There Are Old Valyria Velaryons Everywhere To Those With Eyes That Are Willing To See

there are old valyria velaryons everywhere to those with eyes that are willing to see

There Are Old Valyria Velaryons Everywhere To Those With Eyes That Are Willing To See
There Are Old Valyria Velaryons Everywhere To Those With Eyes That Are Willing To See
There Are Old Valyria Velaryons Everywhere To Those With Eyes That Are Willing To See
There Are Old Valyria Velaryons Everywhere To Those With Eyes That Are Willing To See

More Posts from Lucennia and Others

5 months ago

Might a request a Jaania for the fandom requests? <3

Might A Request A Jaania For The Fandom Requests?

Jaania for you!


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5 months ago
Más Dibujos Sin Terminar Porque Ya No Me Importa Nada
Más Dibujos Sin Terminar Porque Ya No Me Importa Nada
Más Dibujos Sin Terminar Porque Ya No Me Importa Nada
Más Dibujos Sin Terminar Porque Ya No Me Importa Nada

Más dibujos sin terminar porque ya no me importa nada


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5 months ago
The Moon's Wide Awake, With A Smile On His Face As He Smuggles Constellations In His Suitcase

The moon's wide awake, with a smile on his face As he smuggles constellations in his suitcase

Yeah this is the one.


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4 months ago
"The Things I Do For Love" - AGOT - Bran II

"The things I do for love" - AGOT - Bran II


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4 months ago
"More Frills!" I Say.

"More Frills!" I say.

Alina Court Attire Redesign

Artist's Note: I looked at the design I made for Alina's Court Alchemist outfit, and something just didn't seem right to me. It was too simple. Dare I say...too plain So, I decided to add a few more details in small areas and I think it adds so much more to her outfit! I am satisfied!

Down below is the revised outfit concept ⬇️⬇️⬇️

"More Frills!" I Say.

Artist's Note: Not that different. Just the same image with a few more frills on one outfit.


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5 months ago
Dany In Qarth

Dany in Qarth


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3 weeks ago

Aegon (VI) & the Apple of Discord

Cast: Aphrodite!Shiera, Hera!Rhaenys, Athena!Visenya, Paris!Aegon VI

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Undaunted now, Aegon turned his face to look upon the deathless goddesses: Rhaenys, gilded in splendorous regality; Visenya, ablaze with noble might; and Shiera, sweet with tender blooms and all the foliage of spring.

The fated son of Rhaegar lamented that not all could win. But still, one pleased him more.

“Of winning all are worthy,” began Aegon the shepherd-prince, before turning his clear-eyed gaze upon the goddess of love, “but—”

“Young Aegon.”

Bright-eyed Visenya, swift to sense the shifting tide, stepped forward before the offending verdict could fall. She took the youth by the hand, smiling. “Leave Rhaenys, and heed not Shiera—but look toward me, who aids the prowess of men. Come, and I will bestow upon you battle wisdom unrivaled and immortal skill in war.”

Aegon moved to speak, but Rhaenys the Queen claimed the moment for herself.

“Dear child of fate,” said the queen of gods, “elect me, and I shall make you king of the Nine Free Cities. Pentos, land of your false father. Braavos of the Hundred Isles. Myr, where art and learning flourish, and Qohor, where iron bends to no one. Norvos, Lorath, Lys. Proud Volantis in the south. Tyrosh, the city of color.”

White-armed Rhaenys raised her scepter high, a golden crown glittering in her gaze. “War is the burden of the ruled. A king commands with but a word. Elect me, and you shall stand above all thrones.”

Great was their desire for victory, Wisdom and Queen plying the Judge’s favor with the wondrous gifts of their domains. The Judge wavered, uncertain—for how could one choose between the valorous heart and power over men?

Sweetly, Love smiled.

“Forget weary war, sweet Aegon. Cast aside your thoughts of crippling crowns. Do not let such gifts ensnare you. I speak not of Rhaenys nor Visenya, for mine own realm is greater still. For what is conquest without beauty to inspire it? What is kingship without a woman’s heart to share it?”

Shiera Seastar reached forward and brushed a stray curl from Aegon's brow, her rosy fingers feather-light. Her touch lingered like a promise. Behind her, the Charites and Horae sang a song of love and doom so sweet it ached.

“It is naught but ash, dear one. And so my gift shall be of love."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Snippet from Godspun, Prologue.


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5 months ago
And Here’s Arya And Her Little Lip Chew

And here’s Arya and her little lip chew


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3 months ago
The Lady Margaery 🌹

the lady margaery 🌹

“If you had to fall into a woman's arms, my son, why couldn't they have been Margaery Tyrell's? The wealth and power of Highgarden could have made all the difference in the fighting yet to come. And perhaps Grey Wind would have liked the smell of her as well.” - catelyn stark (robb & margaery the power couple that never was)


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3 months ago
Lyanna Stark’s World Was Dappled In A Grey-green Patchwork Of Shadow As She Trotted Beneath The Trees
Lyanna Stark’s World Was Dappled In A Grey-green Patchwork Of Shadow As She Trotted Beneath The Trees
Lyanna Stark’s World Was Dappled In A Grey-green Patchwork Of Shadow As She Trotted Beneath The Trees
Lyanna Stark’s World Was Dappled In A Grey-green Patchwork Of Shadow As She Trotted Beneath The Trees

Lyanna Stark’s world was dappled in a grey-green patchwork of shadow as she trotted beneath the trees of the Kingsroad. When she emerged from the brush, the land burst into gold. Sunlight kissed leaf and lake alike, scattering across the Gods Eye and gilding its endless surface with a million white diamonds. The air was sweet with wildflowers, dotting the new green grass like tiny yellow stars fallen to earth. Spring had sighed its first breath upon the Riverlands.

And there, before the great expanse of water, stood Harrenhal. Five monstrous stone towers rose from the plains, grasping at the sky like the twisted charred fingers of an ancient giant. Lyanna gave a shiver. It was said Aegon the Conqueror himself had flown atop Balerion the Black Dread, roasting old Harren Hoare alive within the tallest of the five spires. 

The towers glowed red against the night, Old Nan had told her, as red as Aegon’s fury. The dragonfire was so hot the very stones melted and flowed down its walls like candlewax.

She believed it. The castle stood like a ruin now—great, yes, but lumpy and misshapen. It was sad, Lyanna decided. She would have liked to explore the castle before it was burnt.

A pale white blur darted past her.

“Race you to the gates, Lya!” shouted Benjen. Her brother dug his heels into his snowy mount, spurring the mare forward with a great laughing whoop that bounded across the warm southern breeze.

“Benjen, wait!” she protested, but the young pup was already too far gone to hear. Lyanna chewed her lip. Normally she’d be off already, racing after Benjen. Racing past him, she sniffed. She was the best rider in the north. Well, her and Brandon.

She twisted in her seat to look back at their retinue, streaming with white banners emblazoned with the grey direwolf of Stark. Hundreds of flying wolves seemed to snap and snarl as wind rippled through their cloth. Leading them was Brandon, tall and proud as ever atop his sleek black destrier. But there was no fire in his handsome Stark face, and he did not urge his horse forward at their brother’s challenge as he would have once.

It was Brandon who’d lifted her atop her first saddle. It was Brandon who’d secreted her out into the wolfswood against the will of their lord father, teaching her the way of spur and rein. A pair of centaurs, Barbrey Ryswell once called them. Barbrey had meant it as a jab beneath her teasing lilt, she was sure, but still the words had made Lyanna flush with pride. Now it only filled her breast with a hollow grey ache.

Yes, usually it would be her and Brandon racing—if not for the shadow that seemed to hang over him. Over them both. You should be happy, Lyanna scolded herself. You’re finally on a great adventure. And yet.

Suddenly the sight of the Stark heir sent a flash of spite scorching through her blood. How dare he brood. Brandon had betrayed her. Brandon and Father both. Her jaw clenched. This wasn’t the usual joyful fire that rushed beneath her skin urging her to ride; this was anger, pure and sharp as winter's bite.

Without a word, Lyanna put spur to horse and burst after Benjen. The wind tore at her cloak and lashed at her cheeks as she leaned into a ferocious gallop, but it couldn’t blow away the memory that had so soured her mood.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Rewrote the entire first chapter of A Crown of False Spring. 10/10 would collapse right now.

Harrenhal art by Lino Drieghe and René Aigner.


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lucennia - a tulip in a cup
a tulip in a cup

lucy | thoughts tumble blindly down the abyss

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