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Phia Saban gave a wrenching, powerful, heart-breaking performance as Helaena Targaryen, Aegon’s doomed, haunted queen and mother to his children.

George R.R. Martin - NOT A BLOG: Blood, Cheese, and Grief (July 5, 2024)

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in which you're aegon's legally-wedded and never-bedded wife - who cares so little for him that even he's noticed.

It is the hour of the bat, deep into the velvety night, and you'd had it all planned out. Your sheets are fresh. You've bathed in lavender scented water, and spent half the day drying your hair carefully by the fireside so it won't become ruffled. You've just slipped on a rose-coloured robe of the finest Dornish silk, and wriggled delightedly into bed when it happens.

The door to your bedchambers explodes open, and Aegon staggers in, roaring a drunken sea shanty.

Oh, how you hate men.

"So hey, the bonny sailors go

To Sothoryos with a rising 'ho'!"

"Aegon," you start, pushing yourself up on your pillows with the air of someone explaining something to a very stupid child. "It's late. I'm tired."

Aegon stops dead when he sees you, sitting prettily in his bed with your arms folded in bemusement. You don't think he expected to see you here. You often sleep in a different room, and when sharing his bedchambers you make it a point to keep him firmly on the other side of the mattress.

Aegon and you both know the castle staff whispers rumours of your strange and sex-less relationship. You don't care.

Aegon might, but you've decided not to care about him either. He's aware of your cold indifference - which is why he's so surprised to see you here.

"....well," he says, swaying where he stands. "If it isn't...my frigid lady-wife. Here to ice me out again?"

You don't rise to the bait. "I'm here to sleep. You're welcome to do the same."

"Oh, I'm welcome, am I? Welcome in my own bed?" Aegon hiccoughs, slowly undoing the clasps on his velvet jerkin. He lets it thud to the floor (you can bet a hundred gold dragons he'll trip over it first thing tomorrow) and begins to traipse your way. "Am I permitted to finally lay a finger on my lawful wife, or will she only let me hold her hand for appearance's sake at banquets?"

Hackles rising, you bite back at once. "Am I permitted to have a husband who doesn't fuck a different whore every night? Who doesn't reek of of alcohol? Am I permitted to not be abandoned each day for taverns and brothels? Am I permitted to sleep or must I take your leave for that too, lord-husband?"

If Aegon were sober, he might have a scalding remark in response. But the ale has filled his mind with mush, and all he can do is scowl and sulk. It doesn't please you to see him so miserable. Your heart isn't in the fight either.

Your husband thuds onto the bed with a heavy sigh, narrowly missing squashing you.

"...help me with the clasp then, if nothing else," he mutters, pointing at his bejeweled belt buckle.

Sighing, you concede, reaching forward and undoing the cool metal. It clicks apart under your deft hand, and you steal a glance up at your supposed husband.

Months of marriage, and the times when you've ever really looked at him are few and far in between. After a disasterous bedding ceremony and so many days of neglect, the two of you have learnt to not acknowledge each other's presence. As a result, Aegon's face never fails to stand out as unique to you.

Soft cloud of wispy silver hair. Eyes of pale amethyst. The classic Targaryen look - striking colour palette, ghostly shades of old Valayria. The hint of feminine features from his mother softens him. He looks lost now, his pouty mouth softly sagging with defeat. A little verbal joust with you has leeched all the revelry out of him. Right, now, soundly beaten as he is, Aegon is difficult to despise.

You tug the belt out of its loops and he mutters his slurred gratitudes.

"Can you do the rest on your own?"

He grunts in affirmative. You retreat back to your side. Both of you feel the invisible wall being drawn up between once more.

You know, when you really think about it, you suppose Aegon is a handsome man. When he's not drunk. Or bothering you just before you sleep with sappy, obnoxious questions.

"Do you love me?"

You stop in the middle of adjusting your coverlet. "What?"

Aegon is looking at you with not a hint of a joke in his eyes. He repeats the impossible possibility. "Do you love me?"

In daylight, you would have sneered at his question and swept off in a swirl of silk skirts to resume your royal day. Now, with moonshine softening the need for sharp exteriors, you decide to humour his question. No one is around to use your words against you, at least. You feel your guard lift an inch.

"Love you?" you ponder, leaning back against your richly embroidered pillows. "...I think I would be...distressed, if you died. But love you- I don't even like you." You glance his way, contemplating. "Yet."

Aegon looks at you with doubtful lilac eyes. "So there's hope?"

"Don't be too optimistic."

His face, already miserable with the weight of alcohol and fractured familial relationships, turns slightly more sour. You're not foolish. Aegon's agonies don't have much to do with you. His mother, hell-bent on making him king, and his brother, hell-bent on undermining and embarrassing him at every opportunity are his chief worries. You've never seeked to hurt him politically. But you've always remained distant, watching him carefully like a narrow-eyed cat and hissing if he gets too close. There's only so much your pride can allow after being man-handled into a strategic marriage so roughly.

But right now, weak and addled as he is, you can afford some kindness.

"Don't look so down, Aegon," you say softly. "Perhaps I'm Dorne. Eternally un-won by Targaryens."

The gentleness works - Aegon unticks like a clam and lets words come pouring out.

"I keep thinking... really feeling as though you would prefer my brother Aemond over me. Or that he would like you, at the very least. And that grasping bastard, Jacaerys." A flash of anger splits Aegon's face. "I see how he moons over you across the dinner table. Like he'd like you lay you out on his dinner plate and take bites out your skin. Take what's mine. My wife, by law if not by her own will. Mine. My skin. My soft, soft skin. I should kill him. Cunt."

Weak, you think, watching his messy torrent of emotions. Your father would have flayed you living for such risky honesty in a world so tightly controlled by reputation. Always say less than necessary. Never trust anyone, ever.

As it is, you carefully file this new information away in your head. Aemond desiring you in a marriage seems in line with his ambitious nature - your family's legendary wealth would serve him well. You doubt he cares for you as a person.

And Jacaerys.... you've seen him ogling at you a couple of times when you're really dressed to the nines, but you doubt it's anything worth thinking about. Men have always watched you in that hungry way. You have genetics to thank for that, nothing more. It doesn't aid you, ultimately.

Aegon is still muttering away darkly. "I should kill him. Cut off his riding chains so he goes screaming into the sea the next time he mounts his dragon. I think that'll fix him-"

"Don't think," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. "You're not particularly excellent at it, from what I've heard. I heard you thought Sir Arryk was a particularly buxom woman from behind."

Aegon sniffs. "An engraved band in his hair. What was he prettying up for, the flagstones in the corridors? I don't fancy a preening peacock guarding me."

"See, Aegon, you're lying again. And it's unneeded and strange. You were only drunk and made a wine-swayed misjudgement," you say wearily. "And you don't think he's a peacock. You think you're a peacock. You've been matching your socks with your shoes since the day I knew you."

Aegon laughs, soft and bitter.

"If you know me so well, why do you pretend your dislike is only from distance? ...you hate me because you know me. You've always...always hated me."

In sulking speech, Aegon has slowly tipped in your direction, his head inches from yours. He's too drunk and too non-commital to rearrange himself. You allow his hair to touch your silk sleeve. Pink fabric, his ash white hair fanning across it.

Then, without even really thinking or caring, you sigh and pull him onto your chest to hold him there like a babe.

"I've already said, I don't hate you."

Aegon is too drunk to jab or pull back. He lays there. You run fingers through his hair, smoothening the scattered strands into place, sorting his thoughts into neat furrows. Sleepy tears spread a wet spot onto your robe. You allow it, even through fuzzled bafflement at such weakness. What does he want, to suck on your teat? He's older than you, yet you're centuries harder. Aegon - too soft a boy for his over-reaching mother - falls asleep in barely sated turmoil, on your chest like a barely grown child.

You allow it.

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I started reading the English version of GE. The dialogue between Queezle and Bart is cute and Nat is sassy and adorable! There's just too much to draw. And I was surprised that Fred calls Stanley Stan. This is another part of the story that, like Nat, has not been translated into Japanese. So cute as I like Fred and Stanley. I will continue to do my best to read it!

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This is the thing that Viserys never did for Aegon. And Aegon did not study at the feet of his father. His father had his male heir and then essentially said, “Well, that box is ticked,” he was ill. I think he enjoyed having a son but didn’t put in the work the way he did with Rhaenyra when he was a younger man. And I think Aegon resents that and feels that part of the reason that he’s not seen as being suited for the crown or the throne is because he didn’t get that training from his father. So now he’s going to make up for that tenfold with Jaehaerys.

— Ryan Condal about Aegon’s relationship with his son Jaehaerys (Inside the Episode S2, Ep 1)

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deadbeat husband who shows up to check on the progress of his new tunics

on twitter [x]

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Sylus honey~~~

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This is a scene from Bartimaeus Ptolemy’s Gate Chapter 36. Contains serious spoilers. Please read from right to left. Some dialogue has been cut out or the order of dialogue is back and forth. This is the most memorable scene in the work Bartimaeus, and it has been etched in my mind since I first read it as a child. There is a sadness that will never fade away in me, no matter how long it takes.

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This is a parody sketch of a behind-the-scenes scene where a movie is being filmed. Ideally, in a parody like this, everyone should be friendly, since in the original books, everyone is not close to each other. I am waiting for Bartimaeus to be made into a movie because I want to see the off-shoots of the actors, the making of the movie, and the NG collection. Please make a movie as soon as possible.

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“There will be a new era between djinn and men. I’ve made some of the notes already, Rekhyt–my book will take pride of place in every library on the Earth. ” Ptolemy & Rekhyt. This is one of the anime parody art.  It is one of my so favorite lines.

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A drawing about Faquarl’s true form. He eats a lot, so he brings his mouth to the center of his body.

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Since August 1 is considered Nathaniel Day in Japanese fandom, I painted him again this year. Whenever I paint art related to Nathaniel, I always have a hard time deciding which decade to paint him, but I end up painting them all.

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I wanted to say that I have never seen fanart for the Bartimaeus series before, even though it is one of my favorite book series ever. I found your art on Pixiv and I just had to tell you that I love your take on it! It is wonderful and thank you for sharing your drawings!!

Thank you for taking a look at my arts! I couldn't be happier if you liked it. There are many wonderful artworks in the Bartimaeus fandom, so please look for more!! Thank you!!

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In Japan, September 9 is considered Cook Day, so it was Faquarl Day in japanese fandom. In my mind, he is this image.

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Storyboard-style art. Both are scenes from GE. The right half shows Nathaniel and Tallow, who came to investigate the attacked Piccadilly, and the left half shows Queezle and Bartimaeus. 

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November 26th is Nathaniel’s birthday!! Happy birthday Nat!! This is the third year I have celebrated him. Time moves fast. In Japan it is common to eat strawberry sponge cake on birthdays, but what about in England? After drawing it, I realized that strawberry sponge cake may not be common. AoS Nat was celebrated by Mrs. Underwood, GE Nat by Bart, and had he ever turned eighteen, he surely would have been celebrated by Kitty, Bartimaeus, or even Ms. Piper.

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This is a scene from Bartimaeus Golem’s Eye Chapter 22 & 27. I got a request, so I painted it. They are both cute and my favorite scene. I wanted to paint this scene (especially the first one, Bartimaeus wearing the aviator’s hat) at least once, but I never had the chance. I think I was given a good opportunity.

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This is a scene from Bartimaeus Golem’s Eye Chapter 24. I painted this because I had received a comment earlier that people wanted to see Harlequin scene. This is the kind of image I have in mind. Incidentally, Harlequin is written as Arlequin in the Japanese version.