"More Frills!" I Say.

some doodles of Rickon and Shaggydog and Bran and Summer... I HC that after his wolf dreams Bran is CONVINCED summer can talk

Arthur Dayne arrived on the jousting field with the dawn. Above him, the sun's first flush sent pale fingers of light stretching across the eastern sky, turning Harrenhal’s charred towers into shadowy grey wraiths that drifted among the mists. Only birdsong accompanied his steps.

He had always been an early riser, much preferring the sun’s call to some squire’s. Sleep was no generous mistress to the Kingsguard, nor a frequent visitor. Duties, though, they bore in spades. Charged with protecting the king and his kin by day, the White Swords were expected to serve just as diligently by night.

The task had never troubled Arthur. Duty and discipline called to his blood. It did, however, trouble the king. Too Dornish, Aerys oft complained of him, though he just as oft forgot his mislike when faced with Arthur’s fair skin, so unlike the dark sandy Dornishmen of his imagination. Mad kings cannot be expected to be learned men, he supposed. But of late it seemed the king remembered well enough, and his disdain for Arthur’s Rhoynish blood had earned him a night’s reprieve from guarding his door. With the queen and Prince Viserys forbidden from attending, there was no need to stand watch over them either. Prince Lewyn, as usual, guarded Rhaegar and Elia.

A rare respite—lighter duties, and the luxury of greeting the new day unwearied.

Now Arthur mounted his white courser with a quick pat to the mare’s flank. She was a good horse and swift, but he missed the long-necked sand steeds of Dorne. Dawn, too, he missed. The ancient milk-pale greatsword felt more right in his hand than any tourney lance, but such was the duty of a white cloak: protect the king, keep his secrets, obey his commands. Today's command was to entertain.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Snippet from A Crown of False Spring, Chapter 2.

Tourney at Harrenhal art by René Aigner.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t.”

Tomix didn’t respond, his profile cast in the eerie glow of the Void. The dim light caught on his snowy lashes, each one outlined like a fragile thread of frost. Anger radiated off him in smoldering waves. How had it come to this? She couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. So she, too, turned her eyes to the swirling purple expanse. The abyss stretched endlessly before them, shifting and mocking, its whispers crawling beneath her skin. Coward, it taunted.

What a pair of fools they made, standing shoulder to shoulder yet miles apart, clinging to the empty embrace of the Void as if it could shield them from each other. From themselves. They were two shadows suspended within the same violet light, a fractured mirror of festering wounds. 

favorite thing in asoiaf is that the stark family tree is just filled with haters in every generation. theon stark brandon snow alaric stark cregan stark even ned's brother brandon and lyanna too. even the current kids jon snow robb sansa and arya all have some kendrick lamar level of beef w at least one person. brandon the builder spawned an entire genre of haters

Balloonerism 🎈☁️

“Duty kept me here, serving Edelia, when I should have been at his side. Blaming you was easier than facing my own guilt. Promise me you will take care of him,” he scoffed. “That was never your responsibility to bear.”

“But it was,” Gem interrupted. Frustration roiled in her chest, swelling like a rising tide. “I loved him too.”

Danyel’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. “Love doesn’t excuse what he put you through. It doesn’t make it right that you had to shoulder a burden that wasn’t yours.”

“And yet, I chose to,” Gem said softly. “It wasn’t your responsibility, and it wasn’t mine. It was my choice. It was his choice, Danyel. It always was.”

“He was my brother. He needed me.”

“And your students needed you, too.”

“My duty—”

“What does it fucking matter!” she burst out suddenly. “What even is duty? Duty to Tomix, duty to family, duty to Edelia, duty to Lore—what do you do when they pull you in different directions? You can’t do it all. I can’t do it all. What if it’s all meaningless?” 

Danyel didn’t reply immediately. He studied her, jaw tight and knuckles white where his hands gripped the wooden ledge of the spiritloom. “You think it’s meaningless?” His voice was low, almost disbelieving. “You, the Hero of Falconreach?”

“I—I don’t know anymore.” Gem's voice cracked, and she looked away. Apprehend Sepulchure. Vanquish Drakath. Help the Rose. Stand by the Vind. Banish Envy. Save Tomix. It was too much. “What has duty ever done for me? And what did it ever do for Tomix? Did it save him? Did it save your family?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “All it did was leave you alone, just like it left me.”

He flinched as if struck. “So tell me—should I just abandon it? Pretend it doesn’t matter?”

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t know. I just… I just wish it hadn’t cost us so much.”

Bran!!

Jon Arryn in the Father’s image, His Mercy Burns

For my latest chapter, Robert IV.

Art by Monkele.art

"How did you get through the Wall?" Jojen demanded as Sam struggled to his feet. "Does the well lead to an underground river, is that where you came from?

You're not even wet ..."

"There's a gate," said fat Sam. "A hidden gate, as old as the Wall itself. The Black Gate, he called it."

The Reeds exchanged a look. "We'll find this gate at the bottom of the well?" asked Jojen.

Sam shook his head. "You won't. I have

to take you."

"Why?" Meera demanded. "If there's a gate ...

"You won't find it. If you did it wouldn't open. Not for you. It's the Black Gate." Sam plucked at the faded black wool of his sleeve. "Only a man of the Night's Watch can open it, he said. A Sworn Brother who has said his words."

"He said." Jojen frowned. "This ….. Cold-hands?"-ASOS -Bran IV

I found a drawing I never finished in middle school and it made me sad because I've completely forgotten how to art and haven't even picked up a pencil in years