That was such a sweet dream, Sansa thought drowsily. She had been back in Winterfell, running through the godswood with her Lady. Her father had been there, and her brothers, all of them warm and safe. If only dreaming could make it so …
She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now. – A Storm of Swords
A Song of Ice and Fire 2022 Calendar by Arantza Sestayo
My most unpopular ASOIAF opinion is probably that Viserys II deserved better. He was kept hostage and forced by his captors to marry at like eleven (if not younger) and had his first kid at thirteen.
#he was terrible to his kids #and he should've known better #but he was also #y'know a KID #don't give me this ~he was in love with larra bullshit #he was a kid married off to a grown adult in a foreign land of course he got attached to her! #its not like he had a choice either way though--to the rogares pculd break off their marriage but by their terms Viserys could not #Viserys ii#deserved better#ASOIAF
Notes: I know the whole "Promise me, Ned" theme is done to death, but here is a little dream-sequence excerpt from an old fanfic I have no intention of finishing... or publishing. But I figured this would do nicely as a stand-alone piece.
Ned awoke to candlelight and song, down within the damp crypts of Winterfell. So close to home, his heart was hammering in his chest, it felt so comforting... as if he could feel a tender hand upon his cheek.
“Ned?” a soft voice called, and the hand gently turned his head upward, and he could smell the scent of blood and winter roses. “Ned?” the voice called again, grey eyes staring down at him. He never thought he would see those eyes again. “Ned.” She smiled and Ned wanted to weep for the fool he had been.
“Lyanna.” He breathed and she pulled him close. After all this time, they were finally together again. Just as they were meant to be. “I’ve missed you, little sister.”
“I’ve missed you too.” She agreed but slowly pulled away from their embrace and everything seemed to grow cold and sad. “Oh, Ned.”
“Lyanna?” A gust of winter wind blew through the tunnel, the candles flickering desperately in it’s wake. “Is something wrong?” He asked, looking back at his sister, her hand still playing with his hair… She use to do that as a young girl, when they had both been far too innocent for this world.
“Why did you break your promise?” She asked so sweetly, Ned could only blink at her in surprise. “Why did you fail me, Ned?” Ned’s breathing became shallow, he was so cold.
“I—I don’t understand?” He tried to explain, tried to take her hand in his, to reassure her… but her skin was slippery, it cracked and broke and flaked away and he looked back up at her beautiful face as it began to wilt like the damned rose.
“You promised me, Ned.” Her voice rasped and before his very eyes she once again began to disappear. “You promised me. And you failed me.” Ned desperately tried to grasp at her, to make her stay, but she slipped through his fingers and the wind was howling and the candles had all but burned out and there was sweat upon his brow. “You failed me.”
And the lingering scent of blood and winter roses… Ned felt as though he may be sick.
“No.” He denied. “No!” He screamed to all the dead, he could feel their hard looks upon him; kneeling in a pool of blood. It wasn’t his blood. “No!”
“You failed.” They replied. His lord father’s stone face glared down upon him in disappointment. “You failed as a son.” They called.
Brandon’s stone face glared down upon him in disappointment. “You failed as a Lord.” They called.
Lyanna. “You failed as a brother.”
Catelyn. “You failed as a husband.”
Robb. “You failed as a father.”
Robert. “You!” His anger was distinct and Ned scampered away in surprise. “I trusted you!” His war hammer was raised to strike him down. “Traitor!”
“Ned!” Ned couldn’t see, it was all so dark and cold and smelt of blood and winter roses. “Ned!” He was gasping for air, clawing at the walls until his fingers bled, he couldn’t breath. “Ned!” There was the sound of battle just beyond; a clash of swords and the anguish screams of the dying.
“Traitor.” Ned stopped at the sound of the singular voice and everything stilled. He knew that voice. And slowly he turned his head back to the mouth of the crypts in dread, and there He stood; a crown of winter roses upon his dark curls, the thorns prickling at his flesh and blood dripping from his neck. Eyes burning with disappointment and Ned’s heart broke.
“Jon.” He whispered. His promise. But Jon turned away and descended the stairs to join the dead. And Ned was left all alone. Snow and ice and wind and rain, and the whole of the North glared down upon him.
Myranda was soft-bodied and sweet-smelling, broad of hip, thick of waist, and extremely buxom. Her thick chestnut curls framed round red cheeks, a small mouth, and a pair of lively brown eyes.
Honestly compared to other descriptions of fat characters that we get (i.e. Sam and Wyman), this is very flattering. I love that Sansa doesn’t look down on Myranda for her weight or think that her beauty is diminished in any way because of it, in contrast to other characters that we see fat-shame.
The longer we go without new book content, and the longer we’re all stuck together waging war with opposing factions of the fandom, I am less influenced by my wishes and predictions for the series by the books themselves, and more out of a desire to see certain fandoms win, and other fandoms lose.
What I’m saying is, I have never looked forward to something not happening, as I am looking forward to the moment when I open the next books, and J0nsa never happens.
Queen Alysanne, for her part, was in no haste to return to court. “Here I have you to myself, day and night,” she told Jaehaerys. “When we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you.” For her, these days on Dragonstone were an idyll. “Many years from now when we are old and grey, we shall look back upon these days and smile, remembering how happy we were.”
Summer is For Dorne: Daenerys Targaryen & Maron Martell
There was no final insult, no great wrong, that led Daemon Blackfyre to turn against King Daeron. If it was truly all for love of Daenerys, how is it that eight years passed before the rebellion bloomed? That was a long time to harbor thwarted love, especially when his wife, Rohanne, had already given him seven sons and daughters besides, and Daenerys had also borne Prince Maron several heirs. Whether Daenerys returned Daemon’s affections, as those who rose for the Black Dragon later claimed, who could say? In the years after her marriage, Daenerys was never aught but a loyal wife to Prince Maron, and if she mourned Daemon, she left no record of it.
“The Water Gardens are my favorite place in this world, ser. One of my ancestors had them built to please his Targaryen bride and free her from the dust and heat of Sunspear. Daenerys was her name. She was sister to King Daeron the Good, and it was her marriage that made Dorne part of the Seven Kingdoms. It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer’s day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day.
Found something interesting to share, since it doesn't fit with what I'm currently writing.
As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon's turn.
Now Aerys was delusional and obsessed with wildfire, so not sure that did anything to stop winter, but the imagery of wildfire burning on the walls of the Red Keep somewhat reminds me of the imagery of the Fire Nation throne room in Avatar: The Last Airbender. More specifically, when Azula was in charge near the end and it was blue fire. Nothing important, just noting that the Targaryens are the Fire Nation and Ozai was the Mad King and Azula is Viserys and Zuko is Rhaegar.
Actually, Azula is more like Cersei, but in terms of Targaryen stuff she's a bit like Viserys.
jon in his first AGoT chapter is soooo close to just choosing monarchs based on their sexiness. like, he sees robert and his thought process is literally “i thought kings were supposed to be hot??? disappointing :///” THEN he sees jaime and all but declares “THIS is what i’m talking about this guy is hot. why is he not king”
#i mean i agree #asoiaf thoughts #jacquelyn.txt #if anyone thought this was going to be jonposting i'm sorry. everything on this blog is just thinly veiled jaimeposting
so I’m thinking about how if you reverse the titles of aeron’s chapters so far they form theon’s story: the forsaken (theon in acok), the drowned man (surviving ramsay), and then the prophet (connected to the gods)