#Florys the fox

[goodqueenaly]

Hi and I hope you are well! I don’t know if this is a weird question, but I’m always fascinated by the legends of the Reach particularly regarding the children of Garth Greenhand, and how that connects to the Faith in those areas. I think I saw a post you wrote some time ago about how for example Rowan Gold Tree’s story might have been adapted by the Faith into a parable about the Mother (apologies if I’m mistaken). I guess my question is, do you think Rowan and the others might have been actually worshipped as gods before the Faith, like Garth might have been? Also if I may ask a second question: do you have thoughts about Floris (my personal fave) how her story fits into Westeros’ patriarchal attitudes towards women? Does the fact that she founded three houses mean that she’s not vilified by the Faith for being non monogamous? Thanks and sorry again for weird questions!!

(I was mistaken, I think it was actually about Rowan’s story as a parable about the Maiden, like that her hair turned into a tree as a sign of being favored by the Maiden? I don’t quite remember who wrote this post.)

I have a vague memory of a post I wrote along similar lines a very long time ago too, but I couldn’t find it, so either I never did or I deleted it. Anyway, I do very much like to headcanon that the myth of Rowan Gold-Tree was co-opted by the Faith during its early establishment in the Reach as a myth about the Maiden - that Rowan, abandoned by her love for a richer rival, prayed to the Maiden in her heartbreak, and the Maiden, guardian and benefactor of virtuous maids, gave Rowan her golden tree, almost Cinderella style, perhaps as a sort of dowry to show that maidenly virtue was literally worth more than gold.

Whatever the particular relationship between the Faith and the myth of Rowan Gold-Tree, do I think that some or all of the legendary children of Garth Greenhand may have been worshiped as gods themselves? Very possibly. We know that there was at least some tradition of Garth being worshiped as or at least considered a god by Westerosi: Yandel notes that “[s]ome even say [Garth Greenhand] was a god” and that “[a] few of the very oldest tales” present Garth as a “considerably darker deity, one who demanded blood sacrifice from his worshippers to ensure a bountiful harvest” and a “green god [who] die[d] every autumn … only to be reborn with the coming of spring”. Yandel also compares Garth to fertility gods and goddesses worshiped by “[m]any of the more primitive peoples of the earth”, as Garth not only “taught men to farm” and “showed them how to plant and sow, how to raise crops and reap the harvest” but also scattered a seemingly divinely plentiful bag of various seeds and “brought the gift of fertility” to people and crops alike. Nor was this early history of Westeros an era without the worship of local deities beyond the old gods: the myth of Durran Godsgrief features a sea god and a goddess of the wind, the people of the Three Sisters worshiped the Lady of the Waved and the Lord of the Skies, and of course the ironborn believe in the eternal divine struggle between the Drowned God and the Storm God.  

So I could see where, depending on the era and the location, various individuals among Garth’s legendary children might have been worshiped as gods or semi-divine heroes themselves. If Garth Greenhand was worshiped as a god for teaching the First Men to sow, cultivate, and reap, might Gilbert of the Vines have been similarly worshiped by the people of the Arbor for teaching these people “to make sweet wine” from their island’s lush native grapes (and indeed, might there have been some local tradition that Gilbert had inherited his father’s fertility and made these grapes grow “so fat and lush across their island”)? If Garth was treated as a god for his apparently mystical and/or divine ability to bring and cultivate life from the land, might Ellyn Ever-Sweet, Rowan Gold-Tree, and/or Rose of Red Lake have been similarly worshiped by the locals of Beesbury, Goldengrove, and/or Red Lake, respectively, for their supernatural, perhaps also seemingly divine, connections to and power over the natural world? If the earliest worshipers of Garth Greenhand offered him blood sacrifices in return for bountiful harvests, might worshipers have given Bors the Breaker similar blood sacrifices in return for grants of strength and courage, since he himself had supposedly drunk the blood of bulls to gain the power of 20 men? If Garth’s divine power included the gift of specifically sexual fertility so strong that he “[made] barren women fruitful with a touch” and caused “[m]aidens [to ripen] in his presence”, “mothers [to bring] forth twins or even triplets when he blessed them”, and “young girls [to flower] at his smile”, then might Harlon and Herndon have been similarly worshiped for the seeming eternal fertility they apparently enjoyed and represented as husbands to their woods witch wife, or Foss the Archer worshiped as a similar roving fertility god casting a welcome eye on maidens as his father had done (with his arrow and apple exploits perhaps a sort of sexual euphemism)? Again, these are just a few creative examples, but the larger point is that I could very well see where Garth’s children may have been seen not only as extensions of his own legend, but gods in their own right who took over aspects of the worship of Garth Greenhand. (To say nothing of whether any of them might have been worshiped for their own persons and/or deeds - if, say, John the Oak, Owen Oakenshield, and/or Brandon of the Bloody Blade might have been viewed as a sort of proto-Warrior or god of war, or if Maris the Maid became a sort of mother goddess for Oldtown and House Hightower.) 

As far as Florys the Fox goes … eh. I think that strict monogamy was not an entirely consistent or mandated practiced among the First Men before the arrival of the Andals, including in the Reach: not only do the myths of both Florys and the twin ancestors of House Tarly feature as their protagonists participants in polygamous (and, indeed, polyandrous) marriages, but King Garland II successfully brought Oldtown into the Gardener kingdom by putting aside his wives, plural, to marry Lymond Hightower’s daughter. Nor indeed should we ignore the fact that Florys seems to have been considered clever not just for having three husbands but for keeping each a secret from the others - a suggestion, perhaps, that the expected (read: patriarchal) order of the universe, playfully subverted by the literally extraordinary Florys, was that a woman should be the submissive partner to a single man, rather than the dominant mistress keeping three men at her nuptial leisure. So I think the pre-Andal Reach may have accepted two beliefs as true at the same time - namely, a patriarchal world in which women were expected to serve and obey men and also a pro-polygamy world in which a demigod/heroine/goddess figure could be lauded for having kept multiple husbands simultaneously without being caught. 

Too, I think it’s possible that just as septons and maesters downplayed the mythology and divinity of Garth Greenhand in later accounts - with Yandel noting that legends of Garth Greenhand, “though cherished by the smallfolk, are largely discounted by both the maesters of the Citadel and the septons of the Faith, who share the view that Garth Greenhand was a man, not a god” - so these same post-Andal Invasion academics may have deemphasized the myths surrounding Florys the Fox, including her celebrated polyandry. Perhaps dynastically persnickety maesters or septons argued that Florys had not really been married to three men, but rather that the myths had conflated her marriage to the ancestor of House Ball/Peake/Florent with marriages by other women, or perhaps remarriages by Florys, to the ancestors of the other two Houses. Perhaps the myth was bowdlerized to have Florys merely be courted by the founders of each of these Houses, rather than having her marrying each, with Florys perhaps then serving as more of a spiritual or romantic ancestress rather than a literal matriarch of this bloodline. Of course, it’s also possible that septons did look down on and preach against Florys for her polygamous marriages, branding her a “wanton” - though to what extent they could or would do so, while also looking to convert these powerful aristocratic families of the Reach, is speculative at best. 

[mryoyo000]

WHY SELYSE FLORENT SHOULD BE QUEEN OF WESTEROS WITH TEXTUAL PROOF

It is once again time to recline and ponder the many gifts of Queen Selyse Florent. Over the course of five books, what other character has had such an illustrious career so full of achievement or lived a life so dazzling and rewarding? As the fiscal year draws to a close we can see that so much of Westeros owes thanks to Selyse and House Florent for keeping it real and being classy and lots of other stuff. You may think the Tyrells are smart and competent but that’s just fraudulent fraud from Highgarden.

I want to post of a few key passages that best demonstrate why Selyse Florent, mother of foxes, is so well-suited to the title of Queen.

1.

”Yes,” Lady Selyse agreed. “Patches’s helm. It suits you well, old man. Put it on again, I command you.” And I will serve you to the last, my sweet queen, Cressen thought, for suddenly he saw the way. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he intoned, bowing low. “I never realized until now how much I needed your discerning and fashionable eye. This helm enhances my style very much and I never would have had the confidence to express myself without you.”

2.

”Joffrey shall die,” Queen Selyse declared, serene in her confidence. Davis saw that her confidence was well-earned, with her regal poise and her flawless hair. He suddenly felt ashamed for being such a hater and decided that from now on, he would obey her without question.

3.

Queen Selyse pursed her lips. “Lord Snow, as Lady Val is a stranger to our ways, please send her to me, that I might instruct her in the duties of a noble lady toward her lord husband.” That will go splendidly, I know. Jon knew that Val looked up to Queen Selyse and was always hoping to have her be a mentor figure. “As you wish,” he said, “though if I might speak freely—” “No, I think not. Now you may sashay away.” Jon Snow bent his knee, bowed his head, withdrew. He knew that Selyse shouldn’t be disturbed because she was about to go give away free cars to a bunch of her fans.

[natividadmoon]

Day Five: Age of Heroes

(o Firts Men Age) Florys the fox, the clothes used ancient Cretan clothes, I feel that Florys would not be ashamed to wear them, although the fox covers it up. the headdress is also a Cretan reference

[247reader]

Our second historic figure is Florys the Fox, the "cleverest" daughter of Garth Greenhand, who through her three simultaneous husbands was the legendary progenitor of Houses Florent, Ball, and Peake.

Her clothes are based on pre-Roman Gaul; Garth Greenhand and his children are in-universe an ancient First Men story heavily adapted and modified by the Andals, and I wanted to reflect that by incorporating some Celtic elements but without going as far north or as far back as I would for Theon Stark.

[izzymrdb]

I have decided that demigod children of Garth Greenhand are under utilised in GoT/ASOIAF fandom and I am going to make that everybody's problem. Catch me smuggling Lann the Clever and Florys the Fox into every single one of my fics ever.

[lemonhemlock]

Huge florys the fox stan. Three hubbies without either knowing of the other? Serve.

florys out there proving men really are Like That, huh 🙏

[veryaren]

Hi (throws the shittiest wip in your face ever)

spiritfox/philemon's altar . og under tha cut

[donelywell]

Road Trip MasterPost

Some people have been asking for it- so here it is! I'll keep updating it (probably will forget sometimes so please don't hunt me down) as I keep posting. But beware, lots of things are still not concrete on the timeline placement, so I might shimmy some things around (which sucks because Tails' fur is supposed to be fading into his yellow and patterns as he grows into a little kid, so that's gonna be out of order)

Putting a cut here because it's a LOT of posts (and way more to come later down the line)

There is now also an Ask Blog!

Explanations:

Is there an Eggman?

Does Sonic sound really annoying?

Height Charts

It is not always smooth sailing raising a kid twice your size

Eggman

HedgeFox (and werebeing) infodump

Sonadow?

Sonic and Eggman's dynamic (plus an idea of Sonic's Backstory)

Vector's comical height

Tails' nose bandage

Shadow's Black Arm design looks like a bat

Why does Tails not like that he's a fox?

Tails can't hear Super Sonic's Judgement

Super Sonic's Earring

What's Amy to Tails?

Does Tails Squish Sonic when he turns back into a normal hedgehog?

Hedgefox goes poof

Kneading (1)

Kneading (2)

Will Tails literally outgrow the van?

Why is it called 'Road Trip'?

What is Sonic and Knuckles' relationship?

Tails' unknown family: Fiona and Floris

Does Tails ever find out about his secret sisters?, (What if they did find out?)

Info Cards:

The Dream Cast (Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Amy), (The Tornado)

The Club Ruby Members (Shadow, E-123 Omega, Rouge, Silver)

The Classic Crew (Mighty, Ray, Trip)

Zavok (will update to full group post when it's made)

Story in some sort of order (will be more fleshed out over time):

First Contact

Meeting Amy (Tails), (Pinky Promise), (Uncertainty), (He Returns!)

Growing up

Super Full Moon Hedgefox (1), (2)

Nighttime worries

You're my Mom, my Dad, and my Picket Fence

Madame Maroon finds her one true love

No Matter What

Mother's Day

Sonic Goes Super for the First Time (1), (2)

Cooking

Sonic Goes Super for the Second Time

Sonic is Dead., (Bonus TMoStH doodles)

Doodles for the fun of it:

Maria and Shadow goofy doodles

No Pickles

Everything the light touches is our kingdom

HedgeWOLF

Mouth Crocodad?

HedgeWOLF 2 (electric boogaloo)

Work Doodles

Nine-Tailed Travel Guide through the Multiverse (1), (2)

Humans!

[writingwenches]

the houses of Queen Alicent Hightower of House Florent

Ser Otto Hightower & Lady Alaerie Florent

we light the way featuring — Rhys Ifans and Christina Hendricks

Lord Emmet Florent & Lady Alarra Florent of House Merryweather

Descended from Garth Greenhand by his daughter Florys the Fox featuring — Joseph Fiennes and Bryce Dallas Howard

Lord Alester Merryweather & Lady Helicent Merryweather of House Caswell

behold our bounty featuring — Domhnall Gleeson and Kate Winslet

Lord Othael Hightower & Lady Clarice Hightower of House Bulwere

we light the way featuring — Daniel Day Lewis and Samantha Morton

Lord Herbert Belwere & Lady Alis Belwere of House Leygood

death before disgrace featuring — Cillian Murphy and Florence Pugh

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part ten)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 6.4k notes: late update which is 100% on me so my bad! but anyways, a lovely and beautiful anon made a playlist for this fic so give it a listen! here's a nice reprieve after the drama of the past chapters (:

Once, as children in your library, you had tried to convince Aemond to read the tale of Lady Jonquil and Florian the Fool. He had scoffed at you - it wasn’t the usual history or philosophy the two of you poured over together. It was a silly romance story, nothing to do with the important matters of state he was obsessed with understanding, but you had pressed it upon him to read.

You can still remember pushing your book of songs over his own book about the maesters of the Citadel, determined to present your case. ‘It’s not quite as serious as everything you like to read but it says something about men, I feel. Ser Florian may have been a fool but he was wise where it counted.’

‘Singers and bards are invested in us thinking that, my lady, but I don’t think it’s true,’ he had responded, rolling his eyes, but he had taken your book and read it. He had never once talked about it with you though, simply returning the book to you the next day and distracting you from asking him about it by dragging you into a debate over whether or not Lann the Clever was the bastard son of Floris the Fox or even Rowan Gold-Tree, a topic sure to rile any Westerlander, leaving you to completely forget about silly love songs as you had argued over your ancestor’s own ancestry.

‘I am as great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight’ Ser Florian had told his lady when he had crowned her. ‘All men are fools and all men are knights where women are concerned.’

With as much love as you have for the songs, you never could quite believe that line, could never make it quite click in your head.

But now, with the screaming all around you, as Aemond stands at your side, arm in arm and having crowned you with a crown of bloodied roses, you wonder if he’s remembering the songs as well as you are, if he’s realizing that maybe the singers were right in some respect.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” You ask, pushing away your thoughts of the Lady Jonquil and her fool of a knight, in favor of looking over him anxiously. He’s bloodstained but you can’t tell how much of it is his and how much of it belongs to his opponent. His dark armor hides most of it, preventing you from picking out any clear wounds or injuries, and, out in the open like this, you can’t glide your hands over him to try and feel any out.

Aemond looks down at you, his eyes soft as he takes in your worry. “No, not hurt. Bruises here and there, some cuts and scrapes that my mother will drive herself insane worrying about, but nothing serious.”

You sigh in relief, leaning against him slightly, wishing you could wrap your arms around him and pull him close. You allow yourself a moment there, pressed against the hard armor, before you pull back, conscious of the eyes of all of King’s Landing watching the two of you. There’s a flicker of disapproval on Aemond’s face when he notices, his jaw tightening just a tick, and he shoots a baleful glare at the crowd.

It reminds you all too much of the way little Loren’s face would scrunch if anyone tried to pull his blanket away from him, right before he let out loud screams and wails that sent the entire household running to his side, and the odd comparison makes you laugh out loud.

Aemond’s brow furrows but his gaze softens once more as he watches your obvious glee.

“My father will be chomping at the bit to arrange a meeting with your mother,” you say after a while, smiling fondly as you look back toward the crowd. The royal box is emptying out and you know you only have moments before both of your families descend upon the two of you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to secure an… understanding for right now. At least, until Cerelle’s marriage is public knowledge and Tyshara and Lord Tarly announce their own betrothal.”

Aemond huffs, showing a flash of impatience that makes you beam. “Hasn’t there always been an understanding? It’s been his and your goal ever since you came to the capitol.” You blink, confused for a moment, before shame and horror blossom on your face as you realize he knows. His eye watches you, openly amused, and he leans down, mouth by your ear, voice so low you can barely hear him over the still-roaring crowd. “You’re clever, my love, but it’s only in recent years that you’ve become skilled at deception and manipulation. I’m afraid that I was onto you right from the start.”

Heat explodes in your cheeks and you pull away, gaping up at him openly. He smirks at you, infuriatingly smug, and, suddenly uncaring of the eyes around you, you open your mouth. To say what - you’re not entirely sure. A denial? An explanation? An apology? No matter what you plan to say, you still want to say something but you’re cut off when Aegon all but slams into his brother, knocking him from your grasp, and sending the two of them skidding slightly in the dirt.

“I’m a rich, rich, rich man,” Aegon crows, arm flung around his younger brother as he gives him a firm shake, looking elated. Right behind him, Daeron is excitingly bouncing on his heels, looking like a little boy in all of his joy.

“Haven’t you always been a rich man?” Aemond snipes back, no real bite behind his words, and Aegon merely grins wider, looking impossibly pleased as if it was he himself who had fought and defeated all the opponents his brother had faced.

“Yes but now I’m a richer man,” he corrects, even as the rest of his family arrives to crowd around you all, forming a wall between you and the rest of the world. “That was family wealth, brother. This is personal wealth now - mine entirely.”

You watch them, torn between laughing at their interaction or panicking at the fact that Aemond knows, before Helaena tugs on your hand to call your attention. When you turn to her, you jerk back slightly as she reaches up to your face with a handkerchief, wiping at your chin gently. When she pulls it away, you blink at the blood staining the white fabric.

Aemond’s hand. When he grabbed me earlier.

It should horrify you but instead, something in you roars with satisfaction. In front of all of King’s Landing, he had claimed you and he had crowned you and he had marked you. It calms you but only barely.

He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t care for me too. If he didn’t think I was honest you try to reassure yourself but it’s still difficult to convince yourself of it. A part of you wants to be indignant at the idea he could judge you for seeking him out in marriage - the two of you had always agreed about the importance of marrying for your house rather than personal pleasure. You had just been lucky that for you, those two desires managed to be one and the same.

A larger part, however, is just scared. You can still remember, plain as day, the little boy who had seemed baffled that you wanted to spend time with him, that you even cared to speak to him. Aemond is grown now, more confident and sure of himself than he had ever been as a child, but you don’t want to hurt him. You never have.

You need him to know that. To know that you’ve always been honest in wanting him and only him.

Helaena knocks you with her shoulder and you startle, looking at her with wide eyes. She smiles, soft and gentle as always. “Don’t get lost in there,” she says, reaching up to tap at the side of your head.

You manage a smile. “I won’t, princess,” you promise, fingers itching for something to grab and squeeze in your nerves.

She eyes you and you know that she can see right through you.

You wonder who else can.

There’s a slight commotion and you look up in time to see the Queen descend upon Aemond. Unlike you, she’s well within her rights to brush her hands over him, searching for any wounds that he might be hiding. She looks equal parts relieved, exasperated, and proud as she crowds her middle son and, though you’re too far to perfectly hear her quiet voice over the still rowdy crowd, you can only imagine that she’s scolding and congratulating Aemond.

You only get a moment to watch their interaction when someone drags you into their chest in a facsimile of a hug and you let out a loud yelp. Aemond immediately turns at the sound, hand flying to his sword, only to have to force himself to relax when he catches sight of who it is.

“Your prince did well, sweetling,” Jason murmurs in your ear, giving you a tight squeeze, and you swat him away, fighting down a pleased smile. When you turn to face your father, he reaches up to touch the crowd on your head and, when he pulls his hand away, his fingers are tinged with red. “A Queen of Love and Beauty crowned twice in one tourney by two different men. You’re in rare company now, sweet girl. Not even Lady Jonquil can claim that honor.”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks go hot. Behind him, Tyland walks up, having been speaking with Lord Ormund. Even he looks victorious. “Are you talking about how our little lady and the Dragon Prince have ensured that the singers will be well-fed for the next few months?”

“Hardly,” you retort, knowing as you say it that it’s a lie. Victor and Aemond both crowning you, a Queen of Love and Beauty twice over, the Dragon killing the Fox. Individually, they were all things that would invite the singers to write their songs. Combined? You’d be lucky if it ever stopped. The bards must have been frothing at the mouth during the tourney and now that they’ve been given their perfect story, there is little doubt in your mind that they will take every advantage.

You wonder if centuries in the future if the songs would still mention you and Aemond like they mention Jonquil and Florian. You wonder what they would say.

I hope they’re beautiful songs, you think, feeling a girlish sense of joy spread throughout you, something you haven’t felt in quite some time.

“Now,” Jason says, grinning as he squeezes you again. “I have to speak to the Queen. See about arranging a meeting.”

“Not tomorrow,” you warn. “Helaena is to spend the day preparing for the wedding and I’m to assist her with it. It’ll have to be after the wedding.”

Your father laughs. “I doubt we’ll have a problem if we postpone a little, sweetling. Like Lord Tarly, Prince Aemond strikes me as an exceedingly patient man.”

You bite your lip as you think about the look in Aemond’s eye at the moment after he had crowned you - when he looked as if he wanted to devour you.

No, father, you think as you watch Jason walk to the Targaryen princes and their mother, his gait slow and confident like a predator that has finally cornered his prey. I don’t think Aemond is very patient at all.

“What did the court say?” You finally ask, tearing your eyes away from them to meet your uncle’s watchful gaze. “Positive? Negative? Will I be tarred and feathered during the feast tonight?”

He sighs, rubbing at his beard. “Excited, to say the least. There’s little the court loves more than scandals such as this one. This will sustain them for some time and I wouldn’t be surprised if some especially nosy ladies reach out to organize teas or take you out riding and hawking just to try and pry some gossip from you. I’d keep an eye out for it.”

You smile, shaking your head. You open your mouth to ask for more detail when there’s a screeching wail, loud enough to reach your ears but not quite loud enough to call the attention of the rest of the grounds. You look over and freeze, feeling as if someone has poured ice water over you, dowsing and chilling you completely.

Two servants stand awkwardly to the side as a woman sobs over Victor Florent’s body, her dress soaking in blood, staining its delicate blue beyond saving. A man is holding her, pulling her back, his own cheeks streaked with tears as he stares with despair down at the broken body of what once was a knight.

And Erren Florent stands, almost perfectly still, eyes boring into Aemond and his family.

His brother and good sister you realize as you watch their grief, your stomach twisting into knots. For all his faults, they must have loved him something fierce.

You want to look away, want to look and see anything else, but your body won’t let you. Is it penance? Is it a poor attempt at an apology?

You crush the thought as easily as it arises. Not an apology. Never an apology. This was a tourney. This was the melee. Men died as easily as flies and Aemond had been well within his rights to kill Victor. If it hadn’t been Victor, it would have been Aemond and his life is worth all of the lives of the entire Florent line. You’d rather have to personally rip their House out from their seat of power, root and stem and seed, than have to face what could have been today.

No. Not an apology.

Guilt.

If Victor Florent was the only victim, you would sleep easy. You would sleep happily. But he had a family. You didn’t care about Erren Florent - the man deserves to be knocked down like this, deserves to see his ambitions lying pitifully in the dirt - but his brother and good sister were innocent. Their only crime was loving their family.

You don’t even want to imagine the state you would be in if you lost one of your siblings. If Helaena or even Daeron or Aegon had paid the ultimate price.

If Aemond.

As much as you don’t want to think about it, the thought rises in your mind and you know what you would feel, what you would want, if you were in the position of Victor Florent’s loved ones.

Because of that, you turn back to your uncle, finally pulling yourself free from the Florents’ show of grief. “Send them our condolences,” you say, voice quiet but firm. Hardened. There can be no room for doubt. “But see if we can pay a servant in their party to loosen their tongue. If they decide they want more than our well wishes… We will move from there.”

Tyland watches you, careful and analytical. He’s looking into you, peering around as if he’s looking for something. You meet his gaze with determination, lifting your head up, and eventually, your uncle smiles. It’s a gentle smile even as his eyes flash with satisfaction and pride. “Of course, little one,” he replies, holding his arm out for you to take. You take it and he does you the favor of ignoring the slight tremor in your body. “Your will is my command.”

I am a Lion of the Rock and foxes cannot frighten me.

——————————–

Unlike the dinner before, you dress in your house colors tonight, shining in a gown of deep maroon with veins of an even darker red embroidered on the thick fabric. A corset forged out of gold, more decorative than serving any true purpose, cinches at your waist, a lion’s head embossed onto the delicate metal.

No one is looking at your dress, however. They hadn’t looked at your dress when you had entered or when you had bowed before the royal family. Even when you sit down to eat, your family all around you, your cousins and distant uncles don’t look at your dress or even your face.

Instead, they all stare up at your crown. You’d been near obsessively careful with it on the journey back from the grounds and, when your handmaids had been helping you dress and fix your hair, you had insisted on being the one to handle it. When one of them had suggested cleaning it, to ‘make the gold shine, m’lady’, you had had to bite your tongue to hold back from lashing out in anger.

Gold isn’t the only color of my House, you had said, firmly and without room for doubt or misinterpretation. I mean to do them both honor.

The crown of golden, bloodied flowers sits on your head, pristine and perfect. It’s a clear message. It’s a loud message.

When you had greeted the royal family and Aemond had seen that you were still wearing it, he had very nearly smiled, his face brightening up - not to the point that anyone else would recognize but so glaringly obvious to you. The Queen and the Lord Hand had personally congratulated you and Aegon and Daeron had even toasted you. Their acceptance of you as a Queen of Love and Beauty along with your clear preference for one crown over another has essentially tied you to Aemond publicly even if no betrothal has been announced.

An understanding, indeed You think to yourself.

It was truly no wonder that the eyes of the court stayed focused on your crown rather than you yourself.

There was one member of the court, however, who was not staring up at the red and gold flowers. Instead, Erren Florent was staring right at you.

There’s no expression on his face. Not grief, not rage, not even annoyance. His face is blank, an expressionless mask, and it was all focused on you. He sits alone. His son and good daughter must have sat out to mourn in peace but he had come.

He had come to watch you.

His gaze is heavy, oppressive, but you refuse to let him see you flinch. Instead, you straighten up in your seat, throwing your hair back, and meet his eyes coolly. His gaze sharpens, cold and cruel, and you know that if he could, he would leap across the throne room and slit your throat himself.

But he can’t. Not here, in a room where the most powerful people were allied to you. It must rankle his nerves, agitate his very soul.

How hateful, you think, to have to watch your son die while the world cheers around you.

You’d feel pity if you didn’t already dislike the man. You’d feel guilty about his pain if you weren’t cautious about the look in his eyes; the wild, crazed, desperate look.

You and Aemond have made your beds and burned down any chance for anything resembling friendliness with the Florents. Now you would have to lie in it, in the ashes of what the two of you had done.

Erren finally looks away, turning his gaze to some poor well-wisher that’s approached him to offer his condolences, and you join your cousins’ conversation. Still, you remain sitting straight, your posture so perfect that you’re sure that your old septa is somewhere beaming with pride, lest he turn his stare back on you.

Your cousins are predictably talking about the tourney - they’re gossiping about the melee and all of the handsome knights that, while unable to win the event, had proved themselves to be skilled and capable. A few of the more confident ones scheme about how to bump into the knights to see if they could manage to coax a dance or even a tea out of them. All of them keep cooing over your crown, most of them tactfully ignoring the blood staining the golden roses.

Surprisingly enough, however, Jocasta is the only one to bring it up. “Our House colors,” she quietly murmurs, still skittish under your gaze. “The Gods must have blessed Prince Aemond so he could be the one to give you this crown.”

She doesn’t meet your eyes but you smile warmly at her regardless. She’s a sweet girl, after all.

The actual feasting part of the feast wraps up fairly quickly and, when the dancing begins, you excuse yourself from your family and walk up to the royal table. This time, no one stops you and no one gets in your way and, soon enough, you’re sliding into the chair next to Helaena, smiling at her and Aemond both.

An awkward silence descends on the three of you - you’re not entirely sure on how to act now, not in this new reality where your and Aemond’s intentions have all been laid bare. Hours away from any Targaryen have calmed your anxieties - he’d never have crowned you if he hated you for the truth - but now you’re unsure how to approach talking to them, unsure if you should bring up the rather big elephant in the room.

“Are you ready to spend all of tomorrow in prayer?” You ask Helaena, grasping for a topic to talk about, and she sighs in response, her hands coming up to play with the ends of her hair.

“It should be a nice reprieve, to be honest,” she says after a moment. “It’ll be quiet. Relaxing.”

You nod, finding that you agree. “It will be nice to get away from the chaos of the rest of the wedding. Pity that we’ll miss the archery event though - Tygett seems pretty confident that he’ll win in that event.”

“Is he a skilled archer or are Lannisters naturally inclined to succeed when there’s gold on the line?” Aemond asks drolly and you shoot him a glare, ignoring how your cheeks warm when he chuckles at your dark look.

“I don’t say why we would be,” you say in your most haughty voice, tapping your fingers against the table. “We’re already richer than every other House in Westeros.”

“There is no limit to Lannister pride or ambition,” he quips back and you preen. You had heard the phrase lobbed at your House in the past, usually used to insult or scorn, but coming from Aemond, it feels more like a compliment than it ever has in the past.

A companionable silence falls over the three of you and you turn your attention back to the throne room, watching as the court mingles. This late into the night, people are slowly drowning deeper and deeper in their cups and you begin to wonder how anything ever gets done. It’d be easier to list everyone who isn’t drinking and it’s nothing short of a miracle that people are able to wake up in the morning in order to even attend the wedding festivities.

You’ve never particularly liked alcohol and usually could only tolerate a goblet or two of wine before begging off and asking for water. Aegon seemed to be somewhat invested in getting you drunk at least once but, as you watch your father flirt with a coquettish Lady Tyrell as her increasingly annoyed husband stands at her side and watches, you wonder why anyone bothered.

“If the feasts are already like this, I can hardly imagine how the actual wedding is going to go,” you grumble and Helaena laughs.

“Aegon will start drinking tonight and he won’t stop until after the wedding. I’ll thank the Seven if he manages to make it down the aisle.” She says, amusement evident, and you turn to smile at her even as your stomach squeezes at her response.

She’s fine with it, you remind yourself, wishing that the reminder would bring you any comfort. He’ll keep to his practices and she’ll keep to hers. It’s duty. There’s honor in doing your duty.

Aemond sighs. “Aegon will be there, Helaena. I’ll personally ensure it.”

“No choice,” she responds, almost chirping. “No choice at all.”

You watch her, heart beating fast in your chest, before she shakes her head firmly. She blinks hard before rising to her feet.

“I’m tired,” Helaena says, not sounding very tired at all. “Shall we leave?”

“So early?” You ask, looking over her carefully as you rise to your feet, suddenly anxious that she’s grown uncomfortable and you haven’t noticed. “Should I inform the Queen?”

Helaena shakes her head again, smiling. “No. I’m sure Mother will understand - getting an early jump on prayer and contemplation and all of that. Perhaps we should head to the gardens, actually. Enjoy the night air.”

After a moment, you nod, glancing over to see if you can spot the Queen regardless. She’s with her father, speaking to Lord Borros Baratheon, her emerald dress making her stand out even deep in the crowd like she is. “Of course, Helaena. I imagine the gardens are lovely right now.”

“Either way, I’ll inform Mother. I’ll also let Lord Lannister know as well, my lady,” Aemond says, glancing at you, and you quickly thank him, giving him a small smile as he nods his head at you.

“Join us after, brother,” Helaena calls out after Aemond has already made his way down to the ground, and, though her brother made no indication that he heard her words, she beams as if he’s already agreed. She turns to you, light entering her eyes and making her seem more like the little girl the two of you used to be rather than the women the two of you were. “Shall we go?” She asks, holding out her arm for you to take, and, after a moment, you loop your arm with her, grinning.

——————————–

The gardens are, predictably, empty with not even a token servant wandering its grounds. The moment you step into the cool night air, Helaena pulls free from you and, tugging at her skirts from the side to pull up her gown, darts into the maze-like hedges, her long silver hair streaming in the air behind her.

“Helaena!” You call out, immediately chasing after her, but the princess only laughs, delighted. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the garden are her giggles, punctuated by your cursing at your own gown as it snags and snares on every stray piece of foliage you pass. Mercifully, she finally slows to a stop, near the paved terrace that overlooks the rolling waters of Blackwater Bay.

Helaena sits, perched on the wall that separates the gardens from the rocky cliffs that jut out beneath it, face turned towards the waters. Slowing to a halt, you stop next to her, trying your best to calm your breathing from the sprint she had dragged you on.

“Look,” She says after a moment, pointing out towards the rocky outcrops in the middle of the bay, far in the distance. You follow her finger, eyes straining against the dark, until it lights up like day.

There’s a brilliant burst of flame, bright and hot enough that you can feel the heat crash against your body as if it was a physical wall ramming into you. A massive body, larger than anything could have the right to be, crashes into the water, sending up a massive wave that could swallow most ships you’ve seen whole.

Vhagar is hunting.

You watch, mesmerized with wonder and fear, as she rises up into the sky, clutching a whale in her claws. It’s a colossal thing, big enough to seemingly drag Vhagar down back to its home in the deep, but the Queen of All Dragons is stronger than that. The leviathan is writhing in her grasp, fighting with all its might to escape, but Vhagar’s claws are longer and sharper than any spear any man could ever hope to hold. She curls her talons in and you can hear the whale’s wail even from miles away, can see the rivers of blood that fall through the air like rain.

Vhagar flies up, up, and up into the sky where even her tremendous size can appear small, disappearing into cloud cover. Even in the dark, however, the moonlight casts her shadow and she looks monstrous, even hidden from view how she is. You watch until you can’t anymore until she finally disappears into the inky darkness of the night.

“Where does she feed?” You ask Helaena, hands coming down to the wall so you can lean, pressing deeper in the cool air as if you’ll be able to see her if you stretch.

“At an island deeper in,” Aemond’s voice answers and you nearly topple over in your shock, spinning around to see him smirking at your surprise. Next to him, Daeron is pinned under Aegon’s arm, both seemingly trapped by his older brother and also being the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. Aegon, for his part, looks mighty pleased, a wine bottle clutched in his hand.

Aemond walks closer, standing by your side and looking out towards the Blackwater. His eyes are focused, narrowed, and you get the idea he knows exactly where he’s looking at. “It’s a small island, past the spears of the merling king. From what I can tell, it used to be covered with trees but she’s razed most of it down to make her roost.”

“She’s far too big for the Dragonpit I suppose,” you reply, curling your fingers against the stone.

“She was too big a hundred years ago,” he hums. “Vhagar could fit - if she had any desire to. Once Balerion the Black Dread passed, she never returned to it. The island is her home now.”

You smile sadly at the thought of Vhagar leaving the Dragonpit forever once her brother had passed. Perhaps it hadn’t been her size that had driven her out but rather her grief. It seemed strange that such a creature, as ancient and destructive as she was, could feel such emotion, such heartbreak, but somehow that little detail has warmed you up to her more than anything else ever had in the years since Aemond has claimed her.

After a moment, you glance up at her rider. “How do you summon her?” You ask, feeling slightly embarrassed that the simple question had never once occurred to you in the near decade since Driftmark. Vhagar had always been an abstract figure in your mind - the prize that Aemond had bought with his eye. You had never stopped to think about the simpler details of her bond with the prince.

Aemond, noticing your sudden curiosity, gives you a half smile. “She always knows. My lady Vhagar will come flying if she senses I have a need for her. She’s always in my mind like I’m always in hers.”

You frown, looking back over the bay. Vhagar is no doubt far from here now but you can still see her in your mind: a massive beast that took up the entire sky. You wonder if, even as deep in her meal as she surely must be, she can still feel Aemond’s presence in her mind. “How does that work? What if you’re chilly one night and offhandedly think that you’d fancy a fire to keep you warm? Would Vhagar come bearing down on us and crush the Red Keep beneath her?” You question jokingly, laughing slightly.

“A dragon is not something you can call accidentally. You can try to summon one but it’s not some dog that’ll come running at your beck and call. Dragons will only serve those they want to serve,” his words are heavy with intent and, sharply inhaling, you meet his ever-watchful eye.

I’m afraid that I was onto you right from the start.

“Was I really that obvious?” You breathe out, heart pounding in your chest. Your voice is low, quiet enough so that the other Targaryen siblings, lost in their own conversation, cannot hear you, but he can hear you perfectly. The look gleaming in his eye tells you all you need to know. “How long have you known?”

He smirks in response, looking rather like the cat that finally caught his prey. “Since you arrived. Lannisters notoriously stick together and daughters of the Rock are usually treasured rather than shipped off. If your uncle wanted company from his family, he would have sent for some distant cousin or another and not his ten-year-old niece. You only would have come to marry and, with your family pushing for you to be Helaena’s companion, there were really only two real targets.”

You sigh, feeling your cheeks flush in shame and embarrassment. “Are you angry?” Do I need to apologize? Do you want me to spill out my heart here?

“After I got over the fact that a pretty girl actually wanted to spend time with me, I wanted to ignore you, but Mother made me promise that I’d give you a chance,” he says easily and you openly wince, feeling a pang of regret shoot through you. “You were difficult to avoid, however, always showing up at the library when I was studying, always willing to talk to me about whatever book you were reading. It wasn’t hard for you to worm your way into being my friend.”

You ruefully smile, shaking your head. “It wasn’t as if it was a chore, my prince,” you respond, the truth coming to you easily. “If I didn’t like you for you rather than the prince my father wanted me to claim, I wouldn’t have read nearly as many books as I did. I certainly wouldn’t have given you the sapphire necklace. That… It was the first gift my father ever gave me himself. During all my earlier name day celebrations, his gift would be mixed in with the ones from everyone else and sometimes he’d look as surprised as I was at whatever it was he had given me. I’m sure his old steward was the one always picking it out for him. But that necklace… It’s tradition, you see, in House Lannister, to give a maiden jewelry when she begins her search for a husband.”

“And you gave it to me,” Aemond says, no question in his voice - only the absolute truth of it.

“And I gave it to you,” you echo. “At the time, it was the only thing of value I could think to give you. That and my word. A promise from a Lannister is as good as any jewel.”

Aemond laughs at that. “Your word is as good as any jewel, my lady. Better even.”

You grin, relief washing over you when you realize he isn’t upset. “Perhaps. Maybe Lannister words aren’t worth as much as I say but all of us take our debts very seriously and your debt is mine.”

“And yours is mine,” he replies, as steady as the Red Keep itself.

I am yours and you are mine.

Before you can say anything, however, the too-familiar call of your nickname calls your attention and you look over to see Aegon waving his bottle of wine in the air, narrowly missing smacking poor Daeron in the skull with it.

“Brother! My shining Lady of Lannister! Come join us for a drink!” He shouts as if you’re across the Blackwater Bay itself rather than standing only a few scant feet away.

You can practically hear Aemond’s frown in his voice. “‘Join us’? You’re the only one drinking.”

Aegon laughs gleefully. “Come now, Aemond, we should be celebrating your victory! You may not be able to claim the true prize yet without bringing an entire kingdom down on our heads for defiling a lady of the Rock but you can drink!”

“He just wants to congratulate you,” Daeron rushes to say, no doubt recognizing the stormy look on Aemond’s face after Aegon’s less-than-subtle insinuation. “You’ve won a great victory and brought yourself much honor.”

“The hand will hold the iron,” Helaena sings even as she kneels down on the ground to play with a passing millipede.

“If you do not want a drink, though, it'd make you much more enjoyable to be with,” Aegon continues, shaking his head as he moves closer to you and Aemond. “Then your Queen of Love and Beauty will drink for you.”

You huff, sidestepping the bottle stretched out in an offer and gamely holding yourself back from smacking him away when his free hand reaches for your crown. “I thank you, Prince Aegon, but I’d rather not enter a full day of prayer and contemplation tomorrow sick from drink. I’m supposed to be praying for a blessed marriage with your sister after all.”

Aegon scowls at the reminder and you instantly wish you had chosen a different word to call Helaena. She’s his sister and his betrothed. Both are true no matter how much we all wish they weren’t. “If you’re praying for children for us, there’s nothing prayer could accomplish than a cask of the finest Arbor Gold could not.”

“Enough of that,” Aemond snaps, no doubt displeased with his brother’s blasphemy. “No one else will be drinking.”

“Daeron had a drink,” Aegon replies mutinously and Daeron’s eyes go comically wide. You laugh at his almost bug-eyed stare as you sink to the ground next to Helaena, sensing that Aegon will not allow anyone to leave before his fun is finished. Helaena beams at you as she grabs the millipede, bringing it up uncomfortably close to your face to show you.

“I had one,” Daeron hotly protests, no doubt missing how his older brothers, despite their discord, exchange amused glances at his overly forceful defense. “And you made me do it.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t know, little brother… You did trip on a rock on our way here.”

“Because you tripped,” Daeron shoots back.

“Mother would be disappointed to see how her baby dragon’s turned out,” Aemond says, voice as serious as if he’s discussing policy with the Lord Hand. “She had such high hopes for you.”

“But I-”

“I saw him wobble a little just now,” Helaena volunteers from the ground, not even looking up from the millipede crawling all over her hands.

Daeron whines, sounding like a little boy rather than the near-grown man that he was. “I didn’t!”

You grin up at him, shaking your head. “It’s alright, my prince. As long as you can hold your drink better than Prince Aegon, the Queen would find no fault within you.”

“There’s not much hope of that if he’s like this after one,” Aemond replies, quick as a whip, and even he cracks a smile as Daeron loudly protests his innocence.

The five of you stay in the gardens long after Aegon finishes his wine, basking in the glow of the moonlight.

[444namesplus]

all character names used in the song of ice and fire pile

addam addison adrack adrian aegon aegor aelyx aemma aemon aemond aenar aenys aerea aerion aeron aeryn aerys aethan aethelmure aggo agnes ahai aladale aladore alan alannys alaric alarra alayaya alayne albar albett albin alchemist alekyne alerie alester alfyn alicent all allar alleras alliser allyria alton alvyn alyce alyn alys alysanne alyssa amarei amerei amory amos and andar andrey andrik andros androw anguy annara antario anya archer archon's ardrian aregelle areo argella arianne arlan armen armond aron arra arrana arrec arryk arryn arsa arstan arthur artos arwood arwyn arya arys asha ashara ashford aubrey aurane aurion axell ayrmidon azor b baelish baelon baelor balaq balerion ball balman balon banefort bar baratheon barbara barber barbrey barneby barra barre barristan barthogan bass bastards beesbury bella bellanora bellegere bellena bellonara belly ben benard benedict benfred benfrey benifer benjen benjicot bennard bennarion bennifer benton beren berena beric bernarr beron bertrand bess beth bethany bettley bharbo big billy biter black blackbar blackberry blackfyre blackshield blacktyde blackwood blade blood bloody blount blue boarkiller boisterous bolton boremund boros bors borys botley bowen boy bracken bran branda brandon brax braxton breaker brella brienne brightstone bronn broome brother brother brune brus bryan bryce bryen brynden bryndon buckler bullock bulwer bump burley burton byan byrch byron bywater c cadwyl cafferen caleotte calla captain captain's cargyll caron cassana cassel cassella caswell category catelyn catspaw cayn cedric celtigar cerelle cerenna cerissa cersei cerwyn ceryse character characters characters charlton chataya chayle chett chiggen children clarent clayton clegane clement cleos cletus cleyton clifton clydas cockshaw codd cohollo coldhands colemon colin colmar commander commander's connington corbray corlys corne correy coryanne costayne courtesan cousin cox craghorn

crake crakehall crane cregan cregard creighton cressen creylen crow culiper cuy cynthea cyrelle cyrenna d daario dacey dacks daegon daella daemion daemon daenerys daenora daenys daeron daeryssa dagmer dagon dale dalt dalton damion damon danny danos danwell dareon daring darke darklyn darlessa darnold darry daryn daughter daughter daven davos daxos dayne deana deceased deem delena demonlover denyo denys desmera desmond devan deziel dick dickon dobber donal dondarrion donel donella donnel donnis donnor dontos doran doreah dormund dorna dornishman dragons drogo drumm drunkard dryn duckfield duncan dunstable dunstan duram durran durrandon durwald dusk duskendale dusky dustin duur dyanna dykk dywen e ebrose eddara eddard eddison edgar edgerran edmund edmure edmyn edric edwell edwyle edwyn edyth eerl egen elaena elder eldred eleyna elia elinda elinor ella ellard ellaria ellyn elmar elmo elric elwood elyas elyn elys elysar emberlei emma emmett emmon emmond emory endrew erena erenford erich ermesande erren erryk essie estermont estren ethan euron ever eye eyed f falena falyse farman farring farwynd father fenn fergon flatnose flement fletcher flint florent florian florys flowers folk follard fool foote for forel fork forley foss fossoway fox franklyn free frenken frey from g gael gaemon gage galbart gardener gared gareth garibald garlan garrison garse garth gaunt gawen gendry genna gerald geremy gerion germund gerold gerrick gevin gilbert gilliane gilly gilly's glendon glover godry gold goodbrook goodbrother goode goren gormon gormond gorold gower graceford gran grance greatjon green greenbeard greenfield greenhand gregor grell grenn grey greydon greyiron greyjoy griffith grover groves guard guncer gwayne gwenys gwin gwynesse gylbert gyldayn gyles gysella h h'ghar haegon haereg haggo haggon hagon haigh hairy hake hal halder hali halleck hallis hallyne halys hammer hardy hardyng hareth harlan harlaw harlon harma harmen harmond harmund harrag harras harren harrion harrold harron harry harwin harwyn harys hawick hayford heddle helman hendry henly herndon hero herrock heward hibald high hightower hill hilmar historical hoare hoarfrost hoat hobb hobber hobert hodor hogg hoke hollard holly hop horas horgan horn

hornwood horpe horse horton horys hosman hosteen hostella hoster hot hotah hotho howard howland hubard hubert hugh hugo hullen humble humfrey hunter huntsman husband illifer illyrio ilyn imry irri iv ix j jacaerys jacelyn jack jacks jaehaerys jafer jaime jalabhar jammos janei janna janos jaqen jared jaremy jason jasper jast jax jayne jennis jenny jenye jeor jeren jeyne jhiqui jhogo jirelle joanna jocasta jocelyn joffrey johanna john jojen jommo jon jonah jonnel jonos jonothor jonquil jorah joron jorquen jory joseran joseth joss josua joy joyeuse jurene justin justman jyck k kaeth kandaq karlon karstark karyl kedge kegs kella kenning kermit kettleblack kevan kezmya kindly king king kings kingsblood kingsblood's kingsguard knight knights kurleket kyndall kyra l lad laenor lake lambert lancel langward lanna lannister larence lark larys last laswell leana leathers leek lefford lelia lem lemoncloak lenwood leo leobald leona leonella leonette leslyn lester lew lewyn lewys lharys lia lianna lickspittle lily locke lodos lollys lomys long longbough longleaf longthorpe longwaters lonmouth lonnel loraq loras lorch lord lord loren lorence lorent loreon lorimar lorimer loron lorra lothar lothor lucamore lucas luceon lucifer lucimore lucinda lucion luthor luwin lyanna lyarra lydden lyle lyman lymond lyn lynara lynora lyonce lyonel lysa lythene m mace mad maege maegelle maegon maegor maekar maelor maelys maester maia maid maldon malegorn malleon mallery mallister mallor man mance manderly mandon manfred manfrey manfryd manly marbrand

margaery margaret marghaz margot mariah marillion maris mariya mark marla marlon marna maron marq marqelo marsella marsh martell martyn maryam masha maslyn massey matarys mathis matthar mattheus matthew maz meadows medgar medrick medwick meera megga meha melantha melara meldred melesa melessa melisandre melissa mellario melony melwyn merianne meribald merlon merlyn mern merrell merrett merryweather mervyn meryn mikken milk mina minisa mirri mo mohor mollander mollen monarchs moon moore mooton mopatis mord mordane moreo morgan morgarth morgon mormont moro morrec morrigen morros mors morya moryn mott mounts mullendore mullin mully munda murenmure musgood mya mycah mychel myles myr myranda myrcella myre myriame myrielle mysaria n naerys naggle naharis nan narha night's norbert norcross norjen norman normund norne norren norrey norridge norvos notch noye nute nymeria o o' oak oakenshield oakheart oarsman obara oberyn of old olene olenna ollidar olymer olyvar olyver omer ondrew orbert orkwood ormond ormund orryn orton orys osbert oscar osfryd osha osmund osney osric oswald oswell oswyck oswyn othell otherys othgar otho othor ottyn owen oznak p paege pahl palehair patchface pate pater patrek paul paxter payne peake penny pennytree penrose perceon peremore perianne perkin perra perriane perwyn petyr philip pie piper plummer podrick polliver poole porther pov praed pree prentys prester preston prince

princes promised prudence prunella pryor puckens pyat pycelle pyg pyke pypar q qalen qarl qarlton qhored qhorin qhorwyn qorgyle qotho quaithe quaro queen quellon quenten quentin quenton quentyn quincy qyburn qyle r ragged rakharo ralf rambton ramsay randyll rast raven ravos raya rayder raylon raymont raymun raymund raynald raynard reach red redbeard redfort redpool redwyne reed reference regenard regis regnar renfred renly rennifer reynard reyne reysen rhae rhaegal rhaegar rhaegel rhaella rhaelle rhaenyra rhalla rhea rhogoro ricasso richard rickard rickon rivers rob robar robard robb robert robett robin robyn roderick rodrik rodwell roger rogers rognar rohanne roland rolder rollam rolland rolley rolly rolph romny ronel ronnal ronnel roone roose roote rorge roryn rosamund rosby rose rosey roslin rowan roxton roy royce rufus rupert rus russell ruttiger ryam rycherd ryella ryger ryk rykker rylene ryman rymolf rymond ryswell s saan sabitha salladhor sallei saltcliffe samantha samgood samwell sand sandor sansa santagar sara saranella sargon sarra sarsfield sarya satin sawane scales scarb seastar seaworth sebaston selmond selmy selwyn selyse senelle septon serena serra serry serwyn sevenstreams shadrich shae shaena shagwell sharp she shella shepherd shett shiera shierle shireen shirei shortear shrike shrykos sigfry sigfryd sigorn simon sister sisterton skahaz skinchangers sloane slynt small smallwood smike smiling snow son son soulless sour sparr spicer spotted squire stackspear stafford

stallion stannis stark starvling staunton steffarion steffon stevron stillwood stiv stokeworth stone stonehouse stonetree storm stout strickland strong suggs sumner sunglass surly swann sweet swyft sybell sylas sylvenna sylwa symond syrio t taena tagaros talbert tall talla tallhart tally tanda tanner tarbeck targaryen tarle tarly tarth tawney templeton teora ternesio terys tess that the the theo theodore theomore theon thoren thorne thoros three timeon timotty tion titus tobho todder todric togarion tollett tom tomard tommen torghen torgon torrhen torwyn torwynd tower towers toyne trant tree tregar tristifer triston trystane tully tumitis turnberry turnip tyana tybolt tyene tygett tyler tyrek tyrell tyrion tyrion's tysane tysha tyta tytos tywald tywin u ulf uller umber umfred umma urragon urras urrathon urrigon urron urswyck uther utherydes uthor utt v vaegon vaellyn valaena valerion valiant vance varamyr vardis vargo varly varys vayon velaryon veron vickon victaria victarion victor vikary vines visenya viserra viserys volmark vorian vortimer votyris w waif walda walder walderan waldon walgrave wallace wallen walter walton waltyr walys was waters watt waymar wayn waynwood weaver webber weeper wendamyr wendel westerlands westerling westling wex whalen whent white whittlestick who wick wife wildling will willamen willas willem william willis willow wind wineseller winterfell wode wolves woman woodcock woolfield world woth wulfgar wull wyl wylde wylis wylla wyman wynafrei wynafryd wynch wynton wythers x xaro xho xhoan y yandry yarwyck yew ygon ygritte yohn yorbert yoren yorko youngest yronwood ysabel ysilla z zo zollo

[mryoyo000]

[thesims4asoiaf]

~Ts4 Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon/ ASOIAF Lookbook +CC Links~ DAWN AGE/AGE OF HEROES

•Garth Greenhand and his daughters•

As always, they are up in the gallery! EA ID: FaePorcelain

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Garth Greenhand

Hair, beard, eyeliner, eyeshadow, eyebrows, sleeves, outfit, crown, rings, nosemask, cheeks, face markings

Florys The Fox

Hair, dress and necklace, hair beads, roots and armband, boots, face markings, lipstick, eyeliner, blush, nosemask

Maris The Maid

Hair, blush, hand tattoos, dress, island living necklace, flower crown, lipstick, face markings, forehead symbol, eyebrows

Rose of Red Lake

Hair, dress and feathers, bracelets, necklace, earrings, face makeup, lipsticks, blush

Ellyn Ever Sweet

Hair, dress, earrings, necklace, hand tattoos, arm bands, lipstick, face marking, nosemask, eyebrows, eyeliner

Rowan Gold-Tree

Hair, vines, blush 1 2, necklace, dress, boots, eyeliner, flower crown, forehead symbol,basegame brows and freckles

[247reader]

A while back I drew various historical Starks in neolithic-to-bronze-age clothing, and I decided to expand on that for various historical figures - from right to left, in clothes ranging from bronze age to late antiquity, we have Nymeria, Florys the Fox, Lann the Clever, Elenei, Theon Stark the Hungry Wolf, Daenys the Dreamer, and the Amethyst Empress.

Art notes beneath the cut:

Nymeria is inspired by ancient Sumerian clothing; her spear in particular is based on an artifact from Girsu, but with a stylized sunburst in place of its engraved lion.

Florys is inspired by pre-Roman Gaul; I wanted something similar but distinct from the Stark look, as the legend is part Andal and part First Men, plus the plaid dress was fun to draw.

Lann is Greek; his hat is a petasos, which is associated with Hermes and I thought would emphasize the trickster aspect of his legend.

Elenei is Minoan, which was tremendous fun to draw, though I did cover up her chest more than a Minoan woman would have. She's also shaded more sea-green, to emphasize the not-quite-human aspects.

Theon Stark is more or less a retread of my Bronze Age Brandon "Him They Called Ice Eyes," based on various burial artifacts in Denmark but with Vlad the Impaler's mustache and the crown of the North added to his hat.

I'm hardly the fist to make the Targs Byzantine, but there's a reason for that: it just works. It's also a significantly later period than everyone else, as she moves from "the mists of time" to "just pre-Conquest."

The Amethyst Empress is Shang Dynasty, though the jewelry is mostly fantasy. I really wanted to draw full trailing sleeves, hence the pose, but it turns out they weren't really a thing yet - though there were some excellent hats.

Brush credits to FireAlpaca.

[dwellordream]

38 for the ask game? I'm curious about Septa Beony!

How did you choose your PC’s name? 

I chose her name Beony because it reminds me of bees, which are small, persistent, and irritating, like Beony. Her surname is Florent- I wanted her to be a Florent due to their association with Florys the Fox, since Beony is a very sneaky, devious person.

[tionpeake]

♛ → THE REACH presents TION PEAKE, the RULING LORD of STARPIKE* & MASTER OF COIN. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought THE GREENS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the THIRTY-TWO year old MALE who was AMBITIOUS & COMPOSED before they saw the first of the flames, is now GREEDY & CONTROLLING after seeing the last. they’re often associated with lush grassy plains as far as the eye can see, the sound of drums in the distance, the scent of perfumed oils ( kofi siriboe. )

*as a side note, though starpike is his main home, the peakes have three keeps to their name at this time - starpike, whitegrove, and dunstonbury

pinterest ✶ playlist ✶ wanted connections ✶ character building ✶ timeline ✶ house peake lore ✶ tasks

history.

part one

gold was ever a sore point for the peakes, whose own house was land poor, rich in stone and soil and pride, yet chronically short of coin, so say the writings of maester gyldayn. this much was true under the lordship of tion’s father, a martial-minded marcher lord, but the father was not the son. the lands of house peake were plentiful and fertile, and yet, the coffers were always empty.

tion’s upbringing was marked by his family’s relative poverty. his house was an ancient one, existing in the reach’s earliest days and said to be descended from florys the fox. many have wondered since the age of heroes if there was summer islander blood in the people of the peake’s lands, but none could say for certain - the husbands of florys were not recorded to history. in his youth, his father had visited the summer isles, curious to see if his origins could be traced. he did not return with answers, but he did return with a bride - tion’s mother.

and yet, despite their three castles they could barely afford to maintain, and an abundance of fertile lands in the marches, the peakes had never found permanent fortune and security. there have been times in their history, such as when the manderlys were driven from the reach, when they had temporarily flourished, but the temporary boosts never lasted more than a few generations.

and so, tion was raised with very little in comparison to the other reach lords, his armour never knew, his family’s keeps always in a state of near disrepair. it was a source of wounded pride for tion, who made it his mission very early on to not only make money, but to make so much of it that it would last for years to come, shattering the peake’s reputation for being poor.

on his sixteenth nameday, his father granted tion dunstonbury, one of the peake’s three castles that were emblazoned on their arms. though young, the lord quickly went to work, a sign of what was to come when he would one day take his father’s own seat. ever-diligent, that tion peake is a hardworking man could never be doubted. his goal, at first, was simple - amass enough money to repair the crumbling keep he was to live in.

the peakes had land to spare, and so, tion practically gave it away to the local small folk. the population of dunstonbury swelled, and agriculture began to flourish, and alongside it, other trade began to spring up. his efforts would bear fruit when the dance broke out, allowing the peakes to continue to make coin while their lords went to war.

the dance would see his father fall, and tion rise to become the lord of the peakes’ three keeps.

part 2

during the dance, he was a fierce supporter of the green faction. it was not just a matter of duty - he genuinely believed in the principles of it, and that aegon ii was the one with the right to rule. this belief only grew the longer the war continued.

he was a fair soldier - better than most, but by no means exceptional. perhaps he could have been, if he had more of a passion for it, but despite his martial upbringing, he was never overjoyed by the feeling of a sword in his hand. no matter where he went or what he was doing, his mind was often on something else, his plans for his home, and what he would do when he returned. 

over time, though, his loyalties began to shift. he did not support the greens, but one particular green - and he began to think that perhaps daeron the daring, a man he came to greatly respect, would be the best choice for westeros’ king, and gathered a contingent of supporters who felt similarly. 

when daeron disappeared, presumed dead, he lost faith in the targaryen dynasty as a whole. as such, tion was a very happy man when the dance ended, and the realm split. he returned to the reach, accepting the decision wholeheartedly, and once again turned his mind to his long-term goals. 

part 3

the next few years were marked by the culmination of tion’s plans for his home, so rudely interrupted by the dance. under his guidance, the peake lands have seen prosperity like no other, booming in trade born from the attention tion put into their agriculture in his youth that became something more in the years since. The castles have been restored, new towns and villages springing up where before there were only grassy plains. 

this should have signalled a time to rest - but not for tion. instead, he simply reassessed what he wanted out of life, and set his new goal - a voice in the reach, a seat on the small council. 

he bided his time, but the death of garland hightower presented an opportunity. tion put his name forward as master of coin - after all, who better to handle the treasury than the man who had spun straw into gold? 

personality.

basics

for tion, nothing is ever good enough. even when he achieves the goal he has set out for himself, he is always chasing the next achievement, looking for his next victory. he’s always looking for more, to be and have better. over time, he has become greedy in his efforts.  

in every incident, every interaction, every conversation, tion looks for opportunity. he’s a chancer at heart - and thus far, that has worked out for him. 

he’s a patient man. he knows that success comes not simply from action, but when the action is deployed. even when he has a fully formed, concrete plan in mind, he has no issues holding back from making the first move until the most opportune time. 

in terms of personal interactions, tion is a very calm presence. he’s an incredibly difficult man to rile up, whether than be anger or any other sort of passion. he sees this as a source of pride, his cool demeanour and composure something that he maintains at all times. 

tion is a man who cares about his appearance. he is never seen publicly with a hair out of place, and never caught unawares. there’s more than hubris behind this, a strategy he lives by : he goes to extreme efforts to make it known that the peakes no longer lack for coin, and to make it plain that he is a lord, not a glorified farmer. 

rumours

under tion’s lordship, the lands of house peake have gone from the brink of ruin to incredibly prosperous in a very short amount of time. there are some who think he has accomplished this through dubious means. 

his mother was a summer islander, and so it would be natural to assume he has sympathies there.

goals

he’s got the land and the money, and now tion seeks to make a name for himself. it is not necessarily about amassing power - tion is a very goal oriented person, never satisfied with what he has. there is always another step on the ladder to climb, and he wants to make sure he is in the right places, at the right times, making the right steps to get ahead for himself and his legacy. 

his biggest challenge is the delicate balance between upholding the martial traditions of a lord of the marches, and further encouraging economic prosperity. 

fears

he fears that everything is temporary, and all that he has worked for to improve peake lands could go away, and thus not be around for future generations to reap the benefits of. 

he also hates not being in control of any given circumstance. he is constantly looking for the upper hand to avoid this. 

a growing concern is that his mother’s place of birth will come back to haunt him. he works hard to put distance between himself and his heritage, and asking him about his connections to the summer isles is one of the only ways to get a rise out of him. 

other 

during the dance, he was badly burned, and carries the scars of this on his left arm.

for the lands surrounding the peake’s three castles, i am taking inspiration from haitian culture. the food, art, music, language, and community way of life there reflects this (more detailed post to come)