg teased, his voice low enough not to carry. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you trip over your words like that.”

Duncan shot him a warning look, but the boy only grinned wider.

“She likes you,” Egg continued, unperturbed. “She kept looking at you, like she was trying to figure you out. I bet she’s never met anyone quite like you before.”

“Enough, Egg,” Duncan muttered, feeling his face heat. “She’s a lady, and I’m just a hedge knight.”

“A hedge knight who’s been knighted by Baelor Breakspear and fought in a Trial of Seven,” Egg pointed out. “And one who’s honest and kind. She could do worse.”

Duncan didn’t know what to say to that, so he busied himself with tightening the ropes, his mind whirling. Lady Y/N Stark. He couldn’t stop thinking about her—her fierce eyes, the way she spoke with such determination, the ease with which she commanded her men. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he didn’t know what to do with the feelings she stirred in him.

As the camp settled for the night, Duncan found himself glancing her way more than once, his heart aching with a longing he barely understood. She was a Stark of Winterfell, sister to a lord, and he—he was just Duncan, a knight without a home.

But as he watched her laugh with her men, her head thrown back, her eyes bright, he couldn’t help but hope, just a little, that maybe—just maybe—she saw something in him, too.

[rynnthefangirl]

I love how Fire and Blood shows time and time again how Targaryen women are passed over, usurped, abused, killed, raped, and slandered, all building to Daenerys, a Targaryen woman who rises to great power while seeking justice and salvation for all those crushed beneath the oppressive systems of her world... just to be usurped and killed so that we can place a man on the throne again.