lucenna-39045

[lucenna-39045]

Sample Story - Game of Thrones

I’ve grown weary in my age…

There is little I can recall these days…

But I will never forget the fire, the screaming, the acrid smell of burning flesh…

The day all went to ruin.

I had been young, back in those days. Barely ten in age. Back then, I was Laenalla Velaryon, Lady of Driftmark. The last of my family name to carry Valyrian blood. My skin had been soft, bronzed, like my predecessors. My hair… it had been that of silvery snow, coiled, framing my face and cascading down my body in waves, kissing my skin. Just as the ocean’s waves kiss the shore. My eyebrows and eyelashes were much the same, my Valyrian nature apparent even from the farthest of distances. But most striking… that had been my eyes.

Hued rosy violet, pale and piercing, just as my late Lady Mother’s had been. Valyrian, yet still my very own, untouched by the madness of King Aerys’ flame.

Robert’s rebellion had gone on for a year, ending on the eve of my fourteenth nameday. My Lady Mother, may the gods bless her soul, took her own life upon hearing of King Aerys’ death. She’d long been grief-stricken, receiving word of Robert Baratheon’s victory against Rhaegar Targaryen and the subsequent death of the Prince, coupled with news of Queen Rhaella fleeing to Dragonstone, Viserys and her newborn babe in tow. I wish she’d have remained, long enough to hear the news of their survival. To hear of Viserys and his sister-babe, Daenerys, fleeing to Pentos under the watchful gaze of Illyrio Mopatis.

When news of Robert Baratheon’s ascension to the Iron Throne reached Driftmark, the Usurper had long been wed to Cersei Lannister, daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister and Lady Joanna Lannister. The hateful bitch had been Queen for a year, and bore a son, Joffrey. A bastard born of her own brother, yet given the name Baratheon. Shameful.

I wanted to scream. To sail for King’s Landing that same day, to rip the bastard from that whore’s arms and throw it into Blackwater Bay. My Lord Father forbade me from acting on my desires, though I could see in his eyes. He wished to do the same.

When it came time to swear fealty, my Lord Father had perished in battle, defending Driftmark from Ironborn raiders, successfully pushing them back to the shithole they came from. As Lady of Driftmark, and my little half-brother only a babe still, I was placed to lead. I did not appear before the usurper, nor did he attempt to breach our walls. Good.

I sat as Lady of Driftmark for many moons, and many years. By the time I was six-and-ten, the cunt who called herself Queen had birthed two more bastards, Myrcella and Tommen. The usurper is too drunk, drowning in his cups and smothering himself with whores, to notice or care that his children bear no resemblance to him. At least he had some sense about him to choose someone like Ned Stark as his Lord Hand.

The Warden of the North may have sided with the usurper, but his honor outweighed his loyalty. Thank the gods. We needed someone with sense in the Capitol. Though, even that was short lived. The usurper died to a boar, though I’d suspected the Queen had some hand in that. The stupid bitch had torn up a letter, from the late King himself, in front of multiple witnesses, not that anyone would have spoken out.

When Ned Stark was beheaded, I sent a Lion’s severed head to the Queen’s chambers. A reminder that Driftmark still stands, that our dragons still roar and our sails still catch wind. Test not the descendant of the Sea Snake. We received no word in reply. Likely for the best, as the lion had been Cersei’s own. Stolen from Casterly Rock.

When Robb Stark—Ned’s eldest son, the Young Wolf—had begun his campaign against Tywin Lannsiter, Driftmark had opted to quietly send supplies by ship to Riverrun, supporting his claim while not openly speaking of it. He’d been so determined, and yet even men of honor may fall to temptation. The Young Wolf was struck down by the Freys, lost in the delusion of love and peace. When word reached Driftmark, we sent dragons, not to burn the Twins. No. That would have been too easy.

We burned their trade routes, destroyed wagons and crops. Sent wolves carved of wood to his doorstep, guarded by dragons forged of steel. The message had been clear. We received no word in reply.

King Joffrey’s wedding to Margaery was a surprise to us all, a point of frustration. When he was killed, poisoned at his own wedding feast… I remember laughing. I was amused, seeing such a hateful bastard brought down in such a simple way. I remember praying, hoping Tyrion had grown the balls to kill his nephew, but alas, he had been innocent. Thank the gods Sansa got out of that shit-stained cesspool and back into the arms of her aunt Lysa Arryn.

Even that was too good to be true. The jealous bitch had killed her own husband, and nearly killed her own niece, for Petyr Baelish. Stupid woman. I remember shaking my head, hearing the news that she’d been thrown from the moon door by the crooked man.

Receiving word that Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s apparent bastard, had been slaughtered by his own men was the hardest to hear. I’d known Jon as a little girl, he was to be my betrothed, until he went and joined the Night’s Watch. Thank the gods the Red Witch had him revived. I’d have gone like my mother, had he stayed dead another day. In addition, hearing of Daenerys’ departure from Meereen was of no interest to me. Not her lineage as, technically, my cousin, not her dragons, nor her Unsullied. She was an insignificant piece on a chess board she wasn’t even part of. Until she was.

When she took Dragonstone, it took everything in me not to sail toward the ancestral birthplace of House Targaryen, to  see her dragons, her person for myself. But I made no attempt to leave Driftmark. By that point, I’d been married to Lord Celtigar’s eldest son, and bore him a child, a son of pure Valyrian blood. Maekar, I’d named him, second of his name. I’d never loved anything more than I loved that boy, my baby, my first son.

She took him from me…

When Daenerys Targaryen came to Westeros, I’d been near King’s Landing on business. Speaking with a traveling Maester. Once I realized what was happening, the flames already consumed everything in its path. The traveling Maester, the caravan, my husband… my son.

I’d never felt such rage. I mounted my dragon, my wyrm, and flew after her. Dragons colliding in the skies. The sight brought King’s Landing to its knees. My attempts to thwart Daenerys had failed, and in an act of  self preservation, I fled. Not without scars, not without the smell of my own flesh burnt and bubbling filling my senses. Not without years of agonizing pain, unable to move for days at a time.

Even now, with wrinkled and sagging skin, greying hair and tired eyes, my skin still bears the mark of that day. And every day, from now until the gods bring the world to an end, I will never again feel confidence in the face of flame.

Even with her death, the loss of all three dragons, two dead and one missing… I see flame on the horizon, when she sun set in the west and rises in the east.

I fear the day…

The day flame returns from its slumber.

[lucenna-39045]

Detail Post

As stated in the description of my page, this is where you can find details about what I'll do, my pricing, and how to request a story.

Now, I won't beat around the bush, I charge between 1 and 5 dollars per word. These prices are non-negotiable and made with factors like page numbers, detailing, and hours spent on the work in mind. For example:

A short story, depending on length, content, and time consumed, would be between 1 and 2 dollars per word.

A medium length story, depending on length, content, detail, and time consumed, would be between 3 and 4 dollars per word.

A long story, also depending on length, content, detail, and time consumed, would be 5 dollars per word.

To request a story, you can either DM me, or send in a request. I will need every detail of the story you'd like to see written. The title of your story, the main theme, the setting, every character, their role, major events and when they're meant to happen. Though, if you're the adventurous type, I can let my imagination and words paint the picture for you.

Completion time may vary depending on the length of the story, but I will contact you directly once the story is complete.

I accept payments through PayPal, and will not send the story to you until payment is made, to protect both myself and my work.