#westerosi gems

[sansas-amythest-hairnet]

So this is major headcannon time, I decided that it was tradition for westerosi queens to design their own frames for their royal portraits. So first ones Rhaenys and Visenya opted for identical frames made of Valyrian steel, they were simple due to the rareness of the steel. Alyssa chose one made of silver seashells that she had collected throughout her life. Alyssane chose silver to reflect her dragon Silverwing and the favorite gems of her daughters. Aemma wanted to reflect her often forgotten Arryn ancestory. Alicent obviously went full Hightower while Rhaenyra chose a silver frame designed to look like Valyrian buildings with her dragon Syrax represented. Heleana based hers on a sketch that Rhaenyra had shown her as a young girl, opting to feature a garden wall from the red keep with motifs of her favorite insects. Jaehaera was unable to design her own frame. Daenaera chose a pearl adorned frame devoid of any dragon symbolism in respect to her husband. Daena wasn’t allowed a frame by her husband Baelor. Naerys reflected her faith with a Seven-pointed star frame. Myriah used Dornish gold in her frame. Aelinor designed a wooden frame, she did not want an expensive frame as she never felt like she was truly Queen. Betha used the wood from a Weirwood tree to reflect her houses northern history. Shaera was fascinated with the history of her house and after much debate was allowed to have a frame made of dragonbone. Rhaella’ s frame was a small rebellion of her own, the shape the first of its kind with purple flowers as a subtle nod to her childhood infatuation with Bonfier Hasty. Cersei Lannister has yet to design her own frame, many believing that Robert Baratheon forbid her from doing so. the portraits were saved by a young servant who spirited them to the citadel where they are now stored. Jaehaera and Rhaella’s portraits were painted from memory, both from their weddings, Jaehaera’s reign was too short to have a painting commissioned, and Rhaella was forbidden by her husband to have her portrait painted out of fear that she would somehow hurt any babe she carried.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #asoif/got #asoif fanart #asoiaf fanart #house of the dragon #house targaryen #visenya targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #valaena velaryon #alyssa targaryen #aemma arryn #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #helaena targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #daenaera velaryon #daena the defiant #naerys targaryen #myriah martell #aelinor penrose #betha blackwood #shaera targaryen #rhaella targaryen #cersei lannister #robert baratheon #westerosi queens #house velaryon #house lannister

[minteaspoon]

The Tides’ Captain

sad implied lucemond:(

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS FIC INCLUDES TEEN PREGNANCY!!!! LUKE IS 15 AT THE START OF THIS FIC, SO VERY UNDERAGE!!!! DNI IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THIS TOPIC!!!!

a/n: Luke has a son out of wedlock (it’s definitely Aemond’s), and is thus shamed and exiled by his family (with great hesitation and protest from Rhaenyra and Corlys’ side of the family, but is celebrated by the Greens)

Also, how Luke got pregnant will be up to interpretation (I personally say there’s no explanation for it, it just happened and is a complete surprise to everyone involved, which would bring potentially unhinged shenanigans and that thought is hilarious to me)

•._•._•._•._•._•

It had been six months.

Six months since Luke was found to be with child.

Six months since Luke was found out to have been bedded before marriage.

Six months since Luke had been put in front of the court and shamed.

Six months since Luke had been exiled from Westeros.

It had been six months since he’s bedded him.

The damn bastard didn’t even own up to it! But what should he have expected, with his reputation as a mutilator of kin and a bastard spawn. Tis only fair a bastard birth a bastard - at least, in the eyes of the court, and to the one he gave his maidenhood to.

The brunette even had to abandon Arrax, and was given no dragon egg to gift to his child. Something he knows the Hightowers and their allies celebrated.

Luke had sailed across the sea after hitching a ride with sailors who took pity on the poor lad. They did whatever they could to help accommodate him; fed him, sheltered him, told him stories and taught him song and dance and fishing. And in return, the exiled prince helped in whatever chores he was able.

He grew to care and love his sailor family, and they saw him as one of their own. They had even given him a new name - Prim Carlisle of the Tidefall Ship, Pearl of its crew. Luke’s little one was even given options for names by his found family; Pitt, Ervin, Arwen, Mittie, Eula, Matildah… He was leaning into naming the child either Tidus for a boy, or Joanna for a girl.

The crew had even given him his own weapon, in case he ever needed to fight alongside them - though they promise he needn’t have to, as they’d never let a pregnant fellow do heavy work, and they’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he never has to see, hear or commit any violent act. When Prim saw the dagger, he knew immediately what to name the silver blade melded into a dark hilt with small gems molded onto it - Tidal. His family laughed and teased him for such a corny name, but he stuck by it.

Before he knew it, six months had passed by, then seven, then eight and finally, he was in his last month of pregnancy. And before he knew it, he met his son; Tidus. His hair was of his mother, brown curls that framed his chubby and red face, but his eyes - they were purple.

Got something from his father, hm?

The bitter thought flew in his mind, as he smiled bitterly at his sleeping son. His birth wasn’t easy - it took Prim two days to get him out, and he had to be moved from the ship to land for proper care and assistance, as the sea is no place for anyone to give birth in. The trek to land helped in positioning Tidus correctly, so the last few moments of his birth was a success. And most importantly, Luke…Prim didn’t have to be cut open.

For a solid three months, Prim and his crew stayed on the island to rest from the chaos of birth, and the celebration of a new member of their family. After their rest, they set out yet again, this time, with even more cherished cargo with them - a child and a few girls of the island willing to come aboard and travel with Prim’s family, to help with medicine, organizing and with basic household - shiphold- chores.

Once again, Prim’s family was expanding. A few years evidently pass by, and Tidus was now three, while Prim was now eighteen. It has been three years since he last step foot on Westerosi grounds, since he had last sailed Westerosi waters, since he had last flown on Arrax in Westerosi skies. Prim was a far better sailor than he was three years prior - he was no longer seasick on deck, he knew the ropes, knew how to navigate the seas, knew how to chart and read the weather, knew how to use the stars in his predictions, and he knew how to sail and fish and hunt and lead.

When the captain of the Tidefall Ship fell to a sickness one day while they anchored on a small island, he named Prim the next captain once he hit the bucket. And when he did, his last will and command was effective immediately.

At first, Prim didn’t know if he had the ability to become captain, but with his crew’s help and his son’s encouragement, he became a feared and respected leader of a band of skilled, resourceful and “no-good” sailors under the moniker Prim Carlisle, “The Mermaid”.

It was only another three years later, when Prim and Tidus freshly turned twenty one and six respectively, did Prim decide to finally settle down somewhere cozy and quiet, where it would only be Prim and Little Tidus. When he dropped the news to his crew, they immediately went into hysterics, and immediately said they’ll settle down with him as well - though, with some prodding from Prim, they continued on their voyages, with Prim’s second in command as the new captain.

After a few weeks at sea, mapping out potential places of note good for a single parent and their child, Prim settled on a valley surrounded by wildlife and mountains and cliffs, with a meadow in the middle full of flowers with space large enough for a farm, cabin and animals.

The crew promised to come visit with gifts and trinkets and anything the father-son duo could need, and Prim held them to the promise.

Prim and Tidus lived in relative peace together in their little corner of personalized heaven. They had a cabin full of comfortable crafts by Prim and Tidus, alongside being decorated with presents from their family. They had a farm with two cows, five chickens and three sheep. They had growing crops of all kinds, as they were given many seeds by their crew to start out with. Not only that, but the girls had even given and taught him how to make the most of what little one might have during the weeks leading up to his and Tidus’ settlement.

Life was perfect for the father-son duo.

Until it wasn’t.

It wasn’t long until they hear rumors from travelers about a war brewing in Westeros, a war between family - a dance of dragons. Each side had been looking for dragon seeds to hatch and claim dragons for their side, and their reach had far extended past even the Free Cities. Prim knew better than to get involved - especially with his former family, so he made precautions to barricade both the obvious and inobvious entrances to his valley, and hid him and his child away from the skies. Only his crew knew their whereabouts, and how to get in and out.

However, these measures weren’t enough to keep him safe from someone who was desperate to get him back despite the years, and despite the fact that he never owned up to his part as Tidus’ father.

Above Prim, during a night of chill and snow, as a white and thick blanket of white coats the lands, he hears a roar that brings shivers down his spine. Clutching his crying son to his chest, who was scared for him and his mother in front of the green beast above them, in one hand while on the other, he holds his dagger - Tidal, Prim looks up and gazed past the hulking mass of flesh and scales -

And makes eye contact with a desperate, relieved and grieving violet eye.

#lucemond #lucemond imagine #lucerys velaryon x aemond targaryen #aemond x lucerys #lucerys valeryon #aemond targaryen #aemond messed up #as per usual #luke doesn’t forgive easily - if not at all #he’s going to hold how bad he was treated above Aem’s head #man just wants to be left alone living his best cottagecore life with his son #tidus is a young luke 2.0 #he will get violent if necessary #learned from his mama after all:)

[goodqueenaly]

I sometimes wonder whether GRRM will in the future draw inspiration from Aegon IV (and, by extension, a bit for Daeron II) from John II of France, specifically as he's portrayed in The Accursed Kings.

The reason I say "in the future" is because I don't actually know whether GRRM has read the seventh and last book in the series, The King Without a Kingdom, where John II is (albeit somewhat indirectly) one of the main protagonists. The King Without a Kingdom is sort of the odd duck of the series, because not only was it published nearly two decades after the sixth novel, but it was only officially translated and published in English in 2015, long after GRRM started writing Aegon IV (much less ASOIAF). GRRM himself lamented back in 2009 that the last book in the series had never been published in English, and while he gleefully reported in 2013 that as part of the new English editions being published, Harper Collins would include a translated version of the seventh novel, he did not go on to mention his reading the seventh novel. Even the (repeated) foreword by GRRM to these new publications of The Accursed Kings - including, inexplicably, The King Without a Kingdom itself - includes GRRM’s statement that “the seventh and final volume was never translated into English at all”. (I myself didn’t see anything I felt was specifically related to or drawn from The King Without a Kingdom in F&B, obviously the first major new/mostly new Westerosi work from GRRM since The Accursed Kings was republished in full.)

Yet now that almost a decade has passed since The King Without a Kingdom was published in English, I would not be surprised if GRRM has taken the opportunity to read it - and if so, if he might use the character of John II for inspiration for Aegon IV. Indeed, even the official summary for the book suggests John II as to some extent a ready parallel for Aegon the Unworthy, calling him, John, "a monarch as vain and cruel as he is incompetent". The very first description of King John from the novel's narrator, Cardinal Talleyrand of Perigord, refers to the king as "a brutal and violent man" whose "dreams and secret fears ... provoke sudden and murderous fits of rage" - traits which also fit Aegon IV, the man who had no qualms about executing Bethany and her father, consigning Cassella Vaith to (presumed) execution, and attempting to judicially murder both his brother and his sister-wife (and who may have murdered his own father in the bargain). Further, the cardinal's account of King John as a man "incapable of listening to advice or of the slightest self-control” served as an apt reflection on Aegon IV, who showed no restraint in his many sexual affairs or his tyrannical regnal decisions. John II, according to the cardinal, “hiding his weaknesses under an exterior of grand ostentation” very much recalls the author's description of Aegon IV, with his excessive and garish draconic crown, his “bright and rich” garments, and his many gems. Both John II and Aegon IV can be accurately described as “at the core, a fool, the exact opposite of a conqueror, his soul the opposite of the soul of a commander" - an assessment borne out by the spectacular military failures of each king. 

Moreover, there are specific points in the book’s description of John II which may be used by GRRM in the future for Aegon IV. If John II is not presented as quite the omnivorously lascivious man Aegon IV was, or as hateful toward his wives as Aegon was toward Naerys, the cardinal nevertheless observes critically the king's (specifically romantic) favoritism toward a male aristocrat. The cardinal’s report that John II falsely charged and condemned his constable in order to seize that man’s rich possessions and pass them off to his favorite echoes both Aegon IV’s seizure of the Plumm inheritance after his cousin Elaena’s marriage to Lord Ossifer as well as his grant of the Teats to the Blackwoods (after taking the land from the Brackens). John II’s obsession with building a mighty siege tower to take an English-held town during the Hundreds Years War, only to watch that tower be spectacularly destroyed and burned (particularly by Greek fire, GRRM’s own explicit inspiration for wildfire) closely resembles Aegon IV’s abortive attempt to invade Dorne with his wooden dragons, which were themselves incinerated by wildfire. King John’s willingness to pursue a charge of treason against King Charles of Navarre and a number of other Norman knights on no greater basis than the hollow accusation of a member of his court may also find similarities to Aegon IV’s accusations of treason, again on no basis, toward his brother and sister-wife as well as his (probable) betrayal of justice against Terrence Toyne (and by extension Bethany and her father).

Even John II's relationship with his eldest son and heir Charles may be used by the author in writing about Aegon IV and his son and heir, Daeron. If John II is not quite as openly antagonistic toward the Dauphin as Aegon was always reported to be toward Daeron, there is nevertheless a steep contrast between the Valois royal father and son which broadly parallels that between this Targaryen king and his Prince of Dragonstone. Just as Daeron II was "[n]ot a warrior by any means; round-shouldered, with thin legs and a small pot belly", so the cardinal notes that the future Charles V is "unable to wield a sword", thanks to a condition which makes his right hand swell "whenever he tries to lift a heavy weight or hold on to an object tightly" (and indeed, the dauphin eventually retreats from the disastrous battlefield at Poitiers, a move even the cardinal considers unheroic). (It may also be worth pointing out that the cardinal claims that the dauphin Charles physically resembles Louis IX, the explicit parallel for Daeron’s own spiritual predecessor Baelor the Blessed.) Yet while the cardinal reports that John II therefore "conclude[s] ... that the dauphin is an idiot who would make a bad king" - surely about what Aegon IV thought of the future Daeron II - the cardinal himself overall sympathetically portrays the dauphin as a thoughtful, judicious contrast to his blustering, foolish father - much the dynamic I think the author wants to write between Daeron and Aegon. (And indeed, Maurice Druon excepts the future Charles V from his declaration that ”[t]he thirteen Valois kings who were to … reign over France for two hundred and fifty years would all have in their blood … certain characteristics of [the] crazed nature” of Charles, count of Valois, brother of Philip IV. Too, Druon gives Charles his familiar epithet, calling him a “wise king”, when describing the future kings of France at the end of the sixth novel, The Lily and the Lion.) 

Again, none of this is exact, and there are certainly other parallels the author will doubtless look to for Aegon IV (and Daeron II). (No one bring "Aegon IV is the Henry VIII of Westeros" into my house, we all know how I feel about that.) But it me to bring in more of The Accursed Kings.

#asoiaf meta #the accursed kings #aegon iv targaryen

[horizon-verizon]

Honestly it's not just writing that it's bad in this show . it's also costumes , wigs -my god ugliest wigs ever- and the design choices of dragons , crowns -specially the conqueror's crown- everything in this show is done without an ounce of creativity and is so soulless. Makes me wonder , why they even think this show is "best show in 2022"??

*EDITED POST* 9/23/23

.........................................................................................................

The Clothing

I talk about the costuming of not only HotD but also GoT HERE. And I agree that the costumes were not good, but I say they weren't good because they don't make sense for the context instead of just how it looks and whether it is good design. 

Though there are a few costumes I actually hate the design of, just aesthetically: 

Alicent’s wedding dress [the scene was thankfully deleted; this one was actually just bad in of itself, the personal taste comes in with me hating the sleeves in of themselves...3/4 sleeves are not my thing]

epi 1 Rhaenyra’s first dress’ frill collar (yeah collars like these existed, this is not about period accuracy, it's about personal likes/dislikes, as already stated)

epi 4 Alicent’s red and black dress (Halloween costume and the sleeves make no sense/lack of consistency)

epi 9 Alicent’s sheer shoulder(?)/panel over the chest connecting the sleeves to the shoulders and neck -- too modern as well

Valyrian Appearance & the Wigs

I am a very selective person when it comes to adapting distinctive visual features from fantasy/scifi novels into TV. (As I’m sure you all will be able to tell.)

That the Targs always have bleach-white hair in HotD and there being no variances from “white” to pale blonde twists my nerves. And yes, there were only a few wigs that were in mid-to-good condition: Young & Older Rhaenyra, Daemon’s episodes 3 & 4. 

The worst ones (condition and design) were for the black characters/the Velaryons. For our black characters, where are our braiding that’s afforded to the white characters?! 

If you’re going to have black actors, modify wigs better to how actual black people would want them presented. And introduce Afro-braiding!

I also -- no matter what the obstacle to the show production/post-production/overall budget -- need the purple eyes, again with all variances. Again, with variances of shades and types of purple.

The Crowns

Disliked Viserys/Rhaenyra’s crown....excuse me, Jaehaerys I’s crown was a crown with the 7 Seven/7 Westerosi regions-symbolized gems placed into it. Something like this:

🎨: amok

In a different vein, as long as the live-crown both looks simple in the context of crowns AND has the gems, I would have been satisfied. Like these:

🎨: naomimakesart; 2nd & 3rd - chillyravenart; last - elenastripe

And it’s pretty symbolic and ironic that Rhaenyra, a woman, gets to crown herself the same crown that Jaehaerys both wore himself and would never have wanted her to wear.  He had a history of trying to assimilate more into the Andal patriarchy more than the kings before him, as well. 

But having just a generic and applicable-to-all and having no context crown with engravings of dragons and geometric patterns? Where is the original story, the personality?!!!

Finally, Aegon’s crown....honestly how do get this:

from any of these?:

🎨: 1st & 2nd amok ; Magali Villeneuve (AWoIaF)

Where are the rubies?!

#asoiaf asks to me #hotd costume #hotd comment #hotd critical #asoiaf costume #valyrian appearance #asoiaf #hotd

[ephiiphanies]

a study.

BASICS.

full name : olynna blackwood

name meaning : helpful, researcher, comfortable

nicknames : oly, nana.

epithets : the beauteous raven

titles : lady of raventree hall

gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her

sexuality : heterosexual

date of birth : on the thirteen day of the first month

age : seven and twenty years

zodiac : capricorn

place of birth : raventree hall, the riverlands, westeros

accent : northern westerosi

languages : common tongue, old tongue

allegiance : house blackwood and house stark

religion : the old gods

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim : synnove karlsen

height : 5′5″

eye color : blue/grey

hair color : brunette with copper undertones

dominant hand : ambidextrous

abilities : warg

MEDICAL.

mental : n/a

physical : n/a

PERSONALITY.

positive traits : eloquent & resourceful

negative traits : opinionated & judgemental

hobbies : reading, needlework, medicine, healing horse, back riding

RELATIONSHIPS.

parents : ruling lord lonan blackwood & late ruling lady ilianna blackwood

siblings : lord utp blackwood, lord utp blackwood, lady utp blackwood, lady utp blackwood, lady ilianna blackwood

extended family : tba

spouse : n/a

children : n/a

pets : birdsong ( raven ), onyx ( friesian stallion)

FAMILY DYNAMICS.

house blackwood is an ancient one and as so they were expected to carry duty over anything else. it was why even though lord lonan had fallen for different woman and fathered a bastard he still married the woman chosen for him by his father. sealing his fate and that of lady ilianna for a miserable marriage. the new lady blackwood vent backwards in hopes to gain the favor of her husband, and when she gave him a son she almost thought she had him, only to learn his mistress had also given him a daughter not long after. but she did not give up, her children watched her break for a man that paid her no mind, and eventually she lost her life in the false hope of giving him another son. not long after mourning period and with no one else to deny him he married his mistress and legalized his bastards. now the power balance tips back and forth with the ruling lady fighting for her bastard born son to become lord heir, while the children of the first wife refuse to back down.

BIO.

olynna had been her mothers tressure, a soft chubby babe that cried rarely and laughed often. the second gem of raventree hall, gentle demeanor and rosie cheeks, her birth had been an ease, as if predicting the calming nature that would run through her veins.

as she grew up it was clear olynna would be everything a lady was expected to be, soft spoken, witty, gentle, but the demeanor of any raven ran deep in her and she was also strong willed and opinionated. and while she had a tendency to please and listen to the careful path suggested for her, there were instances were her strong personality came to shine.

her role was clear, she would marry to strengthen the alliances when the time came. but that wasn’t enough for her, learning needle point, how to rule a house, she demanded to learn politics and strategies, she took her lessons and asked for more, the more knowledge was poured into her the more she craved

her life came to a sudden halt when her mother became pregnant once over, the pregnancy had her sick and bed ridden, and not long after the babe had been born lady ilianna was not longer with them leaving olynna with the weight of a promise to always look out for her siblings. at the tender age of thirteen she took it to heart, leaving everything that wasn't their care to become second in her list

but the little piece they manage to find came crushing when his father did what olynna had been most afraid, decided to marry his mistress, which she knew would only be the beginning of the darkness that would surround their lives. the children of the first ruling lady of the house welcomed the new comers with resistance, specially olynna, whom would accept no other than her mother as ruling lady and so raventree hill became a war camp

but the frontlines were short lived for olynna, her mother knowing her daughter's nature and anticipating her husbands actions, she arranged with her old friend and family the ruling lieges of the riverlands for her oldest daughter to be fostered in riverrun as one of their own lady in waiting. and the youngest raven babe was sent to be cared by their maternal family in maiden pool. her father fought it for the short time he could, but unfortunately there was no winning against their liege. thankfully olynna was not far away enough she could not keep a close eye on her siblings and protect them if needed

with the lack of care for herself olynna arrived in riverrun an awkward teenage girl, afraid of what it would bring for her. surprise filled her when she found friendship, kindness, and knowledge. with ease it became her home away from home and it had become perhaps the card her brother needed for securing his seat

as she grew older she grew into herself; smarter and beautiful, she began creating her own alliances, her own networks. a woman that supported her family, her siblings, her friends, loyal to a fault

olynna has seen what love has done to her father, and it terrifies she could be the same way, love is something she deprives herself of and has pledged against it. if she could remain unmarried and dedicated to her healing, her main goal is simply secure her brothers seat.

II. EXTRAS & OTHER THINGS

olynna learned everything and anything she could get her hands on, but her true calling came at a young age when her tba had first gotten injured during sparring training, she felt utterly powerless and wished to change that. she then poured herself in medicine and healing, running the maesters up a wall to take any and all knowledge from them she began helping in the villages and towns, learning healings tips, practicing making her own remedies and healing potions. becoming an excellent healer with the years

an excellent rider, she used to often secretly take her fathers horse for long rides, until he gifted her her own at age 10. a beautiful black stallion like the night named onyx

she was named the queen of love and beauty at the last tourney of the riverlands

she is quite friendly but can also be very firm and is not scared to raise her voice if she needs to

she has taken a motherly role in her family an eternal mediator

CONNECTIONS.

childhood friends; perhaps someone who knew her when she was a wild little thing swimming in the rivers of the riverlands and running through the field, stealing her fathers horse early in the mornings.

a pen pal; perhaps someone she only came across once before in the years but they shared letters constantly through the distance and time

a betrothal; set perhaps by their parents by pure political strategy or her step mother once more trying to send her as far away from raventree hall as possible, or they could be a lord in search of their own ambitions. could be nothing more than this or it could be combined with the next one

an enemies to lovers; someone who runs her up a wall and challenges everything she believes in but she also cannot stand the attraction towards them making it the more infuriating to the self proclaimed always in control blackwood

#olynna blackwood — all #olynna blackwood — about #conquest.intro

[bruiisedpetals-a]

[ @mccndancer ] .. BAELA TARGARYEN and a flower crown. .. [ cont. ]

he'd spent many years carefully weaving things from natural flora, däthedr would enjoy creating little crowns like this when elbala was a lot younger but hadn't had someone to make them for. the idea had taken him by impulse, seeing some strangely beautiful westerosi flowers growing wild on the grassy hills ... and as they walked he'd woven it with care and set it upon her dark locks, white petals, and a band of earthy green foliage. [..]

❝ should you desire another, i will make it for you gladly. a gift for your kindnesses, and i would be pleased to teach you any time.❞ däthedr reached to adjust the crown, tucking a loose curl into place to help lodge the piece more firmly amongst her hair. ❝ it looks perfect upon your hair, if that was not already a crown by itself. ❞ baela had beautiful truly hair, the kind that women in jhala strived to have (many did, but baela's was softer naturally, he noticed immediately as his fingers ran against it) ❝ is there a better adornment to wear than that of flowers and leaves? we do not have a crown of metal and gems in jhala. our leader dons a shirt of fine chain, it is called THE RIVERS GLORY. dozens of small links that drape over ones body like water... no heavy gems but our naturally found pearls adorn it; black like ink, and white like this flower... and green, like this ... ❞ he had one of the pale mint coloured peals on his necklace, which he pulled up out of his shirt: long woven strands of isles silk formed the band and one of the two items strung upon it was the pearl.

'my tooth, däthedr! you are still wearing it.' elbala's mildly panicked voice reached him too late, the small dragon fang sliding down the band to rest plain as day in his palm. it was the last fang she'd shed as a dragonling. he paused out of his own panic, knowing that snatching his hand away would be far more odd — he'd begun to trust baela, and as he watched her face, he hoped that she would not react poorly. 'if she threatens you, i will eat her alive.' 'she won't threaten me, don't be foolish. if anything comes to pass, we fly. as far and fast as we can. i am still able to lie and claim i was gifted it.' 'lies upon lies only poison the mind.' 'you wish me to tell her?' 'i wish you not to lie, if she should ask the correct questions.'

#( i had a mighty desire for baela to discover that he has a dragon. she still doesnt know hes a prince he's posing as an ambassador- #-but like?? why would an ambassador have a dragon?? ) #( panicpanicpanic!!!!!!! ) #v. summer isles prince ⋯ int. baela targaryen #mccndancer

[agentstarkid]

━ hiii babes! after a few years of saving these fics like my most treasured items, i think it's time for the world (my beloved girlies) to enjoy these gems!

━ i'm gonna keep making changes and adding more fics and more pages to this files *wink wink* because surely i'll keep finding more men to babygirlify and be obsessed with *sigh*.

━ to the readers ; if you access to any of the following files be kind enough to share them! every reblog and/or comment makes a huge difference, they all deserve a lot of love and it's the least whe can do to show appreciation! also, please always read the tags when you check out a fic!

━ to the writers ; i'm giving y'all a big kiss on the forehead and the tightest of hugs! thank you for making our lives a little less boring and letting us get lost for a bit in all these worlds. this fics have been my saving grace through a lot of moments! you guys are really appreciated <3

━ bear with me guys, this is gonna be a really long list and keeping in mind there are at least 3 years worth of fics... it may take me a while to update them all lol but i promise i'll try my best!

➦ THE F1 FILES

━ FIC COLLECTION (not found yet)

━ SOCIAL MEDIA AU'S (not found yet)

➦ THE JOEL MILLER FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE MARVEL FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE TOPGUN FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE WESTEROSI FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE H. CAVILL FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE C. EVANS FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE BRIDGERTON FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE GRISHAVERSE FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE H. STYLES FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE STRANGER THINGS FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE M. BARZAL FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE VAMPIRE FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE TEEN WOLF FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE OBX FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE PEAKY BLINDERS FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE E. BUCKLEY FILES (not found yet)

➦ THE JATP FILES (not found yet)

#may's fic rec

[blenderbender1811]

A while ago, just for fun, I was talking to @nobodysuspectsthebutterfly about official house gemstones. In the real world, lots of countries/states/etc. have official gemstones/minerals/precious metals/what-have-you and I was thinking about which gems would work best for each house. Now, obviously, just because something is ‘official’ to one house doesn’t mean no other house will ever use that jewellery ever, but I still wanted to work out official gemstones, for my GOT D&D game if nothing else.

Here’s what we came up with:

House Stark - My initial thought was amber for the Starks, because it’s an organic gemstone (closer to the nature based Old Gods), but then Butterfly suggested obsidian, for its connection to the First men. Then I thought of snowflake obsidian, for its connection to the first men and the ‘snowflake’ patterns pointing to winter. It’s coming, you know. :P

House Manderly - Ocean pearls. They live on the ocean and the Tully’s had freshwater pearls already.

House Tully - Freshwater pearls. The Tullys are on the river, so we thought it would be appropriate for their gemstone to come from the river. Pearls are gorgeous and generally held in high esteem.

House Lannister - Emeralds. I was initially thinking gold or rubies to match the Lannister’s colours. Then I thought about how rubies were also highly associated with the Targaryens and was conflicted about which to use. Then I thought maybe their stone used to be gold and was now a ruby to show they were (virtually) in charge now. But a little while ago, I realized the Lannisters wear far FAR more emeralds than they do rubies. It makes sense - Emeralds match their infamous eyes. No man can doubt they’re a Lannister with emeralds. I also like the association of them being green, like the wildfire Cersei and Tyrion use in ACOK.

House Tyrell - Jade. Their’s was originally an emerald, because I felt that they would want to compensate for their (comparatively) less impressive history with the most expensive green gemstone. After I swapped the emerald to the Lannisters though, I thought of giving them the second most well known green gem - and wouldn’t that just burn Mace’s pride up?

House Martell - Sunstones. They were initially fire opals, which matched the colours on their sigil, but I felt sunstones were more appropriate as a sigil match. 

House Arryn - I was so lost on what to give the Arryns. I first thought of blue topaz to match their sigil, but Mindset gave me the much better idea to use moonstones. They’re also, often, blue, and they bring to mind the moon on the Arryn’s banners and their Moon Door.

House Targaryen - Rubies. Once I decided to give the Lannisters emeralds, this was an easy decision. They’re frequently associated with rubies.

House Baratheon of King’s Landing - Diamonds. Diamonds are harder, more expensive and more prestigious than rubies, and they come in black like the Baratheon stag. I imagine this was initially the stone in Storm’s End, but once the war broke out, the stones for Dragonstone and Storm’s End changed.

House Baratheon of Storm’s End - Onyx. Onyx is a very striking black gem, which I think would appeal to Renly. They also have a reputation for bringing strength, which I think would appeal to the faction meaning to fight for the throne by right of conquest (although they’re also meant to protect against magic so what do they know? :P)

House Estermont - Greenstone. Otherwise, what am I even doing here?

House Baratheon of Dragonstone - Fire opals. Melisandre insisted they would help the Lord of Light bring the house luck. I mean, come on, they have fire right in the name.

House Greyjoy - Abalone shells. I was thinking that the Ironborn would primarily use things they could get from the sea as their gems and Butterfly suggested abalone as something that could be prized. I figured it was a nice fit for the Greyjoys.

Something else I thought made a cute custom - at weddings, the bride and groom swap rings of their houses to signify the house they’ve married into. For example, at Ned and Catelyn’s wedding, he would give her a ring with snowflake obsidian and she would give him a ring with a freshwater pearl (which he would probably wear on a leather cord around his neck because pearl rings are RIDICULOUSLY easy to break).

#asoiaf #headcanon #westerosi gems

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Aphelion - 5

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand 

Word Count: 14,166 (a whole doozy!) 

A/N: Hi friends, happy Wednesday Thursday. (Yeah this is a delete/repost because the tags were broken so if you saw this last night...no you didn’t.) First of all we wanted to thank everyone for their support on this story. It has been so much fun for us to write and equally fun to see your thoughts, reactions, and feedback! You are all gems, and we appreciate you the most. @something-tofightfor​ and I are PUMPED to share the next part of Aphelion with you. We have been teasing that the story was going to start gaining speed, and not only does this part ramp things up, its also the longest chapter yet and FULL of the things we have been dying to include. So please buckle up, grab a snack and ENJOY! 

If you need to catch up on the story, the Aphelion Masterlist can be found on both of our main masterlists. 

Also, if you have any questions about details or plot points or the way that Westerosi history/world fits into the “real” world- please ask! We don’t want to confuse anyone. 

*Please be sure to consider all chapter warnings before reading! Warnings will be updated for each chapter in individual posts as well as on the Masterlist.) 

Warnings: blood, serious injury, self harm, discussion of death, mentions of poison and murder, talk of the past, vampires and other such supernatural things

Summary: Waking up the morning after the encounter with Gregor in the alley, you finally start to gets some answers to the questions that have been burning holes in your brain- about Oberyn, the wound he sustained, the creature that gave it to him, and the sinister motivation behind the attacks happening throughout the city. The two of you start to discuss what will happen next, but with Oberyn still recovering from his injury and the Mountain’s whereabouts unknown, the future is still very uncertain for both of you. When you realize that your offer to save him might not be enough...well, desperate times call for desperate measures. 

(banner made by @valkblue​ & divides by @firefly-graphics​ )

Oberyn was in bed with you. Not only that, you could feel that the man’s arms were around you, encircling you from behind. When did he…

The realization didn’t upset you - instead, you found yourself pushing backwards against his chest, turning your head just enough so that he could fit the lower half of his face into the space where your neck curved to meet your shoulder. “I woke you.” Murmuring the words against the skin of your throat, the man sighed. “I did not intend to -”

“It’s okay.” At your reply, he tightened his hold, lips moving over the back of your shoulder. Wait, how is … I went to sleep wearing clothes. But you weren’t wearing a shirt anymore, and neither was he - you could feel him against your body, the skin on skin contact both comforting and terrifying at the same time. You weren’t scared of him, or of what he was - you were afraid of how quickly things were moving, of how much you wanted them to keep barreling forward. “Oberyn, you… fuck that feels good.”

It was pointless to speak. You knew that he would have stopped trailing kisses over your shoulder and the back of your arm if you’d asked him to, but you didn’t want him to. Instead, you reached back with one hand, bending your elbow and running your fingers through his hair, urging him to continue. He did promise me he would prove it. With a sigh, you shifted your hips in reverse, feeling that he was completely naked, the pair of pants that you were wearing the only thing separating the two of you.

Letting out a surprised “oh” at the realization and tightening the hold you had on his soft curls, you paused. Oberyn smiled against your skin, one of his hands at the front of your body sliding up between your breasts, and the small motion was enough. Making a choice, you took a deep breath in and rolled over to face him, finally opening your eyes.

Instead of seeing Oberyn, you were greeted with pale light leaking in around the edges of the curtains, the room empty aside from you. It was a dream? Blinking quickly, you reached up to rub at your eyes. As you did so, you winced at the lingering pain in your arm. Ow. Pulling yourself into a sitting positon with the blanket pooled around your waist, you looked down, realizing that you were in fact still completely dressed in the same outfit that you’d gone to sleep in, and the bandages that the man had applied were firmly in place. It was a dream.

It disappointed you more than you cared to admit, but as you pulled the blankets from your body and moved to get out of the bed, you tried to convince yourself that it was only natural. He’s good looking. He likes me. He said he … how could I not be attracted to him? The moment your feet hit the floor and you stood, you realized that despite the significant amount of sleep you’d gotten - nearly 7 hours, if the small clock on the side table was telling the truth - you still felt off from the blood he’d taken. But I’d give it again, no questions asked.

You had no problem making it to the bathroom, and by the time you were brushing your teeth with a fresh toothbrush and tube of toothpaste a few minutes later, you were thinking more clearly. I need to eat .  Eyeing yourself in the mirror, you frowned around the toothbrush. And I need to do something about the way I look. You were almost positive that to Oberyn, it didn’t matter what you looked like - the two of you were technically in hiding - but despite the fact that he’d been more than open about his attraction to you both before and after you’d met the man in the alley, you didn’t want to look like you’d just woken up in a strange bed in a barren apartment the first time you saw him that morning. Deciding to do as he’d told you and make yourself at home, you began to look through the medicine cabinet and drawers, finding that they were both fully stocked with a variety of unused, sealed items for both men and women. I really need to ask him about this.

Shrugging, you utilized the products - carefully washing your face to remove the last of your remaining makeup, using lotion on the back of one arm, where there was another small abrasion from the brick wall and finally finger combing your hair to tame it before tying it back to keep it out of your face. here was makeup in the drawers, too, but you ignored it, deciding that you didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard. For that same reason, you also chose not to change out of your pajamas before quietly heading into the main part of the apartment, deciding that the first thing you needed to do was find something to eat.

It was still dark in the living room, and though your first instinct was to pull the blinds open to let light in, you didn’t, instead turning on the overhead one in the kitchen. He was outside in the light at that bar, but I don’t … if he’s still weak, he might not… That was something else that you needed to ask the man when you saw him next, even though it was added to an already extensive list.

Thankfully, there was coffee in a can in one cupboard, along with a jar of peanut butter, and you pulled both out, setting them down on the counter. Ok, so this is better than nothing. While you waited for the coffee pot to brew, you opened the refrigerator door, peering in. He wasn’t … kidding. It was almost completely empty - a few more bottles of the same thing he’d given you to drink on the top shelf, bottled water on the lower one, and three cans of Sprite in one of the door’s shelves. Your stomach growled when you turned toward the other side of the kitchen, pulling those cabinets open, too, and you nearly groaned in relief when you saw that there were actual food items in that cupboard.

That might be an overstatement, though. “Did you find something to eat?” At the sound of his voice, you froze, the timbre of it no different than it had been in your dream, though hearing it suddenly again shook you. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.” Fingers closing around one of the packages, you pulled it from the cupboard and turned to face him, mentally preparing for what you’d see. “And yeah, there’s… some stuff here. Not much, and it won’t last more than a day or two, but …” You held up a half full sleeve of rice cakes like a prize. “I’ve got breakfast. And there’s coffee, so it’s better than nothing.”

“Someone is supposed to replenish the supplies every few months, but it looks like this apartment was overlooked.” His eyes never left you as he spoke, and you took it as an open invitation to stare back, taking in the sight of the man without shame. “I’ll deal with that later.”

“Is this … a safehouse, Oberyn?” A single nod was confirmation from him, and so you asked him another question. That’s why it looks like no one lives here… because no one does. “Do you have them everywhere?”

“Not everywhere.” He shook his head, the short, tousled locks making him look younger. “In many major cities, yes. Both coasts of the United States, but we… I have not been to Los Angeles in a very long time, and it looks like no one else has, either.” He paused, brow furrowing. “I came back somewhat suddenly and wasn’t even staying here, so…” So this really is a last option.

That scared you. In fact, the admission that the man had felt so strongly that he couldn’t go back to the place he’d been staying and instead opted for an unused, understocked apartment chilled you to the bone. Because it means he was desperate.

Jolted out of your thoughts by the hiss of the coffee pot as it finished brewing, you shook your head to clear it. “I have so many questions. So many things to ask, and I don’t even know where to start.” He fought back a small smile but stayed quiet, waiting. “But the first thing I need to know is how you feel. Because you look much -” “The wound is still not completely healed.” He met your eyes, the smile gone. “But sleep helped.” He lifted a hand, eyes still on you. “Yes. We sleep. It’s more like a … recovery period than anything else. It’s not like you sleeping.” That eliminated one question, and your eyes flicked down as he spoke, the fact that his shirt was still clean and dry encouraging you. “I feel… alright.” That concerned you; it wasn’t the same as his I feel better from the night before, but you tried to stay positive because it also wasn’t an indication that the man felt worse. “Eat. Please. You need it.” He gestured to the coffee pot. “I hope that there are two mugs.”

Twenty minutes later, a few more of your questions had been answered without you even having to ask them. Oberyn had downed a cup of coffee along with you, explaining that while he didn’t need to eat or drink, he enjoyed it, because it reminded him of before , when he’d been human. That made sense to you. Prince Oberyn Martell had been known for indulging, and food and drink for him were near the top of that list. If I believe what I read, anyway.

He’d come to Los Angeles from London two weeks earlier, when the pattern of attacks occuring in the city had caught his attention. But despite his careful research, Gregor’s methodology for choosing victims had eluded him, and he’d always been at least a few hours behind the man. But he isn’t even a man, if what Oberyn’s saying is true. You had no reason to doubt his words, and with the knowledge that the impossible was actually possible, you chose to believe him.

“When I lived , Gregor Clegane was nothing more than a Lannister lapdog.” He held the coffee mug between his long fingers as he sat next to you on the couch. “He answered to Tywin, of course, but was also very loyal to Queen Cersei. She needed him more, because…” Oberyn glanced down at his hands and then back over at you, the sadness in his eyes nearly palpable. “Tywin Lannister was a cruel man, but in his mind, his ruthlessness always served a purpose. Cersei Lannister … her cruelty was driven by her desire to see others suffer.”

That also tracked with what you knew about Westerosi history and politics, but it didn’t explain how or why Gregor was in Los Angeles thousands of years later. “You knew his name, and he knew yours. If you haven’t seen him in … how is it him?”

“What do you know of me?” He cocked his head to the side, lips pressed together in a pout that you knew you’d never get tired of looking at. “Of my life? Not what we talked about last night, but of who I am?” What is he asking? Unsure of where to begin, you just decided to start talking, making sure to swallow the last of the peanut butter that you’d licked from your fingers before you did.

“Dorne fascinates me, Oberyn. It seems like it was so different from the other regions in just about every way.” The sadness was still there, but he was watching you with interest, too, completely focused on what you were saying in a way that no one else had ever been. “It … don’t take this the wrong way, but your story was only one of many that I studied, so I don’t know everything, but …” Thinking for a few seconds, you started speaking, hoping that you didn’t offend him with what you said. “You had a chance to travel when you were young. You spent time at the Citadel, but left before you could complete training to spend time in Essos. You were justified in your feelings toward The Lannisters and the Targ-”

“It is untrue.” He interrupted you, tone firm but not upset, and you fell silent immediately to listen. “What they say about me and The Targaryens?” He shifted, leaning closer. “I was angry with them, particularly with Rhaegar for abandoning my sister… but that was before I knew.” Knew what? “He did not abandon her. He did not desert her. He was honest with Elia, and she accepted it. The Dornish understand what it means to love someone completely, and Elia knew that Rhaegar felt that way about Lyanna Stark.” Oberyn inhaled deeply, steadying himself. “It was she that suggested he take the Stark girl to the Red Mountains, because Elia knew they would be safe there.”

Those facts had been nowhere in the books you’d read or the documentaries you’d watched. That changes everything. That means… “But… he could have protected her, Oberyn. If he hadn’t left King’s Landing, hadn’t -” “Nothing could have protected her.” His lip was curled. “My sister and her children were not killed because of their relation to Rhaegar Targaryen.” He met your eyes again, both of his blazing. “They were killed because she was seeking - and had found - something that the fucking Lannisters knew they could never have.” He went quiet, though his expression was anything but calm, and you continued to put the pieces together. Gregor killed them. Gregor killed them for the Lannisters. And then… Oberyn…

“She found one of you, didn’t she. She found…” Someone like you. Someone immortal. Someone… “How did they know, Oberyn? That isn’t something -” “There are no secrets in the Red Keep.” He laughed, the sound short and bitter. “She trusted the wrong person, maybe only once. But that’s all that was needed.” You reached for him, then, your hand landing on his knee and squeezing as you moved closer. “I found her. Likely only minutes after… after she was gone.” You couldn’t imagine that - what the man had seen, what he’d felt. And though you didn’t know him well, you could tell that he’d carried those feelings with him throughout his entire existence. “After I turn sad, I grow angry. And in those moments, I wanted nothing more than the chance to get back at Gregor Clegane and Tywin Fucking Lannister and everyone involved.” He placed a hand over yours, saying your name. “I just didn’t know I would have to wait more than two thousand years to get it.”

Hearing him say it - aging himself, confirming what you already knew - sent a shudder through your body, but you didn’t look away, knowing that if you did, he’d stop talking. And he can’t. Not when he’s telling me so much.  “But it’s not actually them, is it? They’re all -” Dead, right? He sighed, eyes trained on his hand where it still covered yours. “Our Maesters were very talented - capable of many things. Clegane is … the same, somehow. He is still the man that murdered my sister and her children and so many others. He is a protector, like I said before, serving them as he’s told.” So he’s immortal, too. Wonderful. “They want what I have, what my… what Ellaria has. They have never stopped searching for us, and while my kind disagree on many things, it is common knowledge that there are none among us that wish to align with the Lannisters or give them what they want.”

“Good.” It slipped out, but you meant it. “I mean Golden Lion has always been really great to me, and I love my job, but -” “That is because Tyrion Lannister is in charge right now.” Oberyn actually smiled at that, the expression genuine. “Sometimes I suspect that he is only half Lannister blood, and that’s why he’s tolerable.” But if they’re not the same, then how is he -

“History repeats itself.” He wet his lips, leaning closer. “Centuries will pass without incident, Gregor remains hidden, and the Lannisters in charge of Golden Lion carry on, the names and faces different from those I knew. They know very little of what truly exists in this world, because they are true ancestors of the Lannisters. I live this life as I want to, enjoying what the world has to offer. And then, suddenly I am confronted with faces and people that I recognize, the Lannisters from my time reborn and almost … taunting me. They are the same as they were back then in both face and memory. During these times?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m reminded that it should not have taken me so long to avenge my family. I see them, and I know that Clegane is out there, somewhere, doing these things to draw my attention.”

“This is all for you? These murders? They’re trying to -” “Yes.” You didn’t know what to say, but Oberyn saved you the trouble. “The victims are always found with injuries similar to those of Elia and the children. They want to draw me out, because they want …” “They want what Ellaria gave you.” He nodded, his fingers flexing over yours at the sound of the woman’s name. “But how? Is it reincarnation? Is it -” “That I cannot answer. I just know what I see. A Maester made it possible for The Mountain to survive this long. I believe that it was done specifically because they believed me to still be alive and knew that the distraction of my anger with him would be the only possible chance they’d have to beat me. But … you call it magic. We called them ‘the higher mysteries’.” You felt your eyes widen, recalling the few scattered documents you’d come across that mentioned the higher mysteries. But I always assumed that was all… that it wasn’t real. For what could have been the twelve hundredth time in twenty four hours, you told yourself to forget what you thought you knew as he continued. “Something was done to the Lannister bloodline, and whatever it was … it did this .”

They thought he was still alive. That’s why they wanted me to look for… Using the hand that wasn’t on his leg, you reached for Oberyn’s torso, two fingers pausing just before you touched the shape of the pendant beneath his shirt.

“One of my first assignments with Golden Lion was to look into royal jewelry collections. Your pendant, Oberyn, was one of the specific pieces marked as lost, but it was highlighted. The company seemed to think that it … still existed, and that it could be found.” And not just some knock-off on Etsy.

“If they found it, they found me.” It was the simplest answer, yet hearing it still shocked you. “I am never without it. But I didn’t know that it was one of the things they…” He moved closer to you, pulling his hand out from yours and then using it to urge the one you’d lifted closer to his chest, your palm against the large piece of gold. “You’ve given me an advantage. I don’t know how to use it yet, but … thank you.” He tugged on your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing them to the back, just above your knuckles. “I know this is a lot to take in. Are you alright?”

“No, not really.” You scoffed, feeling his fingers tighten around yours. “But I will be, because there’s no other option. I can’t just pretend that none of this has happened, or that I didn’t watch a wound heal on your stomach last night, or that everything you’re saying would only make sense if it’s all true, so…” He let go of your hand, and you dropped it back to your lap, lacing your fingers together and staring down at them. “I can’t go home, can I.”

“No.” It was matter of fact, his tone even. “You cannot. When he wakes up, Gregor will report back to the Lannisters, and it won’t take long to check security footage. They’ll see you with me. They’ll identify you.” My apartment, it… “They’ll send people to your home, discreetly. That’s how they do things now. It’s not like it was before. With the exception of Gregor, they no longer get their hands dirty in public.”

A sickening realization sent a cold spear through your heart and you sucked in a breath, looking up. Shit. “I have pictures up, Oberyn. Of my family and friends. Of the people I care about. What if -”

“They won’t need your apartment to find those things out once they have your name.” He reached for you, the man’s fingers sliding over your joined hands and urging them apart so that he could take one. “They will wait to see what you do next, where you end up. If you do not turn up? They will know you were with me. And if you do turn up… they will also know that you were with me.” Though you were terrified - more for the other people in your life than yourself - you found yourself calming with each word he said. He hasn’t lied to me yet. And with the way he is with the people he cares about? He wouldn’t. He… “So, no. You cannot go home yet. But when this is over?” Oberyn closed his eyes, nodding. “Your apartment will once again be safe for you. I swear it.”

“So how long do I … how long will I be here? I have work on Monday, I can’t just lose my job, I -” Does it matter? How can I go back to work for them? “I can’t go back to work, either.” That realization hit you harder than you thought it would, and you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling free from his hold, covering your face with both hands as you sobbed into them. My life is going to be different. I won’t have a job. Who knows how long we have to be here. He’s going to get better and do whatever it is he’s going to do, and then I’m going to…

You cried harder at that, your entire body shaking, but Oberyn stayed still on the couch next to you. Everything I’ve worked for is gone. I’m going to have to move, I’m going to have to start over, I…

“They will be looking for a body.” He spoke quietly, drawing your attention with only a few words. When you met his eyes again, you could only imagine what you looked like - yours likely red-rimmed and swollen, cheeks damp, but Oberyn didn’t look away. “Your body.”

“What?” You squeaked the word out, whipping your head back and forth. “They think that you’d… that you would kill me?”

“Many of us would, when faced with an injury like mine.” He sighed. “Not all of us are known for having self control, and we’ve… survival is very important to us. I think you’ll have some extra time - from the Lannisters themselves - while they attempt to find out what has happened to you.” Oberyn pressed his lips together before taking the lower one between his teeth. “Finding your body would mean that I took what I needed from you to survive, and they’d know that I’d crossed that line again.” Again? “Not finding you means one of two things; either that you’re hiding because you’re scared, or that I’m keeping you somewhere.” You thought for a few moments, taking deep breaths as you tried to steady yourself, and then frowned.

“How often do you need to … eat?” You didn’t know exactly what time it was, but you could tell that the angle of sunlight coming through the blinds was changing, which meant that it was likely late afternoon. “Normally, I mean, not when you’re…” “Because of my age, I can go a lot longer than most. I like to feed at least twice a week. I can stretch it to five or six days if necessary. I’ve gone as long as two weeks in extreme circumstances. I will not die without eating, but I get … weak. Restless.” He shrugged. “I cannot help my nature.” “But this isn’t normal circumstances. And you didn’t … you couldn’t …” Just say it. “You took less from me last night than you wanted to, Oberyn. That means that you’ll need more sooner, and I… there’s not really food for me here, and so I can’t -” “I do not expect you to let me drink from you again.” There was an edge to his voice then, but it wasn’t because he was angry at you. You got the feeling that his agitation stemmed more from the situation that you both were in than it did from your inability to give as much as he needed. “I need one more day, and then I can … go out and find someone.” How will you choose? Just some random person on the street? Another woman that … You felt a spark of something at the thought of him charming someone else with his smile and his voice, drawing them in and then feeding on them the way he had you the night before, but you couldn’t quite identify it. Would he touch them the same way? You recalled the gentle swipes of his thumb over your skin, the light kisses he left on the inside of your forearm. Ease them through it? Do they have to offer, or does he just … You shook your head. It doesn’t matter. He can’t just leave.

“But it’s not safe. It’s not safe for you to go out. What if something happens, Oberyn? What if someone sees you, or if you’re -” He smiled at that - a small one, but it lit up his face nonetheless before he looked away from you, eyes on the darkened screen of the TV across the room. “I am not your concern. This is not your mess, and it’s not up to you to fix it for me. The Lannisters set this into motion thousands of years ago when they sent Clegane to murder my sister and her children. You’ve already done more for me than I deserve.” He believes that. He really believes that.

“I’m involved now, Oberyn. But you know what?” You leaned closer, using your hand to turn his head toward you again, needing him to see that you were telling him the truth. “I don’t regret it. I don’t regret having that drink with you the other day, or talking to you at the party, or distracting him last night so that you could get us out of there.” There was confusion in his eyes, the man’s lips parting slightly as he listened to you. “If we’re going to be here together for at least the next few days, please let me help you. I want to help you. I don’t know what exactly I can do, but I -”

He’d moved without you noticing, one of his hands resting on your side, the fingers of the other trailing up and over your arm. “You are already helping me.” Moving closer, his lips twitched into a brief smile before his expression smoothed out. “More than you know.” You’d seen it coming, but his kiss took you by surprise nonetheless - the man’s exhale fanning over your lips before they connected with his. But unlike the previous night, he didn’t pull away quickly, instead moving closer to you without breaking the connection.

You wanted it - wanted him, wanted to turn completely toward him and let whatever happened happen, but instead of giving in, you lowered your hand to his shoulder, curling your fingers around it before kissing him back, the edges of your teeth grazing his bottom lip as you moved with him. I want to help you, Oberyn. But that’s not why I want this.

It was you that took the first step - the tip of your tongue prodding at the slight opening between his lips, the man reacting without pause to welcome it into his mouth and meet it with his own. But from there, Oberyn took over. His grip tightened where he touched you, though it wasn’t painful despite the strength you knew he possessed. You were wary of putting your hands on him, because you didn’t know just how healed he was. I don’t want to hurt him. That worry was silenced when the man pulled you closer though, effortlessly moving you over the cushion and toward him, so you stopped being so concerned and let yourself get lost in his kiss, your other hand pressed to his chest.

You’d never been kissed the way that Oberyn kissed you. The confidence coming from him would have made you weak in the knees if you’d been standing, and it was almost as though you knew each other well instead of having met for the first time barely a week prior. He eventually pulled away slightly, your lower lip caught between both of his, and at your confused hum, he finally spoke, mumbling words almost too quietly for you to hear. “One of us still has to breathe, here.” You began to laugh, but before the sound had fully left you, he was kissing you again, taking you by surprise and urging you onto his lap as he leaned back against the arm of the couch. “You won’t hurt me,” he continued as he kissed his way across your chin and then returned to your mouth. “Relax.”

You did, letting your weight settle atop Oberyn’s body, his hands moving around to your back and then stopping. He wasn’t exploring - instead, it seemed like he was just trying to reassure himself that you were there , but it didn’t change the way his mouth felt or diminish the drag of his beard as it moved over your skin. I want him. Even with what I know and what’s happened, I … Releasing the remainder of your breath through your nose as you had the thought, you relaxed further against the man’s body, the outline of his pendant pressed against your chest.

You had no idea how long the two of you stayed like that - the position not really allowing you to explore his body with your hands, though he did work one of his beneath the fabric of your shirt to press it against the small of your back - but it wasn’t long enough.

When he ended the kiss, whispering your name, you were disappointed, and if he’d asked, you would have admitted as much. He probably knows anyway. But looking down and into the man’s deep brown eyes, you also knew that there was a chance it would have to be enough. Because despite his promises to prove himself to you in the bedroom, there was no guarantee that it would ever get that far. Because he doesn’t owe me. He doesn’t … A second thought crossed your mind then, making you feel worse than the first. We might not get that much time together.

“What are you thinking?” He lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles over your temple and then down, skating the fullest part of your cheek. “I can say with certainty that I’ve never seen that look on someone’s face after I’ve finished kissing them.” His accent was back - thick and deep, the real Oberyn Martell right in front of you, almost like he’d stepped out of a history book.

“Are you doing this with me because of… because I offered myself to you last night?” The man’s eyes widened, disbelief filling them. “Because you don’t have to -”

“If I did not want to be here with you, right now, like this, I wouldn’t be.” He sat up, easing you into a sitting position again. Moving his fingers down your arm and toward your elbow, he watched as he pressed his thumb over the spot he’d sunk his teeth into. “The gift you gave me last night has nothing to do with it.” He looked up again, brow furrowed for a moment before he broke into a wide smile. “Except for the fact that without it, this would not have been possible.”  He just made a joke about almost dying. “I am capable of being here with you without any of this happening.” Oberyn leaned in again, pausing with his mouth just above your ear. “And remember, I made my intentions known on that balcony before anything else occurred.”

That was true - he’d kissed you without prompting, flirted with you more effortlessly than any other situation with any man that you could ever recall, and it had all been before he’d ever had any reason to do it as a form of repayment. “I’m sorry, Oberyn. I guess I just …” You shrugged, looking down at where he still held your arm. “This is a lot, you know? And on top of it all, you kissing me like that? It -” “Of everything that has happened to you in the last twenty four hours, the fact that I am attracted to you is the most unbelievable?” He actually laughed at that, head tilting back to expose his neck above the hem of his t-shirt. You stared at him, feeling his body move beneath yours, and were unable to look away from the man’s neck. There was a smattering of freckles visible on the thin skin, stretched taut over the muscles below, and you felt your stomach flip as you watched him swallow.  “I can assure you that that is one thing you will never have to doubt.” He met your gaze again, the hurt gone and replaced with an understanding. “You should eat something else. Sleep. Take a shower. Change your clothes. I have a few things to check on, and there’s plenty of time for us to talk later.”

You realized that you were hungry when he said it - your stomach growling - so you didn’t fight him, instead standing up from the couch and looking down at where he remained. It’ll give me time to think . “That sounds good. Are you sure it’s alright if I wear another -” “Yes.” He waved a hand. “Anything here is as much yours as it is mine. It’s all meant to be used when we need it, by whomever needs it. Take what you want.” You eyed him for a few seconds longer and then agreed, turning to walk back toward the second bedroom. Before you closed the door behind you, you glanced back over your shoulder and saw the man wince as he stood up from the couch, one hand pressed to the injured area of his abdomen. He just needs time.

The next time you woke, it was fully dark outside, the light from the TV in the living room the only illumination. I didn’t mean to sleep for that long. Sitting up and stretching, you turned your head to look for Oberyn but saw nothing, no one else in the room. You felt better, though you were still weak. A shower, additional sleep, and another of the rice cakes slathered in peanut butter had done wonders for you, as had drinking down a full bottle of Gatorade along with a few tall glasses of water. But it’s not enough. Not if we need to stay here for days, and …

Standing, you took the few steps needed to reach the blinds, using two fingers to push them to the side. You had a vague idea of where in the city you were, but all you could see over the high wall of the balcony were streetlights and other tall buildings, most of the windows in them dark. Was there anything close on the way? A restaurant, or a grocery store? A gas station? Even a vending machine would be helpful, but you couldn’t remember - you’d been too focused on listening to Oberyn as he guided you toward the safe house. Shit.

The sound of the bedroom door opening prompted you to turn, the sight of Oberyn stepping out and toward you bringing a smile to your face. “You are awake.” He smiled, head tilted to one side. “I didn’t want to disturb you, you were sleeping so deeply.” “You watched me sleep?” Chewing on the corner of your lip, you moved toward him. “Or is it like my heartbeat? Could you hear -”

“Yes.” He straightened his neck. “I closed my door to give you privacy, but even then, I could hear you.” He wasn’t doing it on purpose, and he owed you no real explanation - but he was still giving you one.  Does that mean he heard me earlier, when I was dreaming? You hoped not, only because you had a feeling that he’d know what your increased resting heart rate meant, that he would have been able to hear whatever noises you’d made. “I have some news for you.”

“What kind of news?” Moving past him and into the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator again, pulling out one of the cans of Sprite. “Is it about Gregor?” Oberyn waited until you took a drink, the sugary carbonation immediately waking you all the way up. “Or about the Lannisters?” “It’s about you.” What? You froze, confused. “And about Golden Lion.” He gestured to the bedroom he’d just walked out of. “Come with me.” You followed him through the door, fingers clutching the cold can. “Through the years, we have built an extensive network of contacts, people that can and do help us.” That didn’t surprise you, and even though it spurred more questions, you bit your tongue, waiting. “While you were sleeping, I reached out to one of them.” Oberyn bent down, picking a tablet up off of the mattress and handing it to you. “I was right. They’re buying themselves time. ”

Taking the device from him, you held it in one hand, eyes on the screen. “What is this?” But even as you asked the question, you knew. “My email? How did -” “They won’t know it was me. Our people are discreet, careful. I had more to give them this time, knowing that Gregor is in Los Angeles, and they were able to … dig.” Eyes widening in disbelief, you set your drink down on the bedside table and used both hands on the device, quickly scrolling through it.

“I didn’t send these. I don’t -” There was a chain of emails from earlier that day between you, your boss, and one of the division leads at Golden Lion, the messages detailing a travel project that you’d just been assigned. “They’re saying that I’m going to New York? That doesn’t -” “The Lannisters are making sure you are not missed.” He watched from over your shoulder, one hand resting on your hip as he stood behind you. “Requesting you for an open-ended project on the other side of the country? The message coming from someone that high within the organization? Your employer could not refuse, and they know it.” He was right. You didn’t know how they’d done it - gaining access to your account to answer the emails sent, communicating with both your boss and the other person, agreeing to go - but it was right there, in black and white, complete with confirmation of a travel itinerary. If Oberyn’s people could get in from outside the network, someone inside definitely could.

“What if they find me, Oberyn? What -” “That will not happen.” His fingers flexed, the man’s lips close to your ear. “They will not find you. Gregor Clegane will not find you. You are with me , and until this is finished, you will stay with me.” He sounded almost possessive, the man’s voice dropping and growing angrier as he spoke. You knew that you should have been somewhat afraid. But you weren’t, instead feeling thankful that by a stroke of luck, you had someone on your side that could actually protect you if necessary. But only if he’s healthy. Only if he’s… healed. “I didn’t show this to you to scare you, I showed you to prove that I’m right. They’re predictable.”

“Did you find out anything about Gregor? About whether or not -” Without warning, Oberyn pressed a kiss to your cheek and then pulled away, making his way in front of you and pulling the tablet from your hands. Darkening the screen, he tossed the device behind himself onto the bed where it landed with a soft thud.

“They’re working on that. Your emails were easily accessed, because we knew where to look.” He gestured with one hand at the thin wallet on his dresser - yours - and then continued. “I went into the other bedroom while you slept. I’m sorry, but I needed to know your last name, needed anything about you that I could provide.”

“It’s fine.” You let out a shaky breath, looking back at him. “Won’t they know someone else was looking into this? Can’t they tell? If you have people that can do this, I’m sure they do, too.” Gesturing at the tablet, you went on. “Should we get rid of that? Can they trace the IP address or… I mean, you snapped that phone in half, won’t -” “We took care of it. I promise you, it is safe. They cannot track me, and …” He shook his head back and forth, a frown overtaking his features. “I would not put you at risk just to prove a point.” That made sense to you - he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to hide if he’d thought that any sort of digging would put either of you in danger. “I also had our friends send me the information you found about my pendant. It seems that you were looking for all of my jewelry, hm?” One eyebrow rose as he spoke, the frown changing into a sly smile. “I can assure you that only one piece is worth the effort.” “What’s so special about your pendant, Oberyn?” He was changing the subject, trying to get your mind off of your email account and onto something else, and it was working. You were genuinely curious about the medallion, the complete lack of information on it only feeding the mystery behind the object, and you couldn’t help yourself from taking the carrot he was dangling. He’s good. “You’ve kept it this whole time?”

“Not the whole time.” One thumb hooking beneath the chain that peeked out from the collar of his shirt, he pulled the entire thing free, letting it rest against the cotton so that you could see it. “It was taken from me twice, both times for many years. Once by request, once by force.” Your eyes were drawn to the intricate design etched into the gleaming metal, feet carrying you a few steps closer before you could stop yourself.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve seen some Westerosi jewelry in person - a Baratheon crown, the ruby choker that was said to have belonged to the Red Witch, pieces from Daenerys Targaryen’s personal effects … We even got to work with some of the pins and brooches from …” Cutting yourself off, you looked up, catching the look of warmth in Oberyn’s eyes, his lips curved into the hint of a smile. “I’m sorry. You’re a Martell, I’m sure you’re used to all of the jewels, and it’s not as exciting to hear about it.”

“It is beautiful. It belonged to my father and his father before him. I was not the eldest, but I still had responsibilities to my family.” He tapped the center of the pendant. “Wearing this was not only a symbol of my status as a Prince of Dorne, but it was a reminder of that responsibility, to carry out a duty , eventually.” It took you a few seconds, but as you stared at the jewelry hanging around his neck, you finally understood.

“You were supposed to pass it on to your son. To the next generation of Martells.” He nodded twice, eyes on you. “But you…”

“Elia was to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She would represent us that way. Doran ruled Dorne, and his children would remain in power, even after he was gone. My children?” Oberyn smiled, pausing. “Each of my three daughters took after me and would have made good leaders, but because they carried the name Sand, they received no special treatment and could not inherit anything.” I forgot he had kids. I didn’t even …

“Oberyn, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think -” “Do not be sorry.” He was still smiling, the light glinting off of his eyes. “My daughters lived long, full lives. Their children did, too. Through them, I am kept alive, even now.” He nodded, still staring at you. “Eventually, I would have had to marry, to father a legitimate heir, a son that could carry the Martell name long after I was dust.” He raised one eyebrow and shrugged casually.  “But that was not my fate. It wasn’t what the gods wanted of me.” You wondered what it was like for him to know that his family still lived - countless relatives likely scattered across the globe, only some of them knowing that they were distantly descended from Dornish royalty. Maybe I’ll ask him sometime. “Instead, I carry it as a reminder, and now… now this hanging from my neck means something entirely different.”

“Who took it from you?” Carefully sliding your fingertips beneath the heavy rectangle, you pulled it toward you, eyeing the detailed pattern before rubbing your thumb over its grooves and ridges. “And how did you get it back?” You had no idea if you had any right to ask that - it had nothing to do with your current situation. But Oberyn wasn’t stopping you. Instead, he’d tilted his chin down to watch as you touched the jewelry, holding it with one hand and tracing the design with the fingers of the other.

“Ellaria Sand.” He breathed the name out, your eyes moving back up at the sound of it. “She made many things possible for me, but only when I was worthy of them.” He was trying to let you work it out - giving you partial answers, teasing you with the promise of more information - but you had no idea where he was going with the story. At least I know I didn’t overstep by asking. He seems like he… wants to tell me. Oberyn said your name, the sound of it rolling from his tongue, and you were powerless to ignore him, returning your gaze to his. “Not all of us can walk in the sun, and many of us are perfectly fine with that, choosing to live under the beauty of darkness. But I …was not.”

You felt a chill run through your body at his words, immediately understanding. Somehow, this is … this is how he can be outside. This is … “Oberyn.” You felt your throat constricting, the impact of his words from earlier when he’d told you that he was never without the pendant, and if Clegane or the Lannisters found it , they would find him.

“I missed the sunlight. Missed the warmth. When I was ready, Ellaria gave me the chance to enjoy both things once again.” He covered your hand with one of his, the raised pattern of the piece that you still held pressed against your palm. “And when I abused that privilege, she took it from me.”

You figured that Oberyn’s life after changing hadn’t always been easy, but his admission was brutally honest - you heard the difference in his tone, understood the significance even though he hadn’t elaborated. “I’m glad you got it back, Oberyn.” Lifting your gaze again, you locked eyes with him. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have met.”  

“If we hadn’t met, you’d be safe and sleeping in your own apartment right now. You wouldn’t know anything more than you already did about any of this.” Squeezing your hand before letting go of it, he sighed. “And your stomach wouldn’t be making the noises that it currently is.” “You can hear that?” Groaning, you removed your hand from the pendant, covering your face. “I’m trying to conserve the food we have, because I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but I’m not going to lie. I’m hungry, I just -” “There were a few cans of soup in the top cupboard. Tomato, I think, but…” At the words, your stomach rumbled again, his eyes dropping toward it. “You cannot survive on peanut butter and puffed rice.” No I can’t. “Come on. You can eat, and we can talk about what’s going to happen next. I think I have an idea.”

He led you back into the kitchen and you turned to face him, waiting. “I didn’t even see the cans when I looked. Where were -” But he was already reaching up, rising onto his tiptoes as he lifted his hand. You couldn’t help watching him, making note of the way his shirt rose with the movement, exposing the smooth skin of his lower back - and the area of his wound, which looked just as bad as it had the night before. It’s definitely not better. “Oberyn.”  He froze at the sound of his name but quickly recovered, dropping back to stand with his feet flat on the floor. But he didn’t look at you, instead gripping an already dented can tightly in one hand. “Please look at me.”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” You hadn’t heard him speak in the tone he was using before; the sound low, almost dangerous, but instead of moving away from him, you took a step closer. “You -” “Is the front that bad, too?” You were worried, panic beginning to rise. “Is that because you were leaning against the couch earlier? Is it -” You knew that your questions were pointless, that his injury wasn’t the result of sitting on a piece of furniture the wrong way, or pulling you flush against his body. No, it’s the poison, he said that he tasted something in Gregor’s  blood, and it’s … “Let me see. Please let me see, Oberyn.”

The man didn’t speak, letting go of the soup can to set it on the counter and then turning toward you, one large hand lifting the hem of his shirt to show you his abdomen. Oh, holy fuck. It was worse than the back, the skin barely closed on either side of a puckered slash, the wound larger than it had looked the previous night. “I tried to bleed the poison out while you slept. I thought it would help.” But it didn’t. You were focused on his skin, focused on the way that it wasn’t just dark lines stretching out from the wound anymore - instead, it was blackened and necrotic in places, whatever was inside of him destroying the area slowly. You brought a shaking hand up to your mouth, the shock of what you saw making you gasp.  “It was better this morning. But then as time passed… things changed. Whatever was inside of him, it wasn’t … compatible with me. I think they counted on that, or maybe it’s just an unfortunate coincidence.” “Please don’t joke about this.” You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, head shaking back and forth as you dropped your hand back to your side. “Why did you let me sit in that bedroom and talk about jewelry when -” “It will do no good to dwell on this. I just need more time, I -” “You need to fucking eat . You need blood , you need to …” Trailing off, you reached for the can, surprising him as you picked it up and pulled back the top with the tab. “Let me eat this, and then you can drink from me again. Something - anything. You need mor-”

“No.” He was angry, but you didn’t care, dropping the piece of aluminum into the sink as you searched the cabinets for a bowl. “No, I’m not going to do that. You can’t lose that much in -” “I’m not going to let you fucking die , Oberyn.” Upending the can into a stained piece of tupperware, you cleared your throat. “I’m here, and I have more than enough -” “You can’t eat that.” His tone was softer, surprising you. What? “It’s spoiled. I can smell it.”

“You’re just saying that.” But you believed him, knowing that the man wouldn’t risk your hunger just to drive home his stubborn declaration. “It’s soup. There’s tons of preservatives and crap. It lasts forever.” He encircled your wrist with his long fingers, the pressure gentle but firm.

“You cannot eat that. You’ll get sick. We’ll try another, but that still doesn’t mean…” He’d made up his mind - you could hear it in his voice. He needs to eat. He needs to eat now. You knew you only had a few seconds to act before he’d stop you, so you agreed with him, the man releasing his hold on your arm and pulling his hand back. “I told you I wasn’t going to die, and I meant it. I’ve had much worse than this, and -” As he spoke, you moved the tupperware into the sink, carefully tilting it and emptying it out. I do smell that now, it smells… sour.

“No, you aren’t going to die, Oberyn.” Turning the water on, you began to rinse the remains of the soup down the drain, also rinsing the can and lid off with hot water. “Because I won’t let you.”

If he’d been full strength, or had known you any better, you wouldn’t have been able to beat him. But instead of dropping the lid back into the can so that you could throw both away, you gripped the flat metal between two fingers, extending your other arm and pressing it against the skin between your wrist and elbow. “Don’t!” He moved the moment you applied more pressure, dragging the most jagged portion of the lid’s edge in a straight line, the bite of it sharp. It worked. You watched a thin line of blood rising from the cut moments later, Oberyn hissing loudly as it began to bead on the surface of your skin. Because he can smell that, too. “What are you doing?”

“What needs to be done, Oberyn.” You lifted your arm toward him, a trail of blood dripping around the curve of your forearm. “Something is better than nothing, right?” He was torn - you saw it in the brief moment when he looked up from your outstretched arm and into your eyes. The man was afraid and angry, hungry but still ready to deny himself. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

Clearheaded that time and eager to help, you watched his mouth open, the points of his teeth visible in the moments before he lowered his face toward your skin, one hand moving to the back of your elbow and the other cradling the bones of your wrist.

There were no assurances of your safety, no murmured words as he latched onto your skin, his bite more painful than it had been the night before. You figured that it was because he’d been caught off guard, but you didn’t care , knowing that the liquid flowing from your veins and into his waiting mouth was the only chance he had.

You felt everything as he sucked on your skin - teeth no longer buried in it, though you could feel them with every movement of his lips. Unconsciously, you began to flex your hand, recalling the vague memory of hearing that that method helped to complete blood donations faster, but Oberyn pulled away from you, raising his head to look into your eyes. “Don’t. I’ll take too much if you do that. Slow. ”

“I’m sorry.” It was little more than a whisper - your gaze moving down to his lips, the lower one tinged faintly with red. That’s my… my blood, he… As he realized where you were looking, Oberyn slowly swiped his tongue over that lip, his eyes a little brighter than they had been and the hand at your wrist loosening and turning over, his fingers twining with yours.

“Focus on me.” You couldn’t do anything else, keeping your eyes on him as he lowered his mouth back to your skin and then over it to clean up the blood that was still present. You hadn’t done much with the aluminium; his teeth had opened your arm up much more efficiently, but you were surprised to feel something warm dripping onto the area he’d bitten into, followed by his tongue, dragging flat against the skin. His blood. He’s using his blood to… It made sense - if his blood could heal his own body, it could heal yours too, even with only a few drops smeared over the surface. That’s how he healed my arm last night, why there were no marks.

He squeezed your hand, and you let out a small sigh as his lips climbed higher on your arm - toward your elbow once again. “You can take more, Oberyn. You need it, you -” The man smiled against your skin but didn’t look up, kissing the inside of your arm as he stepped closer to you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to make up for the way I just began to feed.” He was standing straight up, the hand he wasn’t holding yours with resting on your hip. “But only if you trust me.” Trust you? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing this whole time? “Will you allow me to -”

Surprising him as you leaned forward, you kissed the man’s cheek and then turned your head inward, lips finding the corner of his mouth. Is this weird? He was just … “I trust you.” The man seemed to have more self control than many of the humans you’d encountered, and you didn’t understand why he thought you’d fear him. He’s human too, just … more . “Oberyn, whatever you need to do, you can -” “This is not something I need .” He interrupted you, lips moving against yours as he spoke. “It is something I want.” What does that even mean? But you only had seconds to wonder, Oberyn kissing your cheek and then your jawline, nudging your head to the side as his mouth dropped even lower. My neck, but he…

He bit into your skin when he was halfway down the length of your throat and you cried out at the sensation, but it wasn’t out of pain. Instead, you found that you’d never felt anything as pleasant as the presence of the man’s mouth on you, the way each steady beat of your heart aligned with the gentle suction of his lips. He squeezed your hand once more and then let go, using the other to pull you closer to him, the man’s arm winding around your waist and holding you in place. Your hands found their way onto his body, too - one of them in his hair, the other carefully pressed to the center of his back, and you were dimly aware of his free hand sliding up your body and to your throat, thumb and forefinger stretched wide as he used them to turn your head further to the side.

You felt your skin tear under his teeth, but it didn’t hurt; felt the additional gush of blood as it flowed from your body and into his mouth, and then the man’s whispered words - trust me - before he squeezed your neck, the pressure of his thumb digging into the place he’d just been feeding from, the edges of his ring rigid and in contrast to the softer skin on either side of it.

That surprised you, but before you could question it, you felt his tongue on your skin again, though it seemed that he was working around his finger - the motion deliberate. Strange… but… You sighed at the way it felt; Oberyn still holding you, cleaning you up, taking what he needed because you’d offered. No, not need. He said … he said he wanted this. And I want this too, whatever it is, he … You had no idea what it meant, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt, gasping in surprise as he pulled his hand away a few seconds later, letting it drag down your chest as it fell.

It was the first time he’d really touched you, fingers curving around your breast as he returned his mouth to your skin, but it wasn’t for the same reason as he’d just done so. Instead of biting you, Oberyn kissed your neck, his lips trailing heat over every inch of you they covered, the hand on your chest kneading at your flesh while you tugged on his hair. You didn’t want to stop him - you knew that it would be easy to lose yourself in the way he was focused on you, on the way he touched you - but you had to. Because he’s still recovering. He needs to rest, he… “Oberyn.”

You didn’t recognize the way your voice sounded as it let your mouth, the frayed, needy tone of it foreign to your ears, but it caught his attention - the man raising his head to look at you once more, pupils blown wide. He smiled, though, and you caught another glimpse of his teeth with the expression before he leaned in to press his forehead to yours, shoulders rising and falling as though he was taking in a breath. “I know. I know I have to stop, but …”  But what? “I didn’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to either, Oberyn. But …” You did let out a long exhale, humming. “The point is to make you stronger , not to wear you out.” There was a long pause and then the man laughed, both arms going around you again. After letting him hold you for a few seconds, you cleared your throat. “I never thought I’d be the woman that resorted to dramatics to get you to -” “I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” He stepped away, frowning. “It’s dangerous to take too much too often, and you haven’t had a full meal in …” Two days now. The realization shocked you, your mouth dropping open. “Exactly. I cannot do that again, so please don’t tempt me.” He gestured to the cupboards. “Eat. Drink another Gatorade. You need to. If you collapse, I cannot leave to -” He can’t leave to get me what I would need .

“Ok.” Rubbing at your face, you nodded. “Yeah.” You pulled out the other can and opened it, Oberyn leaning forward to sniff at what was inside before nodding once. Oh, thank God. A few minutes later, you were leaning against the counter, drinking the hot liquid from one of the coffee mugs you’d used earlier, and wondering just how hungry you had to be to thoroughly enjoy a can of watered-down tomato soup. “Oberyn, what’s the next step?” You finished your dinner, rinsing the dish, and then turned back to the refrigerator, downing half of the bottled drink in one long swig. “Do you have a plan?”

“I planned on figuring it out tonight.” He gestured at his torso. “I wasn’t expecting … this.”

“So let’s sleep on it. I know we haven’t really done much today, and I just woke up, but …” But I’m tired. “You need the rest. I need the rest. You’ll be better in the morning, right?” He agreed, though you saw a slight flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and at the sight of it, you made a decision, unsure of whether or not it was overstepping boundaries. “Do you want some company tonight?

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his reply, the man cocking his head to the side. “I would like that very much.” Yeah, I would, too.

Twenty minutes later, you made your way through the small apartment from your room to Oberyn’s, once again dressed in pajamas. Your steps were steady, though you were sore and exhausted, and you knew that you were likely dehydrated, too, despite the extra water you’d consumed in the bathroom after brushing your teeth and staring at the unblemished skin of your neck in the mirror. It’s normal. There’s no wound, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be tired.

Before you could knock, Oberyn invited you in, the man sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in a different pair of pants and a white t-shirt, hands hanging between his spread legs. “I reached out again, and our people are working on finding out more about Clegane and where he might be… where the Lannisters are.”

“That’s important information.” Crossing your arms, you moved toward him. “Once you know where they are, you can -” “I can finish the job. Avenge my sister and make the Lannisters pay for what they’ve done to the Martells.” He reached for you, urging you to take a seat on one knee. “And to all of the others that they’ve harmed .” He was serious - you saw it in his eyes, could hear it in every word he said. They deserve whatever happens to them. At least the ones he’s… the ones he knows. You still weren’t sure how what he’d explained was possible, but until you had proof otherwise, you were going to go by what he said. What other choice do I have? “But tonight, you are right. I need to rest.”

Oberyn reached up with one hand, taking your chin between his fingers and turning your head, eyes on the column of your throat. “It looks fine, Oberyn. You can’t even tell that -” “It does.” His eyes were on your skin, thumb stroking gently over it. “It is perfect.” The corners of his mouth quirking up, he cleared his throat, guiding your head back into a natural position. “I usually do not sleep with clothes, but because you’re here and we cannot do anything about it…” You felt a tug of disappointment at his words - but he wasn’t wrong.

“Whatever makes you comfortable, Oberyn.” Glancing down, you bit down on your lip. “How’s it feel? Any better?” He pushed you away gently and you stood, the man reaching down to pull the shirt over his head, exposing his upper body to you again. Oh. Leaning down, you eyed him closely. “Some of the … dark spots look smaller, but …” It doesn’t look better. Not like it did last night after he… “Do you know what it is? The poison I mean, since you’re -” “No. And I won’t without being able to analyze it. When this is over, I’ll be able to do that. We will be able to do that, and then they’ll have nothing.” You hoped that he was right, but knew that in order to get to that point, Oberyn needed to survive. Since you were standing, you moved to turn the light off before you returned to the bed, the man already stretched out, leaving one side of the mattress open for you.

“Is there a second blanket? I don’t want to hurt you. If I move while I’m sleeping, and I hit your stomach or your back? It’ll -” “It will be worth it.” He paused. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t.” You climbed in next to him, pulling the blankets around your body and facing him. “I just want to know you’re alright, Oberyn. And you tried to hide that you weren’t from me today, and …” How much is too much? What crosses the line here? You figured that you had some right to know what was going on with him, because of the situation you were in - but where that ended, you were unsure. “I can’t help if you don’t let me.”

“You already helped me.” The mattress shifted as Oberyn moved closer, his fingers skating over your cheek in the darkness. “More than you know.” It was the second time he’d told you that, and though you wanted to know what he meant by it, you decided not to ask. He’ll explain if he… when he wants to . The two of you laid in silence for long moments, the man’s knuckles still moving slowly over your skin, and you finally reached for him, too, flattening your palm against his chest and moving it back and forth slowly. “You hold yourself back and do not touch me unless I’m touching you. Why?”

He was curious, the man waiting for an answer, and because he’d been so direct with you, you wanted to give him the same in return. “A lot of reasons, but …” Squeezing his shoulder and then sliding your hand back toward the center of his body, you let out a long sigh. “Mostly because you’re hurt. And I know that you’re probably hiding how hurt, which is understandable. You know damn well that every part of me wants to touch you, Oberyn, but I’m too worried about you to even think about -”

“And how am I supposed to know that, hmm?” His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, urging you closer. “What do you think my abilities include - reading minds?” His lips moved over your forehead as he spoke, the amusement present in his questions.

“You’re Oberyn Martell.” You moved your hand from his chest to his ribs and then around to his back, the motion drawing you closer to his body. “You don’t need to read minds to know how someone feels about you, because if even half the accounts I’ve read are true, then everyone -” His laugh was quiet but knowing, you could feel it moving through him. “Have you ever met a single sane person that didn’t want to get their hands all over you, Prince Oberyn?”

“Very few.” He sighed, pausing. “Surprisingly, there are more that turn me away now than there were in Westeros. Perhaps it is because there is a much broader selection of partners, or maybe people are simply smarter these days.” It was your turn to let out a laugh, the tips of your fingers gliding up and down his spine. They’re definitely not. “But you aren’t wrong. My senses are heightened now, of course, but even before I became this , I could tell when someone’s breathing changed, or feel their skin heat at my touch.” His hand moved down from your neck to your arm, fingers wrapping around your bare skin. “I could see the look in their eyes and hear the pitch of their voice change when they spoke to me.”

He knew what he was doing to you - the man seducing you while talking about how he’d unwittingly seduced countless others, his touch and words turning your body even more pliant in his bed. And I don’t even care, you realized as he continued to touch you, hand moving away from your arm and over your back, his fingertips sliding beneath the bottom hem of your shirt. “This isn’t fair, Oberyn.” Tilting your head down, you pressed your face against his shoulder, lips making contact with the dip at the center of his chest. “I’m trying to be responsible here. I know everything’s different now, but I’m trying to at least pretend it isn’t.”

“Why?” Almost your entire back was exposed, his fingers kneading soothingly at your flesh as they moved. “Why pretend? What would you have done differently if Clegane wasn’t involved?” He was being direct again, but he was also being practical; the man unafraid to ask you the questions he wanted the answers to.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m doing any of this because of who - or what - you really are.” Pulling your head back enough so that you could look into his eyes, you continued. “I’m not helping you because you’re a fucking Prince that I grew up hearing about. I didn’t start talking to you at that bar because you’re a v…” He nodded, and you swallowed before speaking again. “A vampire.”

“The term does not suit us, though I understand why it became so popular.” Oberyn was still touching you, his umber eyes glinting even in the almost complete darkness of the room. “We do not crawl from our graves each night. We aren’t soulless.” He trailed his fingertips up your spine as he dispelled the common misconceptions about his kind. “Feeding from the unaware is frowned upon. Even though I am quick , I cannot fly.”

“You’re warm.” You mumbled the words, eyes closing briefly. “Strong. And I saw your reflection in the mirror in the bathroom.” He hummed in agreement, kissing the top of your head. “Why did you start talking to me, Oberyn? At the bar, I mean.” It took him a few seconds to answer, but when he did, you could tell that he’d been caught off guard by the question.

“Because I wanted to.” His thumb swept over your shoulder blade, the rest of his hand unmoving. “Because you were alone and looked upset, and I wanted to see a real smile on your face.” You did?  “And when I saw you at the party, dressed as Nymeria? I thought …” You thought what? “In a city like this, the odds are small that we would have run into each other again. And there you were, dressed like you were ready to take a walk through the Water Gardens or down the streets of Sunspear - right in front of me.” He said your name, waiting until you acknowledged him to keep going. “I did not know you worked with or for Golden Lion until I saw you at the party. That was not my motivation. But I’m glad that you did , because otherwise?” He used his body to push you onto your back, his arm trapped between it and the bed, and then moved to hover over you. “Things would not have ended well for me.”

They still might not. You looked up at him, eyes better adjusted in the darkness, and though you knew that he could see the expression in yours - likely a mixture of fear, surprise and acceptance - you were glad. Because I want him to know. “You would have figured it out, Oberyn. Just like you still will.” Hopefully. “Are you doing any better? Does it feel -” “I don’t know.” He stared down at you, brow furrowed. “I don’t feel worse , so that’s … something.” His eyes moved over your face, Oberyn looking for something in your expression. What are you looking for? What do you want me to say? “You have my permission.” Permission for what? “To touch me whenever you want. There’s no need for you to keep your hands to yourself.” You didn’t mean to - but the words made you laugh, the sound loud and startling the man above you. “Why are you -”

“When you’re better, Oberyn?” Reaching up with one hand, you moved the hair against his forehead to one side before stroking his temple. “You’re going to regret telling me that, because I’m not going to want to stop .” That shocked him too, but he recovered quickly, ducking his head down to capture your lips in a kiss that ended before you’d even had a chance to react.

“I hope that’s a promise.” He shifted his hips against you, letting you feel that he meant the words, and then winked before moving away, laying back down and getting comfortable. Assuring him it was, you moved in, turning onto your side so that your back was to his chest. You hadn’t expected the man to almost immediately coil his body around yours, one hand pressed flat against your belly to draw you even closer. I wonder if this is what he’s like under normal circumstances.

It was strange for you that there was no movement from behind you - no rise and fall of his chest, no breath fanning out over your neck or shoulder, no beat of his heart - but instead of focusing on those things, you honed in on the way Oberyn kissed you slowly, lips glancing off of any exposed skin over and over until you nodded off, a small smile on your face.

You slept well in his arms, but the first thing you noticed when you woke up was that Oberyn was no longer holding you. Where is he? You had no idea what time it was, but a quick glance at the bathroom door told you that he was likely inside, the light escaping from beneath it bright. “Oberyn?” Pushing yourself to your feet, you crossed the room toward the door, frowning at his lack of response. “Oberyn are you -” “Come in.” At the sound of his voice you immediately went on alert, hand on the knob to push it open. “Do not be -” “What the fuck?” You dropped to your knees at the sight of him, Oberyn leaning on the countertop, his bare back visible in the mirror. “Oberyn -” “It is worse.” That was putting it mildly; the wound itself was oozing, and the sickly looking lines were back, spreading much further than they had been. And the patches of rot, they … they’re worse too.  “I’ve been trying to figure out how I can leave and -” Leave and what? Attack someone? “Take more, Oberyn. Please. Whatever you need. Whatever you need to -” “I’ll kill you if I… feed.” He cleared his throat and for the first time, you noticed that he looked pale, his eyes slightly sunken. It can’t have been more than a few hours. “It hasn’t even been six hours.” It was too soon, and you knew it, but the sight of him made your chest ache.

“I’m going to go chug a Gatorade, okay? I’m going to eat more of that peanut butter, and then I’m going to come back in here, and you are going to -” “It’s too dangerous. You’re already…” But even as he spoke, you watched the man staring at you - his eyes on your throat. “I can’t.”

“You can.” Standing, you reached out to take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you. “And you will. Give me five minutes, I’ll give you another drink, and then you can decide how you’re going to find someone else to feed on.” He blinked twice and then agreed, a shudder tearing through his body right before you pulled away. “Five minutes.”

Closing the door quietly behind you, you went back into the kitchen and searched through all of the cupboards, finding nothing else that was edible aside from the rice cakes Shit. True to your word, you ate quickly, mind racing as you tried to think of a solution. But there’s nothing. I can’t just lure someone back here, it’s not safe. You tried to stay quiet, but knew that even in his disoriented state, Oberyn could probably hear you crying over the kitchen sink as you finished your meal.

He fed from you when you went back into the bedroom, the man only denying your offer once before sinking his teeth into your wrist and swallowing a few times before pulling away. With a quiet moan, he led you to the bed, urging you to climb in with him. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that you realized your wrist was still bleeding  from two puncture wounds. He didn’t heal it. He… Pressing the fingers of your other hand over the wound, you counted slowly in your head, the man once again wrapped around you from behind as though he was trying to steady himself.

It continued on that way for hours - the man staying still and silent for long periods of time and then waking up and urging you closer to him. Each time, you asked how he was, but the responses continued to discourage you, no matter how well the man lied. The third time he woke, you convinced him to take another drink from you - rolling over to face him and lifting your other arm, locking eyes as you told him to do it , and not to ask questions. After the first time, you only had to suggest it for the man to take you up on your offer, teeth breaking skin for a few sips from the most readily available location before he’d pull away, apologizing.

The relief you saw on his features each time he drank gave you hope, but the fact that he still wasn’t bothering to heal your wounds frightened you. He wouldn’t forget. He wouldn’t… Both arms were marked in multiple places and so was the shirt you wore - splotches of red evidence of you trying to stop the bleeding each time he finished. It must mean he… can't.

Near nightfall, you excused yourself to stretch your legs and change your shirt, trying to give yourself a few extra minutes to think while you chugged as much water as you could stand, also eating the final rice cake. Because there has to be something I can do. There has to be. When you suggested leaving and finding someone to bring back for him, he violently shook his head no, mumbling something about you being too weak to leave and make it back to the apartment. But it wasn’t until he opened his eyes fully, saying your name that you nearly lost it.

“If you leave and don’t come back, I won’t…” Oberyn’s lip curled slightly, glint in his eyes dull, though he didn’t blink. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t.” You closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around Oberyn and pulling him against your chest, more skin exposed due to the shirt you’d changed into. “I won’t leave you, Oberyn.” He’s going to die. He’s going to die in this bed and I’m going to be right next to him when it happens, and Ellaria’s going to - At the thought of the woman, your eyes opened, hope flooding through your body. “ Oberyn.” He didn’t reply immediately, and you realized a few seconds later that his mouth was once again on you - lips pressed to the exposed skin of your sternum while he drank.  “Hey. Oberyn, listen to me for a second.”

“Hmm?” You knew that what you were doing wasn’t sustainable; there was no way he could keep drinking from you, that you were only putting off the inevitable for both of you unless you did something. Why didn’t he think of this? “Did you say -” He slurred his words, and that made you act, reaching out for him again and using one corner of your ruined shirt to wipe the blood from his lips. This has to be the right call.

“Oberyn, look at me.” It wasn’t an order - you would have called it a plea if anyone had asked. When he finally opened his eyes to meet yours, you laid a hand on his cheek, trying to smile at him. “We need to do something.” He snorted, swallowing part of the sound. “Do you have … Do you have any way to get in touch with Ellaria? Because if she created you, she’ll know what to do.” At the mention of the woman, Oberyn’s expression switched from passive to alert, his eyes brightening for a moment. Good. That’s a good thing. “She’ll be able to tell me what to do, Oberyn.” She has to. She has to be able to.

“This is not her mess to clean up.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. “I cannot -” “You want to live, Oberyn. I want you to live. This is the only thing I can think of.” You didn’t know what the woman would be able to do - but knew that anything was better than what you were doing. I don’t know what their relationship is now, but… It didn’t matter, though. Not if it means she can help and he gets through this . “You need to call her. You need to tell her, ask her to come here.”

“No.” It was the most lucid he’d sounded in hours, and your eyes flew open, locked back on his face and waiting. No? You can’t mean that, Oberyn. “I won’t ask .” What? “ We will to tell her where we are and then wait for her to arrive.” He smiled at you then, and though it was only a shadow of the one you knew he was capable of, you saw him in it. 

We’ll get her here, Oberyn. I’ll get her here for you.

tags to come separately 

want to be tagged? Links in our bios to Google Forms, or you can send a message/leave a comment!

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell got #oberyn martell vampire au #game of thrones au #game of thrones fic #collaboration #cowritten with rachael #aphelion #oberyn martell the red viper of dorne

[aegor-bamfsteel]

Hello, here’s a fashion related question. we know from the books that the tyroshi love bright colors, even coloring their hair brightly, but what about their attire? how do imagine the dresses tyroshi ladies like Rohanne wore? is it based on particular culture of our world? I just LOVE the idea that Rohanne, even after marrying and moving to Westeros still dye her hair in green and purple, and dress in the traditional way of her native land during her time at court. sorry if you answered this before.

Hello, anon! There’s no need to be sorry about asking a question! Your were very polite. I haven’t been asked this exactly before; dearxstorm/springwolves and I had a little talk about Tyroshi fashion as a symbol of defiance in an AU where Calla and her siblings were imprisoned in the Maidenvault, but we didn’t get into the details of what those fashions were.

The hair dye has always been a cultural marker of Tyrosh, but less noticeable is their interest in ornate headgear. Asha in ADWD compares the hat of Braavosi Tycho Nestoris to the hats of Tyrosh: “but atop his head was perched the queerest hat Asha had seen since the last time she had sailed to Tyrosh, a brimless tower of some soft fabric, like three cylinders stacked one atop the other.” (sounds like an enlongated tarboosh/fez). In The Hedge Knight, Dunk sees a blue-bearded Tyroshi selling ornate helmets in the shape of animals and inlaid with gold and silver; Fire and Blood establishes the craftsmen of the city as “designing gilded helms with filigreed armor”. Aside from the dye, metalwork seems to be a big Tyroshi export (maybe influenced by Rhoynar?) Thus I wouldn’t be surprised if the Tyroshi were fond of elaborate jewelry as well: earrings, rings, brooches, bracelets, heavy necklaces, all gold and silver. No gems are ever mentioned, but considering Tyrosh is surrounded by sea and presumably has divers catch wild snails, it wouldn’t be a stretch for them to go pearl diving as well. Maybe the less wealthy had gilded jewelry with glass paste gems (nearby Myr at least is known for its excellent glassmaking). My Tyrosh tag has a few examples from the Metropolitan Museum of Art about what the jewelry might look like (ex: this jewelry set, this one, this heavy necklace, these amazing boat and pendant earrings.)

As for necessary clothes, GRRM doesn’t give us many details; at least with Tyrosh’s sister city Myr we see they adorn themselves in lace, and in Lys some women wear translucent gowns with jeweled girdles (ouch), and most Free City magisters wear silk, but aside from dye nothing has been associated with Tyrosh (it’s possible that due to Roro Uhuris wanting to trade steel with the wildlings in exchange for pelts, that they wear some fur, but it seems odd in a climate so warm). It certainly doesn’t help for drawing potential parallels that, as justadram concludes in a meta on medieval vs ASOIAF clothing, “GRRM’s descriptions sound more early modern rather than medieval”, particularly when it comes to women’s fashion. GRRM has the Westerosi women wear no head coverings (aside from Dornish veils) and expose more skin than medieval European women’s dresses (exposed breasts was a huge taboo, until very late in the period there was no cotton or lace, clothing tended to be rather loose instead of form fitting, many of the dresses described would’ve run afoul of sumptuary laws). To say nothing of the Essosi fashions, which tend to be sexualized even more. Due to the strong parallels between Tyrosh and the Lebanese city of Tyre, I decided to do research on traditional Lebanese dress, and see what might fit with hypothetical Tyroshi style based on what we’ve been able to infer from the text. Please keep in mind that I’ve never officially studied fashion history, let alone Lebanese fashion, so these may not be accurate to the period. I’ll cite my sources, but if anyone knows more about the topic, please share information. It’s not my intention to offend anybody by misrepresenting their culture for the sake of headcanons:

The Tantour

Photo from nationalclothing.org’s article on Lebanese dress

Since I’ve made a case for Tyroshi having elaborate headgear, I thought the tantour (the most elaborate of all Lebanese female headgear) might be a possible place to start. It seemed to have been worn by married noblewomen. While not in use today, and popular in the 19th century, its origins possibly date to the Greco-Roman period. Due to its similarity to the Hennin of medieval European noblewomen (what we associate with the Princess cap), it‘s thought to have been introduced to Europe from Lebanon by the Crusaders in the 13th century. It is a cone usually of silver or even gold that can be up to 30inches high and decorated with pearls or gems. Attached to the top is a piece of silk or brocade cloth that reaches about to the middle of the back. Ribbons attached to holes at the base are then tied around the neck, keeping everything together. Due its to the elaborateness, (it was a traditional gift from groom to bride), it was rarely taken off (Additional source: this essay on the origins of Levantine costume for men and women)

The Gambaz

Photo from nationalclothing.org

The Gambaz is a female outergarment that dates at least to the early modern period. While the example in the photo is brown, they could be brightly colored and were often worn for special festivals. Preferably, they were made of expensive materials like silk, velvet, or brocade and adorned with embroidery or lace. They often had low décolletage that exposed the tops of the breasts, which even for married women was a sign of maternity (and Rohanne was maternal, with her many children), but still reached to the ankles. The décolletage wouldn’t necessarily be as out of place in Westeros as it would be in the European Medieval period, and neither would the be the wide pointed sleeves. (Interestingly, female overgarments often had detachable, luxuriously embroidered sleeves women could let swing while dancing or have them tied back while eating/working.) The skirt could have loose panels or be slit up the side to reveal an underskirt or even a pair of loose, baggy pants called sherwal. The sherwal is the most common leg covering for men, but is also a silk or cotton undergarment worn by some women. It is tied off at the ankle with a cord or drawn up by a ring. Sherwal could have been introduced to Phoenicia by the ancient Persians. (Additional source is the previous essay)

Of course, these are just a very few examples of Lebanese clothing that might plausibly be used for Tyroshi fashion headcanons. Your question was about dresses, but there are shoes, jackets, belts, and other trousers, skirts, and headgear as well. Also, the examples I gave were only the most luxurious dress and headgear. What Rohanne might’ve worn to a court ceremony wouldn’t have been the same garb that she wore in her daily life at her and Daemon’s ephemeral keep, or even as a girl and later a widow in Tyrosh. We also have to consider her personality and possible actions. Larra Rogare was able to keep up with the latest Lyseni fashions, but would the poorer Rohanne, or would she even want to (children are very expensive)? She was pregnant for most of her 12 years with Daemon and it’s likely nursed the children herself (unless she hired a wetnurse), so that might’ve changed the size and shape of her clothing, particularly the bodice. Would she get new clothes or have the existing ones altered? Would she want to hide her shape, or accentuate it, or was she more concerned about the day-to-day affairs of running a household in the countryside that she didn’t prioritize the opinions of the few visitors that came? I have my own headcanons on what Rohanne‘s personality was like (although I haven’t considered her attitudes toward fashion in depth until this ask) but yours may be different. Unless GRRM writes more about Rohanne or Tyrosh, headcanons and inferences are what we have.

Thanks for the ask!

#ask #clothing #rohanne of tyrosh #tyrosh #asoiaf #asoiaf headcanon #parallels

[reginarubie]

"She dismounted beside a gaming pit where a basilisk was tearing a big red dog to pieces amidst a shouting ring of sailors."-Dany. "Melisandre raised her hands, and the ditchfire leapt upward toward her fingers, like a great red dog springing for a treat."-Jon. "You think Mallister has the belly to stand up to Stannis Baratheon and that red bitch?"-Sam. In last two quotes, red dog/bitch is associated with fire and Mel. Ramsey had red dog named Jeyne. Drogon is black and red.

Hello anon!,

Well you make a good point!, the colour red is very powerful, symbolically speaking because it can either be associated with life, love and passion or with danger, death and anger.

Maybe because it's the colour of fire and the colour of blood as well.

Both can be useful (to keep us warm and to give life — think of the blood of the mother keeping the child safe and nourished in her womb during pregnancy) and both can bring forth ruin (fire can destroy and when one bleeds out they die).

It's associated to gems, to words, to banners and to animals as well as people (the red hair or the red eyes, for example) and each time it takes either a positive meaning or a dark, looming meaning.

Dog, I'm rue to say, don't have the best of meaning symbolically in asoiaf, if you think on it, the hounds/dogs are related to the Cleganes (who are nothing short of child-murderers and assassins, rapists and criminals), they are related to Ramsey (and he uses them to hunt his preys, which are people) and obviously the word "bitch" is a renown insult. What more, the parapets and the walls of Dragonstone are littered with gargoyles, wyverns, dragons and hellhounds so it's safe to assume that even the westerosi version of afterlife in hell there are hellhounds who don't seem associated with good symbolism.

The comet's tail spread across the dawn, a red slash that bled above the crags of Dragonstone like a wound in the pink and purple sky.

The maester stood on the windswept balcony outside his chambers. It was here the ravens came, after long flight. Their droppings speckled the gargoyles that rose twelve feet tall on either side of him, a hellhound and a wyvern, two of the thousand that brooded over the walls of the ancient fortress.

— Prologue, ACOK

These (the dogs, the "bitch", the hound and Drogon) are not the only red animals either, as the stallion Drogo mounts and that Daenerys sacrifices before celebrating her blood ritual which awakes the dragons from the eggs is a red stallion. /In this occasion it symbolised power (the best stallion of the khalasar, it's also red of colour, which is a very rare and beautiful breed and powerful, perfect for the greatest of khals).

Let's now analyse the quotes you used:

Dany would get no help from the Thirteen, the Tourmaline Brotherhood, or the Ancient Guild of Spicers. She rode her silver past several miles of their quays, docks, and storehouses, all the way out to the far end of the horseshoe-shaped harbor where the ships from the Summer Islands, Westeros, and the Nine Free Cities were permitted to dock.

She dismounted beside a gaming pit where a basilisk was tearing a big red dog to pieces amidst a shouting ring of sailors.

— Daenerys V, ACOK

Now, here we get two animals fighting: a basilisk and a big red dog who are battling admit a shouting ring of sailors and...am I the only one who sees this?

What is the basilisk? What does it symbolise? The basilisk (or cockatrice — from the greek βασιλίσκος basiliskos, which literally means king -of- serpents) is a mythical creature considered the king of serpents, extremely powerful (some says its venom is mortal; and that the origin is the royal cobra which can kill from distance with its venom) and capable of killing with a glance.

This king of serpents is battling in a fighting pit against a big red dog which is being torn apart by the basilisk. Now, the snakes either use their venoms, or if they don't have venom they strangle or suffocate their victims, instead this basilisk (who could kill the big red dog from distance by glance — or by spitting venom) is tearing the big red dog apart, which is a very strange behaviour for a snake.

To me this passage foreshadows a very important event which could have repercussions on Daenerys' journey: the trial by combat of Tyrion Lannister and the duel between prince Oberyn Martell the red viper and ser Gregor Clegane.

Why?, because Oberyn (the red viper and the father of the sand snakes — symbolised by the basilisk) is risking his life to get a confession out of the Mountain and thus though playing safe from distance (using his poisoned spear) he is also behaving in a way that is inconsistent with the way he usually fight. We all know that Oberyn had the match in hand, that he could kill ser Gregor easily, and promptly, but he was blinded (seeing red — because of his anger and thirst for vengeance for the murder of Elia and her children...look other blood!) by his rage and his thirst for vengeance and thus played with the Mountain, poisoned him but used a kind of poison that would give him the time to extort from him a confession about the murder. The ring of sailors is in contrast, instead, with the ring of lords and ladies assisting the trial and the duel.

Why the red dog could be about the Mountain?, because it's said to be "big" and ser Gregor is so big he is called the Mountain that rides and because his House sigil are three hounds (red because it's the colour of blood and this episode — his death by Oberyn' hand — is associated with his murder of Elia and Aegon and Rhaenys, as he made sure House Lannister and Baratheon rose to a bloody Iron throne over the corpses of children and women).

So to me, this is about that episode (the trial by combat), which created a butterfly effect that brought Tyrion to kill his father, escape KL and come to Aegon and later to Meereen and Daenerys and we still don't know the extent of the consequences caused by the death of Oberyn. But certainly it can create problems for Daenerys (or resolve them, alternatively) especially if (as hinted by the text we have) the dornish end up allying with Aegon instead than Daenerys.

For Jon, we have this quote:

Septon Chayle had emerged briefly from the sept, fingering the seven-sided crystal on the thong about his neck, only to retreat inside again once the prayers began.

Melisandre raised her hands, and the ditchfire leapt upward toward her fingers, like a great red dog springing for a treat. A swirl of sparks rose to meet the snowflakes coming down. "Oh, Lord of Light, we thank you," she sang to the hungry flames. "We thank you for brave Stannis, by your grace our king. Guide him and defend him, R'hllor. Protect him from the treacheries of evil men and grant him strength to smite the servants of the dark."

"Grant him strength," answered Queen Selyse and her knights and ladies. "Grant him courage. Grant him wisdom."

— Jon X, ADWD

This connects with the fact that Melisandre (who is described to have red hair and red eyes) who is a sorceress from Asshai and a priestess of a God which burns human sacrifices and demands blood for his miracles is a danger; or can be a danger. There is power in her, but it's a power Jon doesn't want (nor like) to mingle with. And the danger she poses is forwarded by the next quote you used (from Sam POV nonetheless) which happens chronologically before, but I digress:

(...)we need a fighter more than ever with this bloody king on top of us. Today it's ruins and empty fields, well and good, but what will His Grace want come the morrow? You think Mallister has the belly to stand up to Stannis Baratheon and that red bitch?" He laughed. "I don't."

— Samwell V, ASOS

They associated the colour red (which Mel wears with pride because it's the colour of blood and fire and R'hllor) symbolising power, danger as well as lust (everyone knows the king prefers Mel to the his queen and wife) and death with the word bitch used clearly as an insult because Melisandre is foreign, she is the king' lover and thus a woman of questionable fame, worsened all the more because of her religion and rites and ceremonies.

Now, onto Red Jeyne, this one I really hate, though the interactions Theon has with her give us a particular kind of vibe, which is not completely bad, imo:

The dogs were fond of Reek; he slept with them oft as not, and sometimes Ben Bones let him share their supper. The pack raced across the flagstones barking, circling him, jumping up to lick his filthy face, nipping at his legs. Helicent caught his left hand between her teeth and worried it so fiercely Reek feared he might lose two more fingers. Red Jeyne slammed into his chest and knocked him off his feet. She was lean, hard muscle, where Reek was loose, grey skin and brittle bones, a white-haired starveling.

The riders were dismounting by the time he pushed Red Jeyne off and struggled to his knees.

— Reek III, ADWD

Red Jeyne is described to be lean, hard muscle and strong where Reek is frail and weak, yet he manages to push the hound off of him with only a bit of struggle.

The girls were glad to see him. They knew him by his smell. Red Jeyne loped over to lick at his hand, and Helicent slipped under the table and curled up by his feet, gnawing at a bone. They were good dogs. It was easy to forget that every one was named for a girl that Ramsay had hunted and killed.

— The Turncloak, ADWD

And it gets worse:

It was madness. Ramsay would hunt him down, with the girls. Red Jeyne and Jez and Helicent would tear him to pieces if the gods were good. Or worse, he might be taken back alive. "I have to remember my name," he whispered.

— A ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

I must precise, I don't hate Red Jeyne, more the fact that Ramsay has trained her to hunt human beings and that he has named her after a girl he has hunted and killed.

The point is, Red Jeyne (as opposed to Grey Jeyne) I think might actually symbolise Jeyne P., Red Jeyne is fond of Reek (because they spend time together and Reek care for her, gives her food as well as share her cell to sleep sometimes), all their interactions speak of fondness and I think the fact that they are told to share their food and the fact that they sleep together often, in terrible conditions as well (for a human being) both with the same dark master, Ramsay, makes me think that Jeyne P. and Theon will become an unit (as they already are beginning to be) they are the only two survivors of Ramsay and his cruelty, the shared trauma (food and bed) will make them bond as they will be the only ones capable of understanding one another.

But then, why Red Jeyne, instead of Grey Jeyne (especially since Jeyne P. comes to Winterfell in disguise as Arya, who is a Stark and whose colours are white and grey?)?, because Jeyne actually isn't a Stark, because once again the red symbolises the power Ramsay has on her, the danger he is to her, the blood he spends of her (how he mistreats her).

And finally, Drogon is black and red (the colours of House Targaryen) and he is called the Winged shadow (similar to Balerion the Black Dread — to which he is associated more than once — whose shadow, it's said, could swallow entire towns)which are two terrible colours: black is the colour associated with death, fear and evil, aggression, and rebellion as well as elegance and sophistication (and we cannot say that Daenerys, its rider, is not sophisticated and elegant, but that's only one side of the coin) the other is red once again which symbolises power, anger, lust, passion, love, destruction, ruin. These are the two sides of Daenerys (black and red) she is an empath (to a point) good red, but she's also able to detach herself black; she is assertive and authoritative good black, but she's also aggressive and prone to anger. She's passionate (good red) but her passion might end up being her ruin — as seen about Daario and embracing the dragon — (bad red). She's called mother (good red — Mhysa and Rhaego), but she's the mother of dragons (black and bad red — Mhysa is a master; Mother of dragons, mother of monsters). As perfectly encapsulated by this quote:

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.

— Daenerys II, ADWD

It is symbolic that she bonds with Drogon (who is named after Drogo — who overturned and destroyed thousands of lives to give Daenerys her Iron throne, and who was known to be a cruel slaver) who is associated with red and black; when there are other two dragons with different colours: green and bronze (a hue of red, I will get back to this again) and cream and gold.

Green is the colour of spring and hope and bronze is an hue of red, but it's a particular red which when can become green and you know what's the symbolic meaning of bronze? positive energy (again connected with spring) and rebirth.

Bronze is an alloy (of copper and tin) and you wanna guess what those colours/metals symbolically mean?

Homely warmth and wealth (copper)

luck, breath of life, the whole is stronger than the single (tin)

Also, just because I am wearing my Jonsa-coloured glasses... by show canon Rhaegal bonds with Jon, so we can at least suspect that in the books it will be so as well...do you know who has hair like copper? (Sansa!) and you know the natural colour of tin? silvery white metal with a bluish tinge (you know kind of like Sansa, steel/porcelain/ivory skin and blue eyes — also a Stark who wore silver for her wedding day in honour of her father, even though her house colour was grey?)

— Feel free to ignore this, if Jonsa is not your cup of tea, but damn if this isn't quite the unexpected foreshadowing.

And Viserion is cream and gold; the cream is the colour of calmness, elegance and purity, while gold symbolises extravagance, wealth and excess.

As far as colours go, Rhaegal could've proposed a better match if Daenerys was supposed to bring spring, peace, justice and rebirth to the 7K. Even Viserion could've proposed a better match, Daenerys could've been known as extravagant (maybe because of her time spent in Essos) but she might have brought wealth and riches and excess to the 7K .

As things stand...she bonded with Drogon, who symbolises ruin, power, death, passion, anger and aggression. Will this be what she brings to the 7K along with the power, mayhap, to help against the Others?

Also, the red (crimson or fire red, or blood red) in the text is usually associate with pain, sorrow and death as well as aggression and power over others (used to harm); while other colours (always hues of red) have been used and associated with better rulers and better meanings:

The simple use of garnets instead of rubies for the eyes of the handle of Long Claw for example — because garnets lack the fire, if not the beauty. Being powerful without assert that power in a harmful way? — associated to Jon, btw.

Red hair for example is associated with Ygritte (a sexual predator, Jon has Stockholm syndrome about her I tell you) and Melisandre, two dubious characters — power (over someone — a type of power Jon does not want to mingle with) but also death and anger; but not only (I will return to this shortly).

Of other ladies we got Catelyn, Lysa and Sansa who have what is commonly known as red hair, but they are described differently than red:

first auburn (activity, energy, danger, aggression and passion, swift decision making) for Catelyn and Lysa.

For Sansa, we got once the quote of auburn, immediately disproved with "lighter than mine" by Cat, settling on copper colour (homely warmth and wealth).

But, do you know who else had red hair?

Mycah (who is described to have thick red hair) and Ser Beric Dondarrion (red-gold hair) : both killed by the Hound (though Beric is returned from death by Thoros of Myr — a red priest) or, the first time for Beric, by the Mountain —› look hounds again!

So, in the end, I think in the text that red is an heavily coded colour and that in asoiaf it's intended to remind of us of incredible power used for ruin or to inflict harm; as opposed to the different shades of it (auburn and copper and bronze) which instead have a meaning of their own, much more positive than red itself.

Connected ask about Joffrey Dogett: red decoded?, part II the difference between negatively coded red and positively coded red.

This turned long, again, but I hope you enjoyed! I had fun analysing this so thank you again for the ask! Wish you a very nice day!

#ask the hag #anon asks #colour red #hounds and dogs #symbolism #colour symbolism

[targaryen-stronghold]

What’s worse about this shit show finale as a female fan is that I feel tricked because I used to think I was watching the rise of women to power on a patriarchal society when in truth this has been an incel fantasy all along. All those feminists’ critics of the show deserve an apology, they were right.

I heard you, anon. Many female fans feel this way and we are absolutely right and justified. I used to think so as well, but guess we were wrong, it was never about women navigating power, it was about demonizing women in power.  Actually, the only women who remained in power (Sansa and Yara) in the end were allowed to so do because (1) there was no one else (2) a man let them.  So whenever people say Game of Thrones is a “feminist show”, I have to laugh because no, it isn’t. At all. And Season 8 proved that.

Dan Weiss had the nerve to say about the critics on Season 8: 

It’s not really up for us to decide what people feel about it. Hope people watch and like it in the future. There’s no way to tell how things are going to be perceived in 10, 20, even five years. These things change so fast. The landscape of television changes so quickly, it’s changing as we’re standing here right now. It’s so gratifying to have reached this many people. I hope people a little too young to watch now will grow up to learn about it and watch it as well.

Is this guy fucking serious? Does he really think this show will age well? In a time where television and cinema are getting more progressive and representative of women, POC, LGBTI+, etc., he actually believes a show about white men in power and the demonization of pretty much every character that isn’t white or male will sit well with audiences?

1. Reinforcement of Sexist Tropes

Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek from the University of Ljubljana Faculty of Arts did an whole essay on why Daenerys and the mad queen narrative is a strictly male fantasy. He’s one of the most important cultural critics of the century and an academic with years of research on Philosophy and Sociology so he knows what he’s talking about. 

Dangerous Characters has also written a very interesting essay about why Dany’s ending is such a toxic and dangerous narrative: 

Because in that moment, when Daenerys goes nuts, and becomes a wicked genocidal dictator who must be deposed, I am remembering her rape scene. Basic story logic: That was the beginning of her arc, this is the end, and we are being asked to see what has changed. It was a journey from powerlessness to power, but now we know this makes it a journey from good to evil, too. What you are telling me, when you make Daenerys a power-mad despot, is that it was better for her to be powerless. It was better for her to be on her knees, with a stranger’s dick forced inside her, than it was for her to be a queen. Power turns Dany bad, and her badness hurts everyone, so it was better for the whole world for that little girl to get raped, over and over and over, than it was for her to find her power.

Message: Women can’t be trusted with power

I also did a post about why “mad queen Dany” perpetuates sexist tropes and draw parallels with real-life women. But Dany isn’t the only female character who suffers with sexist tropes, it applies to pretty much every other female character in the series.

We also got:

Rape of women used as a plot device to make them “stronger” in both Daenerys and Sansa’s characters: as if it wasn’t bad enough that some people in this fandom refuse to acknowledge that Khal Drogo repeatedly raped Dany, Alex Graves referred to Ramsay as Sansa’s “love interest” when he was telling Sophie about her Season 5 arc, and Bryan Cogman called Sansa’s forced marriage and rape as “a hardened woman making a choice”;    

Fetishization of lesbians, bisexuals and women of color;

Perpetuation of violence against sex workers;

Internalized misogyny and constantly pinning women against each other: Arya “most girls are idiots” Stark, Cersei “I should have been born a man” Lannister and Sansa “men are easily manipulated (by women)” Stark; 

Perpetuation of toxic notions of womanhood such as upholding motherhood as women’s ultimate endeavor: villainous Cersei is redeemed because she’s pregnant and loves her children and is presented as a victim of the now-villainous infertile Daenerys;

Justifying and romanticizing domestic violence with Robert Baratheon slapping Cersei (actually erasing all the abuse Cersei suffered at Robert’s hands) and both Tyrion and Jon murdering Shae and Dany;

Vilifying of every women in power, except for Sansa (but even she was only allowed to take power over the North because King Bran let her);

And so on.

Yikes. My girl Sansa deserved better.

2. Validation of Racism and Xenophobia

The true heroes of the story - the Starks - live in an openly racist and xenophobic space and its habitants give the side-eye to (and literally run away from) the only black characters on the cast, providing us with gems like this:

And then Arya kind of forgot she befriended foreigner people in previous seasons.

Daenerys is not one of them because she’s neither a Stark nor a Northerner: she’s foreign, an immigrant, who doesn’t know the westerosi ways (something her haters like to bring up to justify why she doesn’t deserve to be queen of the seven kingdoms). Not only that but she mostly associates herself with black and brown people: her best friend, her advisors, her captains and soldiers. 

In the end, all this behavior is justified and validated because Dany has been the true villain all along and her armies have committed terrible crimes against the innocent white people of Westeros, especially in the capital. Meaning: the North was right in their prejudice against Dany and her armies. In the end, the Unsullied and the Dothraki return to Essos because there is no place for them in Westeros.

Message: POC immigrants are a threat to white people

I would say Game of Thrones dig it’s own grave.

#anti game of thrones #anti game of thrones season 8 #daenerys targaryen #anti dan weiss #anti d&d #ask

[makerkenzie]

Gucci literally designed the J/B wedding gown.

Oh dear. Let’s take a closer look at Gwen’s dress at the Emmys.

Colors!

In Westerosi tradition, bridal gowns don’t have to be white. In fact they’re usually not. The idea is for the bride to wear a fancy gown that reflects her House’s colors. Or sometimes her bridegroom’s House’s colors. A Stark bride might wear a white gown. Most other Houses, not so much. White means wedding in our real-life Western culture, not really on GOT.

HOWEVER.

The Tarth sigil is: silver crescents on blue background, quartered with gold sunbursts on pink. Total colors are: silver, gold, pink, blue.

White, therefore, can be seen as a simplification of silver, and thus a reference to House Tarth. 

Alternatively, white can be seen as a reference to the Kingsguard. 

I don’t really LIKE the idea of her honoring the KG, as it’s a celibate institution that derailed Jaime’s adulthood. But also, I mean...like it or not, the KG does represent a big part of Jaime’s life, and Brienne’s wearing white can be seen as a big middle finger at the Kingslayer-Oathbreaker-Man-Without-Honor shpiel. It could be her way of saying, “Look here, assholes, my husband is a much better knight than that pack of spineless sycophants ever deserved.” 

But also, you know, Tarth silver.

MEANWHILE, it IS a prominent Westerosi wedding tradition for the bridegroom to drape a cloak featuring his own House’s sigil on the bride’s shoulders during the ceremony. This represents the groom taking the bride under his protection by making her part of his family.

So, a red cloak is exactly the sort of thing one would expect to see on a lady who just married a Lannister man.

AND THEN. AND THEN. AND THEN. The major colors we see in Gwen’s outfit are red and white. Okay. The details are all blue and gold. The total is red, white, blue and gold. It’s an interpretation of Tarth colors. Including a Lannister bridal cloak.

BUT THE LIONS. GOLDEN LIONS, I TELL YOU.

Start with the shoulders!

That is a golden lion on each shoulder. And...it’s holding a blue gem in its mouth. Maybe a greenish-blue gem? I mean, blue works for Tarth, the so-called Sapphire Isle. Whereas, greenish-blue works as a merging of Tarth blue and Lannister green eyes. Also works as a reference to sea waters, which evokes both the position of Tarth as an island in the Narrow Sea and the location of Casterly Rock on the Sunset Sea coast. 

I mean, it’s a goddamn golden lion holding a big blue stone in its mouth. That’s some hardcore ship-service right there.

AND NO WE’RE NOT FINISHED. Look at the middle-front of the outfit.

That is a bearded man wearing a lion on his head and a bunch of little golden seashells dangling from below. There’s...a guy, wearing a lion’s-head helmet, like a Lannister knight. And he’s rocking a ferocious beard, which is a little thumbs-up to that time when Jaime knew his sister didn’t like him with a beard and he went and regrew the beard anyway. The dangling seashell charms are another nod to Tarth’s proximity to the ocean. 

The shape of the gown is loose and unstructured, not fussy or constrictive. It looks comfortable, even a bit androgynous. Just the sort of thing Brienne would like to wear once she feels safe to remove her armor. The simple grandeur of the outfit looks fit for a queen. It looks especially easy to remove for the benefit of getting naked with her new husband. 

This doesn’t just say J/B is endgame, although it does that. It is an explicitly Lannister-oriented support of J/B as endgame romance and major political entity. It says House Lannister matters for the good of the realm and Brienne as the new Lannister bride is making things happen. 

No, this is not a “subtle nod” to J/B. This is a gigantic, immaculately detailed, full-throated argument for Jaime and Brienne taking over the world with their big blond babies. Bow down, bitches.

#jaime/brienne #gwendoline christie #emmys 2019 #game of thrones season 8 #gwendoline christie deserved an emmy #brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #house tarth #house lannister #house sigil #westerosi wedding traditions

[yourlocalvinequoter]

I don't mean to be rude to any fanfic writer out there, especially since I am one myself and of course, everyone can make mistakes.

But do you - readers - ever just find a story that is so full of imagination and creativity but is so poorly executed that you want to learn how to hack accounts just to correct the grammar mistakes?

Because I sometimes find these absolute gems - really, the plot is usually so brilliant, I am actually jealous I hadn't come up with it - and then there is grammar mistake IN THE TITLE.

And half the time, it's a character's or a place's name that is frequently mentioned in the original story.

(For example: Catelyn Tully Stark in GoT, which I have seen written in every way possible but the right one. Also, speaking of GoT, many people still don't seem to understand that Daenerys and Margaery are written this way. Also, Westeros is the land, Westerosi is the people. If you are confused, turn on the subtitles on HBO GO. Or read the books for that matter. I started them and they're great. Sorry, that was unnecessary long for a side note.)

And there are misspellings or autocorrect sometimes, there always are, I have a few too. But to make them all the time, in every paragraph, repeatedly? And I'm sympathetic towards those who can't always decide whether to put a comma here and there or not because that's sometimes pretty tough. But to not even use dots at the end of the sentence or use five question marks? To not make the first letter in a sentence upper-case? You were supposed to learn that in second grade at the very least I think.

I won't even talk about the whole they're-their-there thing or the "would of" instead of "would have".

And gods, for most of these mistakes, you can't use the excuse: "English is not my first language." Guess what? It isn't mine either. But whichever language you have, there's got to be some kind of period at the end of your sentence, and an uppercase letter at the start of each sentence. Unless you're writing with symbols but that's an entirely different issue.

It's just annoying for me because as a writer, I think that it is kind of a duty and for me a bit sacred too in a way, that you spend time on putting a story into your words. That you spend time creating an experience for the reader that leaves a mark. Because that's what you want to receive as a reader too.

I'm not saying I write perfectly. I don't. But I put my time into it, even if sometimes I don't feel like using harder words or writing long descriptions. Yes, I update so rarely that my readers probably are a bit angry with me and it is most likely justified. But when I upload a chapter, they can count on it that it will only have like 2 accidental mistakes and maybe I said "she said" a bit too much because I ran out of different versions to describe the same action, but I never spell Daenerys as Denireys or say there instead of their (you don't even pronounce them the same way if you do it right so I still don't understand how some people change it up unless it's clearly a typo).

That's all, you can continue scrolling now.

#game of thrones #rantings #vent #writing #writers #fanfiction #fanfic

[travistalks]

A Red Door Painted Black

The city smoldered beneath the clouds. Black smoke rose to mix with white wisps and the world before Aelina was painted grey. Through the billowing plumes, squinting and shading her eyes from the rising morning sun, she could see verdant waters capped with white foam. Tiled roofs of homes and shops and palaces spread out on cramped, winding streets and twisting canals far below. But nothing seemed to stir. Only the fire lived. It raged and danced across the rooftops, carried onward by the wind. Her attack had come in the hour before daybreak. Surprise will aid you, Aelina told herself. The sleepers will not be stirring and the guards will never see the black underbelly of the winged beast against the pitch sky. The moon was hiding behind black clouds when she made her descent. A thousand thousand fires burned below her in windows and hearths, but they were an army of ants against her mighty beast. She bathed the bay in radiant reds and oranges. The wooden fleets broke and burst into tiny splinters. The walls shattered into pebbles. And the palaces crumbled against the monster’s hot breath. The bells never rang. Not for danger. Not for surrender. They were silent, lifeless. Like the Titan that stood motionless, almost dead. Aelina circled the city, painting the red, brown and grey stones black. She turned toward the Free City’s last guardian. She bathed its shield and sword and helmet in wrings of red fire and swore she heard it scream in terror as its head and torso exploded into pieces. A long, low moan bellowed from the churning sea, as her massive fleet appeared on the horizons. Quickly, they crawled beneath the melting, buckling legs of the giant and swarmed the islands and docks of the floating city-state. She landed near the Palace of Truth. The ancient structure, testament to the power of the Braavosi’s system of governance, was smoldering and split in two. The green copper domed roof had collapsed in on itself. She had grown intimate with the smell of charred bones, blistered stone, and melted coin, and it filled the air with a pungent, abnormal, familiar smell. Aelina swung her high black boots over the beast’s saddle and dropped to the cobblestones, her red armor glistening in the arching sun. Her inky-black hair swirled behind her and her cloth-of-gold cape snapped in the wild breeze. A column of soldiers marched toward her. The Fiery Hand of R’hllor flapped on tall poles above their ornate armor and orange robes, and the men carried long spears in the shape of flames that seemed to blaze and whirl in the sun. She turned and pierced them with her onyx eyes and they halted. A solitary figure strode forward. He went to one knee and bowed his head before her. “My queen,” Shakar smirked. “Braavos is yours.” “Did any ship escape?” Aelina asked. “No, your grace. Our fleet waited in the fog, as you commanded. Once we heard the first burst of dragonfire, we were on their defenders before they could muster. Those who escaped were pursued. They are now drowned and dead.” “What about the birds? Did any take flight?” “Our archers shot all they saw. Even the pigeons,” he laughed. “Good, commander. I can’t risk word reaching Westeros.” She bid him rise. “Walk with me.” “If I may, your grace. It’s no doubt the Westerosi know of your many victories. They’ve heard the stories. I hear they watch the east, waiting for a third conqueror to appear.” The dragon has three heads. She paused for a moment. Am I the third? Aegon and his sisters. The mother of dragons. Me. She stopped and stared up at him. Shakar was six and a half feet tall. He looked like a giant shadow looming above her, blackened from behind by the bright sun. His golden locks, speckled with patches of salt and pepper, waved in the hot air and he stared back through ice-blue eyes. “I know they wait for me,” Aelina responded. “But Braavos was the last of the great cities to stand against me. Westeros may be watching, but they are not prepared.” The old king - who had been called Bran the Broken - had died only two years past. Some said he had ruled for eighty years. Maybe a hundred. Some said he crawled into a tree and protected the realm still. Ever watchful over the Seven Kingdoms. It mattered not. She was Aelina the Defiant. Blood of the freehold. The last dragon. A shy, timid girl found wandering among the smoking ruins of Old Valyria. She was anointed by the Red God as Azor Ahai Reborn Anew. She was the Stallion Who Mounts the World, or so she was told the Dothraki had prophesied once. What were their names? she asked herself. Kinvara? Benerro? Moqorro? They were the ones who saved me, who found me, who sheltered me, who told me these things. But their lights had gone out. Not long after they brought her to Volantis, to the Red Temple, their magic waned and their order disbanded. And the red priests and priestesses had removed their glowing gems and died out as the long summer descended upon the world. Aelina’s power, however, only grew with each passing year. In the long absence of the red order, slavers came with chain and collar, with whip and wheel and took back what they claimed was theirs by rights. Their power and might crept across Essos, until all the Free Cities were under their yoke. Even Braavos, the Secret City, was pressed down by the slavers’ heavy boots. For years, she hid behind Kinvara’s last gift, an ancient magic that allowed her to change appearance. Only death can pay for life, the red priestess offered. Take it. Men and women cried out but Aelina did not stir. She was only a girl, alone in the world. East and east she fled. Until she came upon a great mountain and a long lake. Womb of the World, she thought it was called. Mother of Mountains. There in an abandoned city, she lived her long days, staring into the flames, dipping her naked body into the cool waters, and staring up at the open sky with its sun and moon and stars. Once, she glimpsed a red comet, hanging low in the sky. It crawled across the sky, east to west. She traced her hand over its tail and wept. That very night, alone in the desolate waste of the vast grasslands, a voice spoke to her through the brazier. Remember who you are, the woman demanded. The dragons know. Do you? As she tossed and turned, trying to find the woman’s face, an old dream came to her of a gaunt dragon dressed in silks with silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, wielding a borrowed sword. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you? it snarled and snapped at her. Wake the dragon... wake the dragon... wake the dragon... she dreamed. The next morning, she rose in defiance. With fire and blood. She walked - barefoot and bloody - back to Volantis. At the Red Temple, the few who remained, huddled in the darkness and hiding from the chains, begged her to save them. To lead them. To free brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. And the children. They placed a silver crown on her head. Its points were wrought like flames and its band was decorated with colored gems - amethyst and opal, emerald and onyx, topaz and tourmaline, ruby and amber, obsidian and pearl. In her hand, they placed a blade of curved Valyrian steel. They dipped it in blood and called Lightbringer when it burst into flames. She raised it high above her head and men and women chanted Lightbringer, Lightbringer, Lightbringer as they spilled forth from the temple. She swept east with a vast host at her back - the remnants of the Red God’s army and the many slaves and smallfolk who came to her side. They fought beneath the pyramids of Meereen, but the slavers - emboldened by the death of the long-forgotten Dragon Queen - pushed them back. That’s when the old dragon appeared, a growing shadow on the western sky. The beast eclipsed the sun and descended on the slavers in a blind rage. He torched the city and all its inhabitants. Stones tumbled down from atop the high pyramid, crushing the masters and breaking their whips and wheels. At Daznak’s Pit, the mammoth beast laid his head and long neck low into the sand and beckoned her forward. She struggled up his thick, swollen neck, her soldiers pushing her up and up until she mounted him and cried out a word. He took flight, his great arms and legs and wings smashing the stones of the fighting pit as he climbed. He turned back on the ancient arena and baked it back into the earth. On to Yunkai and Astapor they flew. The dragon melted stone. Then they marched on Qarth and the greatest city that ever was and ever will be was no more. Next Aelina turned back west and Mantarys was crushed. Even Old Volantis couldn’t stand against her red ruin. They shattered the sea walls of Lys and leveled Tyrosh and Myr. Her army and navy smashed Qohor and Norvos and Lorath, but Pentos she left as her own prize. There, she burned magisters and their many mansions from atop the old creature. Now, it was Braavos’ turn. The last Free City - or so it had once been called. Next, it would be Westeros. The land of green hills and blue rivers, white knights and black crows would have its day. She would free the lands her ancestors once conquered. The realm that had rejected the girl Daenerys Targaryen. At a dock on the Green Canal, a ship waited to carry Aelina through the winding gullets of Braavos. They wound east and turned south toward the Long Canal before heading west then north into the open bay of the lagoon. She saw the House of Black and White burning. “The Sept Beyond the Sea and the Temple of the Moonsingers as well,” Shakar informed her. All along the waterfront, buildings burned and the survivors’ screams were silenced by sharp, swift swords. A thousand fires burned north and south, east and west. Harbors and watchtowers. The Fishmarket and the Drowned Town. Bridges were broken and waterways were filled with corpses. The islands seemed alive though, like mountains aflame and spewing smoke. Like Old Valyria, she dreamed. I remember it. But the Temple of the Lord of Light, like the vast one in Old Volantis, was spared. “Have our forces gather there,” Aelina had ordered. “We’ll use it to plan my invasion of Westeros.” They landed there and crossed a long bridge. Her men had to help her find a clear path through the untold destruction. She stared forward, waiting to see the palace. If I look back, I am lost. Ahead was the Iron Bank of Braavos. The gilded powerhouse, filled with coffers of gold and iron coin, had been smashed into rubble and ruin. Her soldiers were clearing the debris and digging deep beneath the rock, searching for caverns and vaults of treasure. “Let the men have the gold,” Aelina offered. “I have no need for it. I don’t mean to purchase my victory.” Beyond the Moon Pool - now filled with a blood tide - was the long causeway and columns of the peninsula that led to the Sealord’s Palace. Atop its splendid high roof, the old dragon waited. He snapped his tail and the golden thunderbolt spinning on the tall spire was struck. It twisted, toppled, and crashed to the ground. A few soldiers emerged from behind the thick front door. “The way is secure. All are dead.” “Leave me, commander,” Aelina held out a hand. “Take your men. The dragon will protect me.” Shakar bowed and told the men to spread out. “We will be close, my queen.” Slowly, she floated through the ornamented doors. Inside, the rooms were charred, the glass windows shattered, and the paintings and tapestries burned or crumpled into heaps on the marble floors. Many bodies lay strewn at her feet. Out of the darkness, she emerged onto a long bridge connecting the large building with a watchtower and the main house on a separate isle. On and on she walked. Through beds of blood and flickering flames. At last she reached the gardens. Animals called out to her from cages. Some were loose and running wild, trying to escape the inferno. A few jumped into the sea and swam away. The menagerie, she smiled. The lemon tree. I remember it. Wildflowers and hedges and ancient trees swayed in the breeze, beckoning her home to a scorched land. Fountains were cracked and the fresh water spilled and covered grass and stone, washing away some of the raging fires. The red ruby pulsed at her neck. The gold chain was tight about her copper skin and the jewel burned even in the heat of the day. It will give you life, the red priestess had promised. Long, long life. And protection. Like it gave me, like it gave all of R’hllor’s champions, she had said as she slipped away from this world. But it is a chain, a knot to bind you to the here and now, Kinvara had warned. And it will burn. Fire cannot kill a dragon, Aelina remembered. Who said that? Was it me? She had forgotten. It was a different girl, a different age, a different time, a different land. But the words, the words still echoed in her mind. The truth was hidden somewhere in the deep darkness. Through mists, she could see faces with her third eye. A long handsome face, sad and cold and aged, sometimes stared back from the flames. A beautiful queen with long auburn hair and vivid blue eyes, wrinkled and grey and long since dead. A girl with many faces looked west, her many eyes shut. A small man rested in a cavernous tomb beneath a mighty rock. Who were they? she always asked herself. I know their faces, but I forget their names. The girl she had been would remember; the woman she was had no need for such reminders. I am no longer that girl, she thought. I am a woman, born again but not the same. The Red God’s followers had once called her Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Mother of Dragons. Breaker of Chains. Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. The Silver Queen. The Unburnt. Mysha. Remember who you are, Daenerys. The dragons know, a haunted voice called out. Do you? She removed the glamour and tossed it into the writhing flames. A dragon is not a slave, she smiled, sadly. I will be bound no longer. To the magic or the name. The chain and ruby did not melt, however. She watched it for a very long time, then knelt and picked it up. It was cold to the touch, and she gripped it tightly in her fist, trying to break it. The gem glowed and throbbed. It called to her. I will use it, she decided. It will not use me. Behind the spells, she was just an old woman with long silver-gold and white hair streaked with shades of darkening grey. Her black eyes lifted their veil to peak through the violet eyes of her ancestors. She was tired and weary of the path laid before her, but her heart was a fire and that fire was made flesh. The old dragon circled above and spread his huge black leather wings flapping them violently and roaring toward the heavens. The beating spurred the flames to rise higher and higher and higher until they swirled upward, reaching out toward the midday sun. At the center of the fury, she paused as if trapped in the eye of some gloriously awful storm sent by the gods. The wind died down. The world calmed around her and the flames languished and became small again. A lemon fell to the ground and rolled to touch her feet. Half of it was singed. Before her stood the house. But its red door was painted black.

#asoiaf #asongoficeandfire #got #gameofthrones #daenerystargaryen #dany #motherofdragons #fanfic #fanficwriting #fanfiction

[kittykatknits]

Hi! So I came across (several) posts stating how Sansa is "removed" from everything Northern and how Lady's death means she's less of a Stark and that she doesn't fit in the North arc as her arc is completely different from her siblings (which is magical),the Northerners won't accept her,SR destroying snow castle means she'll never return to WF etc. My question: Do you think Sansa will return North? Do you think she'll ever reunite w/ her siblings and stay in WF? Thanks

Oh yes, to both questions. Easily. I’d also say Sansa will be the first Stark to cross the gates into Winterfell and it’s quite possible she’ll serve as a focal or rallying point for her siblings.

As for the rest, Sansa suffers from a negative POV bias in the first book, and honestly, I’m often left with the feeling that the old adage is true, first impressions matter. I’m not going to get into the narrative structure of Sansa’s chapters or character in this but we can tackle the rest of it.

I’ll go through those comments, point by point, below. This is long because I don’t know how to shut up.

(1)First, Sansa isn’t removed from everything Northern. She happens to be the only Starkling born in winter, and as we know, winter is a time for wolves. Not only that, much of her story line is about her ties to the north, it’s why she’s being used for her claim. It’s also important to note Sansa’s claim is not just over Winterfell, it’s about her name. Sansa is a Stark, she’s descended from a line going back several thousand years. That matters a lot in Westerosi politics, where name and status mean so much. The girl has power and her story is very much about her learning to wield it.

Her strongest desire is to go home, back to Winterfell, back to the north, to the place her family has lived in and ruled over since Bran the Builder. She also has the distinction of featuring snow and winter imagery in her chapters. In fact, the prominence of both only increases as the books go on. I’d say of the Starklings, she shares it with Jon the most. Here are a few lines from aFfC below:

So lovely. The snow-clad summit of the Giant’s Lance loomed above her, an immensity of stone and ice that dwarfed the castle perched upon its shoulder.

The small diamond-shaped panes of the window were obscured by frost. Alayne rubbed at one with the heel of her hand, enough to glimpse a brilliant blue sky and a blaze of white from the mountainside. The Eyrie was wrapped in an icy mantle, the Giant’s Lance above buried in waist-deep snows.

Old snow cloaked the courtyard, and icicles hung down like crystal spears from the terraces and towers. The Eyrie was built of fine white stone, and winter’s mantle made it whiter still.

Shards of ice and snow rained down on them, and the oak creaked and strained. Robert gave a gasp and clung to her, burying his face between her breasts.

There are lots more I could mention but let’s focus on that last one. Shards of ice and snow are raining down on them. Literally, winter is falling in that quote and Sansa is the one leading Sweetrobin down the mountain. Remember what she said in SoS? She’s stronger within the walls of Winterfell. She’s stronger when winter falls. If that isn’t Northern, I don’t know what is.

Beyond that, this girl is a wolf, or more accurately, she can sometimes be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. However, Sansa never forgets who she is and she lets her fangs show at times:

A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, “Maybe my brother will give me your head.”

She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters,

When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she’d thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. “I want it burned.”

Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

We also get one of my favorite exchanges in the series:

“…Harrenhal has withered every hand to touch it.“

“Then give it to Lord Frey.”

-Alayne I, aFfC

None of the above are words or thoughts from a character that should be perceived as meek or passive. Sansa is one the most empathetic characters in the series and one of the kindest but she can be fierce too.

Now, as to Lady, the discourse tends to focus so much on whether Sansa got her wolf killed, even though the entire answer isn’t so simple. What happens after often gets overlooked:

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

“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.

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

- Eddard III, GoT

So, if the wolves are representations of the Stark children, then Sansa is currently the only Stark to have a piece of her soul within the grounds of Winterfell, none of the rest can make that claim. More than that, let’s look at what Ned is saying here, it’s foreshadowing. The Lannisters tried to lay claim to Lady but, ultimately, they failed. It’s the same with Sansa, they had her as a prisoner but they never got her skin. Ned also says that Lady will be taken north, all that way, with four men to act as an honor guard. Sansa is going to go north, with an army of men, and she will be able to do it, in part, because of the relationships her father built so long ago. Lady connects Sansa to the north.

(2)I’m really not sure what to make of her arc as being different from her siblings because of the lack of magic. For starters it’s horribly reductive, for all of them, not just Sansa. Jon’s arc is just as much about politics, negotiation, diplomacy, and leadership. Heck, part of his story in Dance is to count hams. Where’s the magic in that? It’s the same with Arya. Her arc also includes themes of leadership, identity, and justice v. vengeance. All of that matters as much as the magic.

Sansa is also a warg, just like her siblings. She’s mentioned by the Ghost of HH which connects her to magic. She has magical stories being told of her. And you’ll rip my Sansa is an empath theory out of my cold, undead, wightified hands. I’ll grant that magic is not as prevalent in her story line but completely devoid? Nope.

She also happens to have very similar story lines to both Bran and Arya. They start the series secure, are held prisoner, forced to hide behind false identities, have taken up with mentors that all have…well…dubious motives. All three are moving towards a point where they will somehow outsmart their teachers, reclaim their identity, and make their way home.

(3) I’m not going to break down the entire snow castle scene, its been done many times before and I don’t have much new to add at this point. However, as it relates to her, it’s the symbolism that matters.The giant managed to knock over a couple of tower roofs and part of a wall. The giant didn’t destroy WF, Sansa stopped him. Even more, the snow castle scene gives us this line:

She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

Not only that, we get this gem later:”You were bold enough in the snow.“

Lysa says that to Sansa just before trying to shove her out the moon door but it’s a heck of a line. Snow makes Sansa bold, she’s stronger where winter falls.

(4) The northerners are fighting to save The Ned’s little girl, so not sure why this would not also apply to Sansa? The challenge with her is that no one knows where she is or how to get to her. The whereabouts and “identity” of Jeyne Poole are well known.

Sansa was forced to marry, just as Jeyne was. If Sansa and Tyrion returned north, under similar circumstances, it would only be a matter of time until Sansa was made a widow. Not only that, it’s made explicitly clear why northerners are fighting:

"Ned’s girl,” said Morgan Liddle. He was the second of three sons, so the other wolves called him Middle Liddle, though not often in his hearing. It was Morgan who had almost slain Asha in the fight by Deepwood Motte. He had come to her later, on the march, to beg her pardon … for calling her cunt in his battle lust, not for trying to split her head open with an axe.“Ned’s girl,” echoed Big Bucket Wull. “And we should have had her and the castle both if you prancing southron jackanapes didn’t piss your satin breeches at a little snow.��

..and later (in one of my favorite passages in the entire series)…

That seemed to amuse the northman. “I want to live forever in a land where summer lasts a thousand years. I want a castle in the clouds where I can look down over the world. I want to be six-and-twenty again. When I was six-and-twenty I could fight all day and fuck all night. What men want does not matter."Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue.”“Aye!” shouted Morgan Liddle. “Blood and battle!” Then all the hillmen were shouting, banging their cups and drinking horns on the table, filling the king’s tent with the clangor.

-The King’s Prize, aDwD (bold emphasis mine)

What about the above would lead the reader to believe they would not care about Sansa? They are fighting for Ned’s girl and House Stark, they don’t care about a crown or the Iron Throne.

Let’s switch gears to Manderly now:

“The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. My son is home.”  

-Davos IV, aDwD

Manderly got his son back and now he’s honoring his promise, because he remembers. He wants his liege lord back and he’s at Winterfell, making it pretty clear to us, the readers, that his mission is a suicide mission.

Also, let’s not forget the Umbers, they remember as well. Whoresbane is repeatedly described as old. Not only that, the Umber forces are divided so the green boys are with his brother while he has the old men. Whoresbane is planning to turn his cloak and go down fighting, exactly as described earlier.

With all of the above, I’d sooner think Sansa, the girl who is believed to have killed Joffrey, will be welcomed home.

Sansa is a Stark and a Wolf. She’s going home and she’s going home soon. If I’m wrong (and I’m not), I’ll eat my hat.

#Sansa Stark #sansa stark meta #house stark #house stark meta #ASoIaF #asoiaf meta #anon asks #feel free to ask #feel free to ignore #my meta