#robb stark icons

[calisources]

RICHARD MADDEN AS ROBB STARK IN HBO'S GAME OF THRONES, SEASON ONE TO SEASON THREE.

base icons are 190x120 in order to be use for any type of icon template.

the icons are already sharpened and slightly color corrected.

Richard Madden ( b. 1986 ) is a Scottish actor. Richard was 24 when he was casted in Game of Thrones and was a main character on the first three seasons.

Game of Thrones is a high fantasy show set in the game of thrones universe, based on the song of ice and fire universe.

icons include scenes of implied sexual content, kissing, implied nudity, blood and death.

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this icon pack are 5$ THROUGH PAYHIP or  paypal or buy me a coffee through ko-fi. it truly helps me a lot.    

552 icons. you can also get the base icons for free if you reblog this post and show me evidence of proper credit. once that's done, DM me and I will give you the link for the free download.

[eccentricallygothic]

the slut strand was OUTRAGEOUS

[favorite-characters]

𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤

Richard Madden as 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 (S01.E01-10 • 2011)

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

House Stark as Nene Leakes Memes

Ned

Catelyn

Robb

Jon

Sansa

Arya

Bran

Rickon

Bonus - Theon

[king7doms]

@zoklaanogar / vaguely plotted starter

Robb would have never wanted this for himself. He is grateful that Jon had not ended up leaving for the Wall, as his brother had so desired, when their father and sisters departed for King's Landing. Even with the battle seasoned Lords around him, there was no one Robb trusted more than Jon, and now that he had been named King in the North, there is no one else he would wish by his side.

The animosity between his mother and Jon is palpable at the war councils, and Robb plans to have a word with her. Jon is one of their best swords, and his brother besides - they are at war now, there is no time for petty squabbles.

The chants for the King in the North had died down hours ago, but Robb was restless, still staring over the maps they had, marked by where their scouts had last seen Lannister troops, where now Baratheon troops supporting either Stannis or Renly were also gathering to fight for their rights to the Throne. He was not fighting for the throne - now that their father had been executed, he only wanted Joffrey's head, and the safe return of his sisters.

He was certain his brother felt the same, which is why he'd sent his squire to enquire whether his brother was still awake. The boy had been instructed to leave Jon at peace if he was not, but if he was not, to ask him to join Robb in his own tent. The hour was late, and the goblet of wine by his hand remained near untouched, focus on the war efforts easier when the mind was clear.

They were too young to be fighting a war, thoughts he knew plagued his mother at least, but this was not a game as they had played as children. Their father was dead, their sisters were in the hands of Cersei Lannister, their brother had been crippled by the Lannisters and nearly murdered by him.

The squire does bring his brother, though Robb is actually surprised he is still awake. "I hope the boy didn't wake you." He said, after the squire had exited the tent. A young son of Walder Frey's, sent to be his squire, a sign of the goodwill and the treaty his mother had made in order for them to receive passage to the Twins. "It's late, and I told him not to, but he's still learning."

[theredquill]

in between the first and second acts of butchered tongue

robb: dead.

theon: enduring reekfication

marysa: joining a band of musicians, being in denial, living her best bard life, is declared dead, changed her name

[2braincellslz]

Theon: quit messing with my hand!

Robb: quit messing with my hair!

Theon: well... I started first.

Arya: quit being gay. Both problems solved.

[wolfanddragon98]

@dreaming-for-an-escape​

Me: I don’t have a favorite pairing.

Also me: 

[thehollywoodtalks]

Where Was House of the Dragon Shot? All Real-Life Westeros Locations

Where Was House of the Dragon Shot? All Real-Life Westeros Locations

While House of the Dragon will return us to Westeros, several of the filming sites for the Game of Thrones prequel are entirely new. Here’s a list of them all. House of the Dragon on HBO has numerous locales made famous by Game of Thrones, as well as some new ones – here are all the real-life sites where the Game of Thrones prequel was filmed. Based on part of the events recounted in George R.R.…

[synchodai]

Your last post has made me so curious about your opinion on Jace being viewed as a worthy heir to the Iron Throne. I do think that is a very fitting label for Jace but you say you disagree? Please elaborate.

[This is mostly tangential, but I don't really believe anyone is a "worthy" heir in a monarchy. Kingship isn't a prize for the good guys nor is it a right. It's an inherited office of concentrated (and often stolen) power. Nobody takes a test or campaigns to prove their "worth" to the throne, and there are only ever two ways to "earn" it in ASOIAF: conquest and familial relations. Fire and blood.

Disregarding the nebulous concept of a "worthy" king, let's look at Jace as a leader in general. Because that's how most people are really approaching this, right? They don't really want to bother with the oppressive systems of power that maintain a feudal monarchy and just think about who's "worthy" based on who they would personally vote for when having these kinds of discussions. Never mind that the point of monarchy is no one votes, but for the sake of answering the question, let's pretend.]

Some fans do talk about Jace as if he was showing such extraordinary potential and he would have been the heir that was promised were it not for his untimely death... and I have to disagree with that.

We DO have a character in the series whose narrative purpose was to be the dashing, promising, and perfect king-to-be who died before his time — and his name was Baelor Breakspear. So I think it would be a good idea to compare how the books handled and portrayed the two.

Like Jace, Baelor also didn't have the conventional Targaryen look and faced pushback because of it, but unlike Jace, Baelor was an experienced and studied man in his late 30s. He had proven himself as a ruler by administering his lands, fostering political ties, fighting in battles and tourneys, and raising a suitable issue.

In both the book and the show, Jace is an untested teenager. He was the Prince of Dragonstone in name but never in practice. He made key alliances for the blacks but they were never fulfilled, and every other decision he made (sending dragons instead of ravens, sending Aegon and Viserys to Pentos, and the dragonseeds) was in the interest of short-term gain with little thought given to their long-term consequences. I wrote a bit about it here.

Baelor's most famous piece of dialogue shows him being honorable before he tragically dies fighting in defense of righteous Dunk. (Book) Jace's most famous line of dialogue is calling Vhagar a "hoary, old bitch." Still iconic but narratively speaking, they just don't share the same archetype.

That's not to say that I think Jace would be a horrible leader. I imagine he would be as competent as a Jon Snow or Robb Stark, both of whom came to power at 15 during times of conflict. Like them, he'd be well-intentioned and have his share of wins, but he would have a difficult time earning the respect of his men and would be absolutely miserable throughout. All three young men definitely have the potential to grow into effective and good rulers in their own right, but because they are in such unstable positions, they don't get the privilege of learning from their mistakes. Jon and Robb's tenures were very short as they were both ultimately betrayed, and that's how I foresee how Jace's reign would end as well unless he does something drastic and truly unorthodox.

[nerajaana]

~ At the Inn of the Kneeling Man, where Torrhen Stark bent the knee and swore fealty to Aegon the Conqueror~

"Harwin?" Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen's son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. He was thinner, harder somehow, and at Winterfell he had never worn a beard, but it was him—her father's man. "Harwin!" Squirming, she threw herself forward, trying to wrench free of Lem's iron grip. "It's me," she shouted, "Harwin, it's me, don't you know me, don't you?" The tears came, and she found herself weeping like a baby, just like some stupid little girl. "Harwin, it's me!" …..

…. His eyes went wide, "Gods be good," he said in a choked voice. "Arya Underfoot? Lem, let go of her."

"The Hand's daughter." Harwin went to one knee before her. "Arya Stark, of Winterfell." - Arya II, A Storm of Swords

​thanks for reminding me of this underrated yet iconic moment @thelustybraavosimaid 🫶

[rinignis]

saw a tiktok comparing Catelyn Stark to Alicent Hightower (ss dow below) and since this is such a brain dead take I felt the need to write this out.

First of all, calling Peytr Catelyns lover is so fucking disgusting. Catelyn has never EVER looked at petyr with anything other than brotherly affection. They played "kissing games" as children but Cat was quick to end them whereas Lysa kept playing them with him. In fact, when he tried to kiss her again after she was betrothed to Brandon Stark she pushed him away laughing...LAUGHING GUYS. When brandon died, petyr sent her a letter and burnt the fuck out of it and went on to marry ned stark and eventually fall in love with him. do not ever call catelyn and peytr lovers smh.

Second of all, Catelyn was not particularly angry at ned for having an affair and producing a bastard, she was angry that she brought jon into her new home to raise as she saw that as a threat to her children and grandchildrens inheritance. Catelyn had an actual valid reason to fear her husbands supposed bastard. Catelyn lived in the aftermath of the blackfyre rebellions and her society could still feel the after affects of bastard siblings rising up to take claim to their trueborn siblings inheritances. Alicent however???? she just straight up hated bastards and hated Rhaenyra. It wouldnt have mattered is Rhaenyras kids were bastards as their claim comes through her. Alicent had no valid reason to hate Rhaenyras children as Rhaenyra was heir to the throne, Alicents children had no claim in the eyes of the Iron Throne because Viserys had chosen his heir.

Also, dont compare Catelyns mothering to Alicent. In peace times, Alicent set her 13 year old daughter with her creepy rapist son because she so badly wanted to overthrow Rhaenyra. She may have loved her children in her own way, but alicent most definitely saw her children as a way to gain more power. Catelyn, on the other hand, was a loving mother who did all she could to protect her children. Catelyn was constantly looking for ways to save her daughters. She fought off an assassian that was after bran. She does all she can to support and aid robb as a king going through a war. Hell man, her very last act (before getting resurrected) is to try to barter for robbs' life, and death doesn't even stop this woman. She puppets her fucking corpse around to get vengance for her children, one of these women was a better mother and let me tell you it was not alicent fucking hightower.

I've linked the og tiktok so you can have even more context but this shit pissed me off badddd.

[juliaswickcrs]

HIRAETH

rating: 14+

relationship: robb stark/oc

AO3

summary: Emma Hightower wakes in a land that is not her own with knowledge of a future that does not belong to her. But as she learned from watching Game of Thrones, knowledge is power, and despite warnings about fate and defying the will of the gods, Emma refuses to let any Starks, Tyrells, or Targaryens die at the hands of Lannisters, even if it means throwing herself in their line of sight. Even if it means throwing herself into war. {modern character in westeros, time travel fix it au}

a/n: this has been on ao3 for a while now, but @bisexualterror convinced me to post it on here! please reblog or comment if you enjoyed it!

CHAPTER ONE :: OLDTOWN

She awoke on a soft patch of grass, sunlight streaming through stained glass, crafting a kaleidoscope of colors which danced across her exposed skin. 

Her dress held tight to her frame, skirt flaring out at the waist as it gathers around her thighs. 

It is exactly what she was wearing when she touched the white bark of the tree in the center of the castle. 

Her flannel shirt dangled lazily from her shoulder as she pulls herself up, spandex peeking through the short hem of the white sundress. 

The grass refused to stay grasped in her palms, sliding through her fingers like silk. 

It seemed to be the only patch of grass in this place, the surrounding areas decorated with black marble that covered the area except for a small hole near the top.

The stained glass depicts figures Emma has never seen, and she finds herself staring at a long-haired woman grasping a bouquet of flowers with her head down. 

Besides her stands a broad shouldered man on his knees, sword in hand. 

Despite how little Emma knows, something deep in her head rings familiar, the weight of her bag dragging her shoulder down as she moves closer to the windows. 

She glances behind her for a brief moment and freezes. 

The white tree stands behind her, although it is much smaller than she remembers. 

There is no face carved into it, but the white bark and red leaves are unmistakable. 

It is nearly the exact tree Emma remembers touching after hearing the screams and yells of Cassie and Alec. 

Her leather boots clicked against the beautifully crafted floors of the Cathedral. 

That is the best approximation she can give for the place she woke up in and for all her hatred of it, Emma cannot undo the religious knowledge she grew up with. 

Stained glass, black and white marble, the sounds of choirs in the distance…it’s all horribly familiar to her and yet unknown at the same time. 

The sweet smell of incense caused her to wrinkle her nose as she continued down the narrow halls, religious imagery and icons plastered upon the walls.

It does little to quell the rising nausea in her stomach. 

She hates the smell of churches, the close walls and hymns that accompany the wide-eyed stares and whispered prayers.

“Excuse me, miss” a deep voice rumbles behind her and she whips around, hair nearly slapping the man in the face. 

He’s tall and bearded, with wide eyes resembling her own staring down at her. 

The clothes he’s dressed in are of fine fabrics with gold threaded through the deep forest green of his tunic. 

The sword that swings by his side is certainly not something Emma would see back home, but maybe people in Ireland take live action roleplay more seriously?

That was the only alternative that didn’t have Emma questioning her own sanity. 

“Are you lost?” 

His tone was one she’d heard many times, where an adult would ask a question that was clearly meant to be rhetorical. But Emma had never been good at answering those. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Her eyes fell to the grey tower and golden flames emblazoned on his doublet, the emblem feeling unmistakably familiar “I don’t know where I am, I believe—“ 

“You don’t know where you are?” The man scoffed incredulously, crossing his arms and shaking his head as if she were a child, “I’ve heard many excuses from whores, but I do believe that is a new one.”

Emma’s chest burned at the insult, “I beg your pardon?”

“Come now brother,” A melodic voice interrupted her attempt to defend herself, “Is that any way to talk to one of our own?”

A pair of long nails attached to spindly fingers landed on Emma’s shoulder, cold to the touch and causing her to tense up. 

The man sighed, “Malora, I do not have time for your antics today, surely father—“

“Father has sent me to retrieve your issue,” The woman behind her spoke pointedly, eyes staring down the man, before lowering her voice, “Or at least, that’s who he believes has shown up in the garden of the Starry Sept.”

The man shook his head again, “You and I both know Father had gone quite mad these days, surely he does not believe—“

“You don’t know what he believes anymore, brother,” the woman, Malora, spoke with a sharp tone, “You are not the one he asks to join him in the High Tower. You have not seen him of late. He is filled with dreams, ideas that no other lord would dare speak aloud, and when he asks his children to perform an errand, he expects it to be done quickly and discreetly.”

Malora’s brother tightened his grip on his sword, jaw clenching as his eyes wandered over Emma’s frame once more. 

She tried to ignore the ridiculous thoughts filling her head as the conversation took place. 

With words like Starry Sept, and High Tower standing out and joining the emblem in familiarity. 

The woman who saved her from the insult steers her past the bearded man and Emma finally catches a glimpse of her. 

She is tall and willowy, with long dark hair that seemed to match the imagery of the stained glass Emma saw earlier. Her skirts fell to the floor, causing Emma to tug on the hem of her sundress. 

They were made of a dark velvet the color of the night sky, dotted with flecks of gold and seemed to move when Malora moved. 

As they passed the bearded man, Emma stopped and stared up at him, gathering every bit of vitriol she could muster, “I’m not a whore,” She spat, “And even if I was, you could not afford me.”

The man’s face turned red and Malora’s lips tilted upward into a smirk. 

The older woman unclasped the cloak around her shoulders, “Here,” she handed it to Emma, “Unless you wish to be mistaken for a whore again, I would advise you keep that on you until we reach my father.”

Emma stared at the deep violet color for a moment before dropping her gaze toward her short hem. 

She wanted to say no, to protest against the ridiculous standards they were enforcing on her. But she had questions, and she needed to know if all of this was as impossible as she believed it to be. 

The golden strings tied neatly around her neck and Emma pulled the thick hood over her long dark hair.

She did not know where Malora was taking her, nor why the bearded man seemed intent on following them through the winding passageways and sweltering heat of what was clearly a bustling city. 

As she held tight to Malora’s hand, a series of possibilities floated through her mind. 

The first was that she’d been dragged into the middle of a very elaborate LARP scenario. 

The swords, the fancy accents, the beautiful Cathedral.

It all made sense. 

After all, Ireland was famous for their beautiful churches and…unique characters but Emma had never heard of people being this committed to the bit before. 

The second was she’d accidentally stumbled onto the set of a fantasy show for Netflix. Ireland was a popular filming place after all, and it would explain why everyone was dressed in similar silhouttes and spoke as if following a script. 

But that would not explain how she fit into this whole thing. Unless it was like that one show where everyone else was an actor except for the lone person out of the loop. 

The third was something too impossible for her to contemplate. 

But it explained more than the first two options ever could. 

The strange dialect, the clothes and belief she was a whore, the fact that the city she was now weaving through resembling nothing of the Irish countryside she’d been given a tour of before with her friends.

It all made too much sense and yet none at the same time. 

“Look out!” Malora yelled and Emma turned just in time to see a wide-eyed man with crooked teeth and a knife fall to the ground with a groan.

Blood spilled out of his mouth and onto her dress as a steel blade punctured his throat.

The bearded man stood before her with a look of disdain, but all Emma could feel the warmth of the blood spattering her face and chest, staining her dress crimson as the life left the man’s eyes. 

And suddenly the impossible became reality. 

If it was a movie, a director would have yelled cut. If it was a show, special effects would have taken place. And if it was a LARPing session, there would be no need for live steel. 

She could taste the iron.

This was real. 

The blood was real. 

Emma knelt down and grasped the knife in her hand. It was crudely made, with a misshapen wooden handle and a flimsy blade.

It punctured the tip of her finger and she winced.

The knife was real. 

This was no longer a dream, nor an impossible option. 

“Holy shit,” She whispered. 

Malora grasped her hand and quickened her pace, the bearded man falling back into place as they continued downriver.

The water rushed beside them as whispers turned to bustling conversations.

Survival instinct kicked in and Emma ran alongside the woman, still not knowing where she was headed or what her fate would be when they got there. 

A white marble bridge arched across the mouth of the rushing river toward the jagged bluffs overlooking the sea. 

The waves crashed against the obsidian fortress which lay atop the cliffs and if Emma forced herself to listen, it almost sounded like the whispers of a thousand voices every time the water hit the brick. 

It was only when a door closed behind her that Emma returned to reality, gauging her surroundings once more. 

If this really was the truth, then she would need every bit of cleverness and wit she possessed. 

She would not win battles with swords or bows or strength, only what was in her mind. 

“Are you alright?” The bearded man seemed genuinely concerned, a far cry from his behavior before, and Emma forgot that she was now covered in someone else’s blood. 

She nodded briskly, certain that her fear was written all over her face. 

The bearded man shot a look at Malora, who was already talking with two men in silver armor with more swords at their sides. 

Both of them held the same emblem on their armor the bearded man did on his doublet. 

God, why couldn’t she remember what it was?

The armored men nodded and disappeared down one of the many hallways.

Several entrances poured out into the foyer, a large spiral staircase reaching up into the endless expanse above her, carved out of the same white marble the bridge was made of. 

“Father will be expecting her,” Malora spoke in hushed tones, the woman’s lips tugging themself into a frown, “And seeing as she clearly has nowhere else to go—“

“I will bring her to Father,” The bearded man spoke, eyes darting Emma’s direction. They lingered on the blood coating her face and something akin to regret crossed his face, “The least we can do is provide her with a place to stay if he decides otherwise.”

Malora sighed and squeezed the man’s shoulder, “Thank you Bael.”

Emma tensed as Malora turned her gaze her direction, only relaxing once the woman gently pressed her hands onto her shoulders once more, “You will be safe here. I do not know what my father intends to do with you, but we will not leave you to your own devices, I will ensure it."

Emma nodded, “Thank you,” She breathed out, barely able to comprehend the woman’s words. 

They filled her with relief, and even though something seemed to dance behind the woman’s emerald gaze. 

Emma blinked, and Malora was gone. 

Her skirts swished up the endless marble staircase, and she silently wondered how the woman held the stamina to ascend the staircase without so much as blinking. 

A moment passed, and the bearded man entered her vision. 

She caught a much better look at him this time around.

Auburn hair hung neatly to his shoulders and his beard was well trimmed. The man was probably in his forties or fifties if she had to guess, close in age to Malora.

In fact, the two seemed to share the same eyes, except the man’s were a much more muted color, resembling waves of grass instead of the cut of emeralds. 

The man seemed to be waiting for something, and it wasn’t until his lips moved again that Emma realized he was asking her a question.

“Your name,” He spoke softly, as if suddenly realizing his mistake from earlier, “What is your name?”

“Emma,” She muttered, still in shock, “My name is Emma.”

“Very well, Emma.” The man spoke, offering his arm, “Follow me, I’ll take you to meet my father.”

His father. 

Of course it was his father. He was a wealthy man, probably a lord of some kind. A deep groaning sound pulled her back into the moment and she found herself staring at a very unstable, very crude elevator. 

The man walked in like he did this every day, staring at Emma for a moment before gesturing for her to follow, “Well, Lady Emma, shall I inform my father you are here or do you plan to stand there all day?”

Gulping down the bundle of nerves in the back of her throat, Emma winced as she stepped onto the wooden floor of the fragile contraption, closing her eyes as the cage shut and began creaking toward the top. 

A tough grip wrapped around her shoulders, but she dare not open her eyes for fear of seeing just how high she was dangling. 

It was worse than rides up the tall skyscrapers back home and she silently waited for a cable to break and send her plummeting like the Tower of Terror. 

The cage shrieked to a stop and she waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

But the sound of a cable snapping never came, and when she opened her eyes, the cage door was open with the bearded man offering his hand to her. 

She stepped off without taking it, balancing delicately on the balls of her feet as she pushed herself through the frame. 

“I see you still take offense to my earlier remarks, my lady,” The bearded man dropped his hand while Emma attempted to stabilize herself using the stone railing.

“Women typically aren’t fans of being called whores” Emma shot back, unsure where her voice had come from.  The man arched an eyebrow and Emma gulped, forgetting where she was for a moment, “…Sir.” She tacked on carelessly, “The only reason you’re treating me differently is because your sister and father say you should, otherwise you’d still assume I’m selling myself, right?”

The man dropped his head in shame and that was all the answer she needed. 

Now that she was behind high walls and Malora had promised her safety, her boldness returned in spades, anger rumbling in her stomach at the earlier insult. The short hem and lack of sleeves was all he had to go off of and he’d decided she must have been a prostitute. 

After all, what other option was there for a woman in these times?

She wasn’t dressed like the others around her, and she held no emblem to distinguish her as the daughter of a lord or lady. 

“And even if I was selling myself, perhaps I had no other choice,” She continued to ramble, the words coming to her as the wheels in her head turned, “Perhaps I was abandoned and left in a whorehouse, or disowned and forced to find my own way. I would hope the gods would see that and forgive me.”

The words were too honest for the world she lived in now, but she might as well take one last moment of truth before being forced to lie for however long she remained here.

With her luck, it would be the rest of her life. 

“Well said, my lady.” The man nodded, gesturing toward a magnificent gilded door with the same emblem of a tower aflame carved into the mahogany doors.

It was obviously a symbol of great importance, and Emma wished she could remember what it was. 

“With a temper and a wit like that, I can see why my father is eager to meet you.”

He lifted the bronze knocker three times, the echoing sound followed by a muffled voice of similar cadence to the man beside her. 

“Enter.” It ordered, the door swinging open. 

Anxiety clawed at Emma’s stomach as she stared into the darkness before her, the only light coming from the flame of a candle burning in the middle of the room and the sunlight from outside.

She swallowed the lump building in the back of her throat and shuffled forward, the door slamming shut behind her. 

An older man stared up at her, silvery blonde hair illuminated by the flickering flames of the lit candles surrounding a desk in the middle of the room. 

Scrolls and parchment lay scattered about the room with books open to specific pages stacked on top of one another. 

Many were scrawled in languages Emma didn’t recognize, with drawings of scales and equations written in the margins. 

Behind the man lay a stained glass window with a seven pointed star, the ledge underneath it decorated with bunsen burners and beakers and lumps of coal under magnifying glasses. 

In the shadows lay a green powder Emma had no desire to touch and she tried to memorize as much as she could to see if it jogged her memory in any capacity. 

“Ah, the Lady Emma,” The man’s eyes twinkled as if with knowledge no one else possessed, “How wonderful to receive you. I am Leyton Hightower of Oldtown, Lord of the Hightower and Beacon of the South.”

It all clicked into place. 

“I see you’ve already met my eldest daughter Malora and my heir, Baelor.” He gestured toward the bearded man behind her and the shadow beside a bookcase. 

Malora stepped out of the shadows with a comforting look, and Emma’s stomach sank further, grasping tightly to the strap of her bag.

“Now that we have all become acquainted,” Leyton continued nonchalantly, looking unbothered as Emma’s eyes darted around the room putting the pieces into place, “Perhaps you would like to tell me exactly how you ended up in Westeros.”

She gulped. 

hiraeth taglist: @bisexualterror (lmk if you wanna be added)

[earthyleo]

So, i'm seeing a lot of people in the ASOIAF/GoT/HoTD fandom (mostly targ stans) comparing the Blood and Cheese incident with the Red Wedding and how they hope HoTD makes audiences shocked and sad when Blood and Cheese happens just like the Red Wedding did and it just made me realize... Nobody really cares about the Targaryens, like, truly cares for them. The Blood and Cheese thing has been turned into a meme and a joke long before HoTD was made and it is being joked about even before it happened in the series, just like Rhaenyra's children deaths (Luke's death is the best example), Rhaenyra's death is treated as a joke by most of the fandom, not even Daenerys was able to make the fandom truly sad for her death, most were just indifferent to it.

Then you have the Starks... Ned Stark's death was one of the most iconic and heartbreaking moments in a TV show, Robb Stark and the Red Wedding? That traumatized people, and to this day both book and the series version is discussed with seriousness and respect for the characters involved, Jon Snow's death??? People were crying their hearts out in front of the TV, and not to mention when the wolves died too, people really liked the wolves and felt sad when they died. People truly cared about these characters.

No matter how much targ stans think the Targaryens are important and relevant, Blood and Cheese will never be the Red Wedding or any tragic/sad thing that happens to the targs will never be treated with the same intensity/emotion that the Starks received from the fandom, Targaryens are the ones that had cool dragons and thats it. House Stark has the characters we always go back to when we want to feel connected to fictional people, feel their emotions along with them and care about what happens to them.

[king7doms]

"bend the knee to me, and i'll win your war." / @theirmadness (Dany) sent a MEME

He can't. The North would never allow him to, even if he did desire it, which he did not. The North's war was in vengeance for his father, in getting his sisters back peacefully, and in winning their freedom. They had been ruled by conquerors and mad men for centuries now - they would not go back to being ruled in the North, so far removed from the rest of Westeros, by the tyrants of King's Landing. Whether she was a tyrant or not was yet to be seen, but arriving with the threat of three dragons at her back was not endearing her cause to the Northmen who fought with him.

"The North has bent their knees and bowed their heads to the rulers in King's Landing for centuries, and been so far removed until they were needed to fight in the wars of the South. My men would abandon this cause and go home, if I bent the knee after we have declared our freedom." It is just the two of them speaking, privately, though he can feel the tension of his men as though they were standing with him. The army outside of his camp is far larger, and even without the threat of dragons, they were largely outnumbered.

"I do not want the Iron Throne. I did not even ---" He cuts himself off from finishing. He did not want the North, either, but the men had placed the title on his head and shoulders and he would honor it, and lead them, in either victory or defeat. "My sisters are prisoners to the Lannisters, they cut off my father's head. We only march south for that, our just vengeance. We should be in the North, preparing. Winter is coming, whether any believe it or not."

[rynnthefangirl]

Ranking Daeron Targaryens by how much I like them:

1. Daeron the Drunken- im sorry but he is too funny not to be #1. “My brothers may have my measure with fighting and dancing and thinking and reading books, but none of them is half my equal at laying insensible in the mud.” Self aware king. Also being a powerful dragon dreamer, but rather than it being a gift, it is instead a curse, the terrible burden of prophecy driving him to self destruction? Oh my lord give me two of them.

2. Daeron II- objectively the best Daeron and it is not even close. Probably a top 3 Targaryen king, wise and kind. A good man, good father, listens to the women in his life, established long time peace with Dorne. And also still very interesting a character as well, his whole dynamic with his father and bastard half siblings fascinates me, and learning more about it is one of the things I’m most looking forward to in Fire and Blood 2.

3. Gay Daeron- actually insane that after watching his father suffer through the aftermath of three broken marriage proposals, he went and said “ya know what? Fuck dad I’m breaking mine too.” I can’t even be mad bc that’s kind of iconic. He didn’t even have another option he married instead. Like he could have just married Olenna and kept being gay with Jeremy on the side, it’s Olenna so long as she gets hers she isn’t gonna give a shit. Also turning down our glorious Queen of Thorns? Another inexplicable power move.

4. Daeron the Young Dragon- *sigh*. Did you have to do all that? Did you really have to do all that? I guess he decided that his dad was a pussy for wanting world peace, well not Daeron, Daeron wants war and blood and glory! Deserved to die young for that shit. Although I do think it’s cute that Jon Snow and Robb Stark looked up to him. Honeys, you are so much better than that loser.❤️

5. Daeron the Daring- he is definitely one of the better members of of Team Green, but he is still Team Green so… yeah. Also fuck him for Bitterbridge and Tumbleton (though I admit with Tumbleton there wasn’t much he could do since Hugh and Ulf were the issue and they both had bigger dragons). Tessarion is cool though. And again, still leagues better than his brothers. If I’m being unbiased he is 3 or 4, but I’m not so dead last the Targtower goes.