aclashofmuses-a - Tumblr blog

[aclashofmuses-a]

@aclashofmuses

cannot for the life of me remember the email address i used to create my fresh blog for this account with.  can we all be real cool about me using an archive going forward, ooor ??

JUST KIDDING!!  you can find me at @aclashofmuses

[aclashofmuses-a]

Send  🗨️  to hear my muse’s final words to your muse before they die II @dracharenae

IT IS AN ARROW which does it.  there are several, but it was one so carefully placed which makes it impossible for ygritte to recover -- some wounds cannot be mended, and that is how it goes.  in all her life in the true north, never has she felt this cold.  but there is warmth -- her body pulled into rhaenys’ arms -- and she smiles.  “tell me again,” she says, her voice dull embers of she who was kissed by fire.  “ ‘bout the dragons.”

[aclashofmuses-a]

Send  🗨️  to hear my muse’s final words to your muse before they die II @dracharenae

LIFE HAD NOT BEEN KIND TO SHE OR RHAENYS when they had been but small and hopeful of the world, but the lost princess had offered her hope when sansa had been someone else, and what had bloomed from that had been far stronger than anything she could have imagined.  they had been ever faithful companions, even as they ruled from opposite points of westeros -- long letters the length of books passed between them throughout their lifetime; a journey of shared kin through the marriage of rhaenys’s son and sansa’s daughter, and so many wonderful grandchildren it is sometimes almost easy to forget the lives they had lost before the new one had been built.  almost.

sansa is older than her mother had ever gotten to grow; her auburn hair streaked more silvery white than fire now; her skin lined with years of reclaimed smiles with her companion.  she lays in her bed, sleeping most of the day away these days, knowing what awaits her very soon.  tired eyes brighten when it is announced that rhaenys is here -- and though they are both old and different now, sansa still sees the beautiful girl who had saved her so long ago.

she holds rhaenys’ hand and they speak for what seems like hours, perhaps days -- filling the gaps that their letter books could not -- and she laughs as if she is but a girl again, changed but reminiscent of who she had once been; the beginning stages of who she would become with rhaenys’ help.

“you have always been my sister,” she tells her, holding rhaenys’ hands with both her own.

[aclashofmuses-a]

Send  🗨️  to hear my muse’s final words to your muse before they die II @dracharenae

THERE IS MUCH TO BE SAID, which will remain unsaid, as time races against them as it seems it must have always done.  how close she had been to reclaiming the seastone chair -- balon’s blood and heir and the rightful queen of pyke -- but she could not best euron crow’s eye try as she might.  she could not bring about her own victory, let alone rhaenys’.  “kill him -- for me,” she says, her eyes determined though the light which had filled them has dimmed considerably.  “kill him -- and those fucking lions --” asha clutches rhaenys, nodding.  “-- and rule.”

[aclashofmuses-a]

Send  🗨️  to hear my muse’s final words to your muse before they die II @dracharenae

DESPITE THE BLOOD WHICH FILLS HIS TONGUE, he is grinning.  his head cradled in her arms, his wound too vital to be patched -- one day he would be taken from this life, but he would die as he lived, and he did.  “i would die ten thousand deaths more,” his voice his hoarse and wet at the same time, golden tooth glittering red with his demise.  his larger, bejeweled hand takes hers and squeezes it with what strength he has left, lifting her knuckles to press a kiss against her skin.  “for my sweet princess to live once.”

[aclashofmuses-a]

Send  🗨️  to hear my muse’s final words to your muse before they die!

[aclashofmuses-a]

my phone instinctively unfollowed jo bc it knew she was about to ruin me with sad memes bUT I FOUND OUT AND NOW IM SAD !!

[aclashofmuses-a]

𝐖𝐓𝐅 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓 ? ? ?

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 ( accepting ) for @aclashofmuses

[aclashofmuses-a]

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑.

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 ( accepting ) for @aclashofmuses

[aclashofmuses-a]

oraiososta​:

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ — IT IS ALL INEVITIABLE, REALLY. JUST AS rhaegar was expected to wed someone of a noble house, the same can be said for his sister  -  for she is not lacking in suitors. many have come to desire the beautiful dragon princess, whose features are soft and whose demeanor is gentle. beauty and grace, these are attractive qualities in a princess, aren’t they ? ? ? yet rhaegar knows his sister to be more than such exterior things, and he knows of a man who is abundantly aware … and who is already so fond of her. “ it shall not be long after elia and i wed, sweet shaena, ” rhaegar says, regarding her with a slight head tilt. he conjures images of shaena and ser jaime exchanging looks across halls, little smiles when none seem to be looking, and blushes shared between them. “ lord tywin is undoubtedly furious as to his daughter losing a place at my side, but imagine he could be softened to his son being by yours. ”

@aclashofmuses​

“I DOUBT THAT A WOMAN SHOULD SOOTHE THE LION’S PRIDE,” shaena admits, leaning back against the column.  “princess or not, that does not make cersei a queen, and it does not bring lord tywin much more influence.  i am but a small piece in things now.” her fingers twiddle together idly, a habit unbecoming the princess, but she cannot help but wring her hands.  “what if he does not allow it, rhaegar ??  he refused your elia and prince oberyn for his children, and now elia is to be queen."

[aclashofmuses-a]

oraiososta​:

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ — THE THOUGHT MIGHT BE WRONG, FOR JON knows that it shall never come to pass, he allows himself to consider ygritte in the sparring yard at winterfell. he imagines smiling with pride as she impresses even ser rodrik. arya would like her. the thought is a sweet one, but jon knows the truth. ygritte could never settle herself in a castle, to be bound. she is free. to an extent, jon realizes he could become used to this freedom, too. sweet and dangerous as these thoughts, when left to their own devices.

       jon tilts his head up, pressing a kiss to her lips. although their surroundings are cold, ygritte’s lips are warm, albeit slightly chapped. “ beaten and pinned as i might be, i could still gain the upper hand, ” jon teases. as if to prove his point, he tries to flip them.

@aclashofmuses​

AND SHE LETS HIM FLIP THEM, if only so that she might cup his face in her hands and draw him in for another kiss -- slow, deep; lingering.  the cold is buth a myth with the warmth of him atop her.  “i’ve got you right where i want you, jon snow,” she tells him, her voice a hushed sound, quieted even further in another stolen kiss.  “but how do you want me ??”

[aclashofmuses-a]

Elia. Say it! Elia, of Dorne.

[aclashofmuses-a]

i owe 3-4 starters for arianne and 1 for elia ( i think those are all ?? ) -- would anyone else like a starter ??  please reply with for which muse(s) !!

[aclashofmuses-a]

@gevivella​ said: write me a starter for elia  

UM EXCUSE ME, MISS !! there was not even a please in that sentence !!

[aclashofmuses-a]

oraiososta​:

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ — OBERYN’S GAZE IS DISTANT, FIXATED ACROSS THE fields where knights practice for the tourney. his expression could easily be described as cross, as there is a crease between his furrowed brow, a hardness to lips, and his near black eyes cold like stones. servants have been far too intimidated to approach him, for fear of the red viper’s foul mood. doran would call this brooding, or even sulking. but how can oberyn not be cross ? ? ? his sister is damned to KING’S LANDING to marry rhaegar targaryen, to be queen of that wretched, shit-pile of a city someday. to be queen of these foul realms. his sweet elia, who thrives in dorne, who is sweetness embodied, to be sent to live with the dragons. oberyn might have stayed sullenly in place beneath the shade of his tent, were it not for elia’s appearance. instantly he softens, straightening his back and watching as she sits beside him. her words are thoughtful and delicate, as ever. “ they say is skilled in music and swordplay and prone to melancholy, too, ” oberyn muses, watching her carefully. “ i don’t like this, elia. they say dragonstone is a cold and hollow place, with fierce winds and grey skies. it is not sunspear, where you are most happy. ”

@aclashofmuses​

“YOUR OPINION IS MOST IMPORTANT TO ME, but you are ever a harsh critic.” she says, small smile touching her lips as her own dark eyes look up to regard him.  oberyn is her most treasured companion after all.  “not even the crown prince is good enough for your sister ??  shall i live an old maid in sunspear for the rest of my life ??  at play, naked in the water gardens still.  not only will they think me frail, they shall think me simple as well.”  still, she laughs more easily than she thought she might under the blossoming new changes.  being with oberyn lessens her worries, though he does address some concerns.  she will grow to love rhaegar targaryen, and, if not, she will learn to tolerate him.

[aclashofmuses-a]

oraiososta​:

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ — DORAN RECALLS HAVING STARED AT THE LETTER a long while before daring to open it, his dark eyes imprinted upon the fair parchment with the lion’s seal. his jaw had tightly clenched, considering every possible outcome to this war, every defiling act committed against his family, and had soothed his need to STRIKE with blind venom before he had finally opened it. tywin lannister’s words were clipped, as per usual; formal, yet to the point. firstly, elia martell was alive, and would be returned to dorne. but her children …

       oberyn had thrown furniture, had shattered glass and screamed in every venomous tongue. they had wept together. oberyn had ridden to retrieve elia himself, meeting the lannisters on the road, and taking her with an army of dornishmen back to sunspear. there is no great feast to welcome princess elia home, no large mass of servants to cheer her welcome, nor music to fill the air. there is solemn silence, as elia is taken to her quarters. doran is alerted upon her arrival, and he takes a time to steady himself before he goes to her, because, gods, how can he bear to keep his wrath calm ? ? ? he manages, as he finds himself at elia’s door, pushing it open after a courteous knock. he finds her standing there, trembling. her eyes, once so warm, are glazed with tears and shatter. “ elia, ” doran says. he forgets the pain in his legs. leaning on his cane, he walks briskly towards her, and reaches to hold her cheek, brushing tears from under her eyes. “ we failed you. ”

@aclashofmuses​​

HER MOUTH CURVES HEAVILY TOWARDS HER CHIN, the muscles of her face stubbornly refusing to perk. when she blinks, her vision is blurred, her brother’s face but unformed shapes — images which twist to her bright rhaenys and sweet aegon and their blood which stains her skin. for all her credit, she does not break, she has done so already innumerable times; elia is BROKEN. her hands tremble slightly, her head shakes from side-to-side.

“NO, DORAN, I FAILED,” she says, as the weight of this is a heavy burden on her. had she been strong enough to bear another child, would her children still be alive ?? had she been quicker, could she have slit the mountain’s throat before her son’s brains covered the walls ?? she had stopped being dorne’s responsibility the moment rhaegar cloaked her in his protection — for all the good that did; he is gone now too. “i — i was supposed to keep them safe.”

[aclashofmuses-a]

HER SKIN PRICKLES DIFFERENTLY TO HIS TOUCH than it would the chill -- not unwelcome.  her head turns, fingertips brushing against his jaw, scraping softly against skin, as she looks upon him with her oceanic eyes.  ygritte smiles -- teeth crooked and white -- she laughs.  “he would pay, for it would be as cruel to me as t’you.”  she tells him, lifting her fingertip from his jaw to run the length of his nose; careful at his eye before swiping her thumb over a lid.  “you won’t be half so fair to look upon without eyes or a nose.”

calloused palm glides down a skinny, pale thigh, to curve atop her knobby knee.  she’s warm, he muses, nose buried within that mess of wild red hair.  pain stabs him anew when he calls to mind his mission. leaving her will be the most difficult task of his life. it’s secret, stolen, hushed moments like these    —   when the world is warm and soft and right  —  that tear them away from the cold, cruel reality of winter and treachery.  here, there is rare laughter and mirth. which world is realer? which is truer?  the gods are cruel, indeed. 

“ if we stay here longer,  mance will think i’ve truly stolen off with you. what would orell’s bird do then?  he scratched my eyes before,  this time he might take them out, and my nose along with them.”  

━━  ╳   @aclashofmuses​ ( ygritte )